Road Trip - part 2 (Navigation)

You never really get a sense of how big Australia is until you leave the house. 

Day one of our Road trip was a wee test really. The aim was to drive the car to McDonalds, just up the road and take delight that we need not leave the comfort of our seats. Yes, we would eat like Kings! Finally! Oh the power! When, in reality, we knew we would eat crap food, feel ill, and return home but that was the goal, and goals are goals. 

Pulling out from a stationary position into oncoming traffic was not one of my smartest moves but the quick, stealth-like, turn of slipping down a slip road was ingenious, albeit, within two nanoseconds we found ourselves a little way off our intended route. Not to worry; we were both armed with our mobile phones and each had an exact replica of a man who dishes out directions in a bored monotone.... "In 500 meters, take the third exit off the....." 

Off the what, the roundabout, the planet, the what - I'm fucking here now!" 

Another tactical manoeuvre later, and we're in Rockdale. Now, look, I know there is about 10 kms of misinformation that took place during that time, otherwise we'd not be here, right? But surely, sure as the night turns to day, there's a McDonalds here!

We did see one. In fact, we saw quite a few on our trip. You never really get to appreciate just how much that organisation has infiltrated civilisation until you pass by five or six stores, all on the other side of a four-laned highway. And yes, I said highway for the obvious reason - we were bloody well on one! 

Lauren's suggestion, to just stick to the right-hand lane at all costs, would have logically brought us back in a 360-degree angle, and from there, well, we could just go home really. But no, that mother-knows-best thing was in full swing - I have not travelled the whole entire planet to be fooled by stupid logic! 

I blame the street lighting or should I say, the lack of - really, it's like they want you to plough a million-miles-per-hour into a brick wall just so they can justify the cost of safe driving campaigns. Or worse, they make four lanes merge into two and give you a five second decision-making zone  - now should I allow Lauren to take one half of the car in THAT direction while I check out what's on this side? Really?

Our goal had changed. Food was no longer a priority - survival was. Oh, and the fact that under no circumstances were we to end up in Sydney's CBD, which is exactly where NAVMAN took us!

Look, I like the CBD just as much as the next person but I prefer the view from a stationary standing upright position and only cause I know I get distracted when I look up. I don't have time to make mature decisions like, where the fuck is the car going? And I sure as hell don't have time for repetitive statements that only deepen in intensity the more you say it - Is this a one way street? It IS a one way street? And Sydney is a city that never fucking sleeps! There's people and pedestrians, some are both - cars and trucks and trains and planes, all these people going here and there and no bastard giving a flying shit whether we get McDonalds!

By now all I want is a wine. Lots of it. Yes, it's true. I have found me, yet another, trigger but of course, common sense kicks in - driving while drinking wine out of a broken-down cask is just plain tacky and you have to keep both hands on the steering wheel anyhow. 

You'll be pleased to know we did find McDonalds. Oh alright, McDonalds found us. It was about a two minute walk from work by which time we needed to pee anyhow so the plan was foolproof really.

This road trip is going to be a breeze! 

The Search for Truth - consequence

I am no stranger to being "told" to prove myself or my accusations. It goes hand in hand with being a survivor of child sex abuse. 

For me, I first had to prove it to a doctor who physically examined me as a 10 year old. My first step into being believed was counter-attacked by my subsequent suspension from the Catholic boarding school I attended at the time - guess there is nothing "god-like" about my telling them my darkest secrets. So yeah, even at 10, I knew there were "consequences" for speaking out and I also realised the only one that was going to be paying for those consequences, was me. 

My second attempt to speak out was the initial police report I filed in 1984. I was no longer in danger but I feared for the siblings that remained with my offender. Upshot was the entire family, for one reason or another, hurdled themselves around the offender and the offender, himself, called me to say "I brought you into this world, I can take you out." I was left with no alternative but to flee New Zealand. In the process, I lost my family, my sense of belonging, and to a certain extent - myself. 

I look back to that time and think "What on earth was I thinking?" I mean, there I was with a one-way ticket to London. I knew no one, had nowhere to stay, and yet all that unknown was nothing compared to my life back home. Some times people make decisions based on which fear is easier to deal with and all the horror movies of being kidnapped, raped, or even murdered didn't phase me. I was free from the past. That's all that mattered. 

