Memories: 13 February 2026

13 February 2026

7:46 am I awaken from a disturbing dream about my daughter Jasmine. I am standing in line at a supermarket checkout. I have two items in front of me. Jasmine is off running around the supermarket with her friends. She is aged about 9. An older woman beside me tells me she thinks she is on drugs. I say no…it’s not possible. I am always home. I provide stability…..

But Jasmine does not return and instantly I panic. I dial her number on my phone but it calls other random people. One of the calls is a video call….a bunch of people having a Shabbat service, all gathered at tables waiting to eat. I apologise that I have called the wrong number. Hang up. The lady in the queue says “you shoulda been with them”. I nod.

A man next to me arrives and starts telling me how he knows this guy on heroin that shuffles and has a distended belly. It’s awful, he says. I nod. “It messes with their liver” I tell him. He stares at my belly. “15 years of psych meds and fatty foods!” “Oh “ he says. I start to cry. I can’t get Jasmine to come back.

Someone at the checkout rolls some fruit over to me. An apple that appears to be rotten. A nectarine that is also bruised and decaying.

The old woman beside me says “is that yours? Rotten fruit? Why would you buy rotten fruit?” I think of my mother’s favourite saying “the apple does not fall far from the tree”. Everything is decaying, rotting. No love left for me.

I start waking up. I argue with the spirits, verbally, my cpap mask smothering my words. I tried my best. I was a good enough mother. But she hated me. From birth really. A very unhappy person. Then the stealing and drug taking started at 13. I tried to keep her safe from child sexual abuse.

In fact I am sure she was not directly affected by that. But she absorbed all my pain and all the trauma we as a family of women were put through by vicious evil people, so frankly the damage was cumulative, enduring and I was never able to be a good enough mother or even a person for her, or for Crystal.

Here I sit alone. I wonder why I am dreaming of her?

She was so cruel to me when I attempted suicide early 2005, and again after my major surgery in 2007. The last time I set eyes on her was at Crystal’s Bon Voyage dinner in May 2015. She was terse and obnoxious and barely spoke to me.

After my second (this time serious attempt) at suicide on 22 August 2015, again she was cruel, calling up the police and demanding a welfare check when, a few months later, I was perfectly fine. She had not even communicated with me at all so she had no business interfering in my life at all. She knew nothing about me or my health or wellbeing. Nothing… that was the last time we ever had contact.

I don’t want malicious borderline sociopathic gameplayers in my life even if she is my adult child. I miss her. The sweet child I loved so very much. But that person no longer exists. I did not lose her to heroin, but to other substances but the damage is the same.

Why am I dreaming of her? Why the symbolism of rotten fruit? The panic of not being able to reach out to her is very real.

I have fought back to regain some semblance of a happy enough