In 1992, I dared to return to NZ. I missed my big brother, my sister, my family. Yet within 24 hours of arriving, I was in A&E, beaten to a pulp by a family member because of "me and my big mouth." Truth be known, I was planning to marry someone I met in the UK and I refused to invite my offender, play happy families as it were - consequence. 

The Police, at the time, advised me to return to the UK, marry... move on. I did just that. 

A few years on, I was notified about subsequent victims. Same offender. And yes, that sent me down a spiral path I would not wish on my worse enemy. I felt like I had failed - it was my fault. And I had such anger towards the NZ Police for not "truly" investigating that I thought I would explode. I naively thought they were about Prevention rather than cure... I have since become more sympathetic to their ways. 

I had, up until then, managed to maintain a normal existence - until my daughter was born and then... lord help me...the sight of that poor vulnerable being, totally at my mercy, dragged so much pain up inside of me I felt like I just couldn't keep it together any more. Now, more than ever, I wanted/needed my mother, my family, my sisters and brothers.... I separated and returned to NZ.

Those subsequent victims now wish to prosecute. Those same siblings I had begged for help from, now want me (big mouth, troublemaker) to help them, and two years ago, I filed my statement.  

I can pull my head out of the clouds long enough to see just what the Police need from me in order to have a solid case. But there "handling" of me was worlds apart from the handling I received from ACC.

The Police investigate. They don't offer counselling. So their advice to get some from ACC to "help me" during the process was something I didn't think too untoward. But here's the difference: both the Police and ACC want the same thing - proof. 

Police picked me up from my home. They had support people for me. They videoed the interview. Constantly asked if I needed a break. They took their guidance from me and from my support person. Yes, they asked for graphic detail. They asked for me to call a spade a spade. They asked me to relive every single detail and understood I could not just tell me story - I had to relive it. Afterwards, I sat with the support person for hours, bawling like a child (I'd been reduced to one) and later, they drove me home and checked in with me every day to see how I was doing. 

From ACC, I got a letter. Meet this strange woman I'd never met at an address, 70kms from my home. I did. Again, she (just like the Police) wanted graphic details - exact details. Unlike the Police, there was no support person. The assessor had a flight in two hours; we were pushed for time. Afterwards, she thanked me and left the office. I, on the other hand, sat outside the office for three hours trying to figure out how on earth I was even going to get home. I had my daughter with me - figuring in childcare to meet with ACC demands just isn't an issue. And afterwards? Nothing! Not for months. At least the Police provided me with a transcript of my interview - which, I still haven't had the balls to read. From ACC, it took seven months of nagging before I even got a wee snippet of the initial assessors report - and that, in itself, did nothing but leave questions.  

The months after the ACC assessment, I went from bad to worse. I don't think I would have classed myself as depressed before - sure, I'd had bad days but they were just "days" - this latest "episode" was something out of even my control. I fell in love with my couch. It was my haven. I couldn't even summon up the energy to even think about a shower let alone have one and in all honesty, both my child and I lived like pigs. I never left the house. I felt so exposed and so vulnerable - what with the Court case pending and my inability to even sleep - I was loosing it, big time. 

My lowest was a feeble attempt to kill myself. I didn't have any pills or anything cause - catch 22 - I wasn't registered with a Doctor who could prescribe any and could never get an appointment to even see one. My last attempt to do just that, meant $92.00 just for them to put me on their books!... the walls were closing in. 

I took to blogging. It's what saved my life - just 15 wee friends all chatting. I didn't even have to leave me couch! I admit, it was naive to think that anything I said couldn't reach a wider audience but, truth be told, I'd practically told everyone who was in a position to help, that I needed help and they couldn't give a toss... so I never thought anything I said mattered anyhow. Least of all the copious emails I sent to ACC.

From behind that blog, I grew stronger. I showered. I did some dishes. I listened and called in frequently to the Nutter's Club. My blogging friends encouraged me to leave my current situation.... up sticks and move on.... and I did. 

I am now gainfully employed. Off the hamster wheel of WINZ. I'm finding my feet again. My kid is happy. I can pay for new school shoes. We're on a winner... onwards and upwards...

.... and then... Dr Jansen comes at me with a two-by-four. 

Consequence. One thing I learned in 40 years of consequence is this: I ain't taken it any more! I'm sick and tired of running and I'm damned if I will sit and be bullied. Enough is enough. It's someone else's turn to learn the true meaning of "consequence."


In other words: "Whakapuakina te pono!"  

Peter Jansen Shows his true colours

In January 2009, I applied to ACC to restart counselling for sexual abuse. I was not going to be of those "ones" on that new shady downward spiral into the abyss where ACC filed all their new claims cause, apparently, I was an existing client. 

Understandably and without fuss, I attended one assessment by some woman I'd never met before who concluded I had PTSD and recommended the re-commencement of counselling. 

Seven months later (after my official DSM-IV assessment) I was still waiting a simple reply to "Well, where's the counsellor?" I got a reply back stating some woman in the Wairapapa, no phone details, no address, just a time to meet her.... but where? Several enduring emails later and nothing. 

In the meantime, back in the jungle, I started writing to Peter Jansen. After all, he's the top wig, he should know what the hell is going on. His response to me was that my email had been referred to the Media department. And, as far as I know, that is where it still remains... nearly 18 months later. 

I am still waiting for my counsellor to magically appear from outside the buttocks of ACC's filing cabinet, all majestic and angelic like but, understandably, I have not held my breath. A lot of things have happened. I've got a pending trial, all to do with child abuse - just the sort of thing I'd kind of need counselling on really but there you go - and my daughter and I have had to relocate. Please note, no one that I know of has had to relocate their email address and I most certainly haven't so, sorry, no excuses why no contact has been made on that side of the fence either ACC.

But wait... 

Today, I have had contact! Yes, after nearly two years, I was served with Court papers!!! 

Apparently my calling Peter Jansen an "completely incompetent prick" is defamatory. He's suing me for $200,000.00 in general damages, an additional $50,000.00 in aggravated damages, and any "other relief" as the Honourable Court deems just (Whatever the fuck that means!), and all Court and Legal costs.

All this as a result of a blog I posted, whereby I satirically referred to Mr Jansen having self diagnosed himself with DSM-CIP - (Completely Incompetent Prick) syndrome. 

Mr Jansen, in response, "has been greatly injured in his professional and personal reputation; has been exposed and held up to ridicule and contempt; and has been seriously injured in his reputation and character."

So let me see if I get this straight... a blog of 15 followers has done more than $250,000.00 worth of damage to a man who has NEVER granted a single woman seeking compensation for sexual abuse a mere percentage of that amount? 

Furthermore, if having a mental illness is not suppose to be such a stigma then what's with the David and Goliath attitude to a nobody who thinks, rightly so, that he's incompetent and writes about it to her mammoth blog following of 15 people? I don't get it... I mean, if mental illness is not so damaging as Mr Jansen likes to claim (and often does when it comes to people making claims!) then why sue when a person even jokingly claiming to think you are! 

Or, and here's another thought... maybe if ACC had got off their ass and given me the "mental illness" treatment I was assessed for, then maybe, just maybe, this sort of shit would not have happened? 

Or is it that ACC can deny your claim, fog you off, and then try the old bullying tactics when that same person gets a little fucked off with being palmed off?

In any event, the last I heard DSM CIP wasn't listed on the official ACC assessment calculations and thank fuck for that! Imagine how many people would be referred to ACC then!

In closing:

I wonder if his lawyer knows the person he hired to serve papers on me was my mother's ex-lover, an ex-cop, and since both my daughter and I are formally in hiding due to a pending historical sex abuse Court case, could only have had access to my CONFIDENTIAL HOME ADDRESS through police files. 

Not a fucking smart move that Jansen!


Correction: Ex cop called me this morning. He did not access Police files. I checked. He's right. But I did get an interesting tip on how my address was accessed. Interesting. Makes sense even. Still an incredible abuse of power and... the Privacy Act, so I have been told.  

Surgery for cop attacked with machete

Senior Constable Bruce Mellor underwent surgery last night for multiple skull fractures and horrendous defensive wounds  following a machete attack by two youths he stopped to question about their erratic driving.

"He spoke to the two occupants, one just 14 years old and the other aged 18, and headed back to his patrol car to do checks. He was then hit on the back and side of the head by one of the boys using the blunt side of a machete."

The car was later identified as stolen.

What on earth is going on with our youth? I don't like to throw the youth all into one group but these slim-balls are yet to be identified and I also don't like to attribute such violence to, perhaps, the latest movie release but it does make you wonder. 

What on earth is going on here? What makes two boys even think about attacking a person let alone an officer? Look I know if I was in a stolen car and got pulled over, a few random escape plans would enter my head too but...machete? At best I'd probably give a false name and try my damnedest to lie my way out of trouble but give up the goose once I realised cops just ain't that dumb. Gee, better still, I'd not steal a car in the first place?

At the risk of sounding like some crusty old fart, things were way different when I was their age. I knew what was right and I knew what was wrong. Moreover, I knew that if I decided to do something wrong, there was a bloody good chance I'd be punished. There was never any space in my brain to even contemplate any other alternative like - if caught, we'll fight like shit to get out of it, kill if we have to.

Interestingly, I have just brought this story up with my 12 year old daughter. Her first question was "Oh, were they boys?" I nodded. "Ah, well it will be that testosterone then Mum," and before I could jump on my bandwagon, she added, "yeah but testosterone has been around for years so that's not it."

She then went on to tell me about a discussion her class had about bullying at school. "Most us girls said we'd tell them to piss of... oh, don't worry Mum, that's not like swearing or anything... but the boys, all of them, they all said they'd beat them up."

Why do they do that I asked. 

She took a deep breath and shook her head. "It's just the way they've been raised."

• New Zealand Police Minister Judith Collin says she will be raising the issue of officers patrolling alone with Police Commissioner Howard Broad. She says it is not the first time a lone officer has been attacked in a rural environment. 
• Between 2004-05 year and 2008-09, total assaults on Police increased by 33 per cent, from 1,869 to 2,481, while serious assaults increased by 38 percent, from 298 to 412. (http://www.beehive.govt.nz/release/bill-assaults-police-corrections-officers-introduced-parliament ) 
• A cornerstone of the Government's law and order policy was to ensure there were 300 more officers on the frontline in Counties-Manukau by December 2010 than there was in December 2008, and an additional 300 around the rest of the country by December 2011. http://www.beehive.govt.nz/release/384-extra-police-nz-streets
• Due to low Police attrition during the recession, 11 of the 12 Police districts exceeded their staff levels in June 2009. The numbers are returning to the funded level and there will be 600 extra Police by December 2011.
• Surgery for cop attacked with machete | Stuff.co.nz: 

Wait for it...

Ready? Any minute now. Shush, here she comes. (Watches sleepy child wander passed computer)

"Morning Mum." 

"Morning honey."

"What ya doing?"

You know, I just never stood a chance - before I could answer, she had elbowed me in the eye, thrown her face into the computer screen, and started to go ultra-sonic. I know this to be true because, even though I was partially blind, I still managed to spot the cat propel himself out the room. Looked like I'd zapped him with a tayza gun or something too - I didn't alright (not that the cat will think that). I started to 'come round' right about the time the cat gave 'evils' from the back door.

"Oh my God! Oh my God, it's him!" 

"No kidding Sherlock? Gee, I wonder how got there?"

Thud. "Ouch!"

"Oh Mum don't you see? Don't you get it?" 

At this point I am sensing the need for a Lawyer. Maybe I should just take the 5th, only I suddenly remember we don't have the 5th in New Zealand. We hardly have a 1-2-3...

"Mum! Did you hear me?" 

"What?"

"Isn't he just, you know... beautiful?"

Her first crush. Well I must admit, it's a vast improvement on mine. Actually I take that back cause, mark my words, if Donny Osmond were to (stop laughing) were to walk right in here, right now, this very minute, I'd um, wet myself most probably. 

Bless. Sweet little Donny. The man whose poster was on my bedroom wall. The very same poster I would never get undressed in front of, you know, on the account of his religion and all and my respecting that and ...his whole family posing alongside of him was the real reason. Can't be doing with stripping in front of Donny's Dad!...burr...Dad, no! Donny...

"You've gone all dreamy. You like him too, don't you Mum?" 

Enough already

I don't often agree with my mum about music but we agree on this dude. I don't like him. He sings songs that are not his age. At the start of Baby, which is the one main song that I've 'had to' listen to lately, he sounds like a girl and it drives me nuts. That annoying tune seems to be on almost every commercial break on TV. Most of my friends don't like him and I can't understand why anyone would scream when they see him. He needs to go back to YouTube so we can choose if we want to hear him or not. Get off my TV Justin Bieber.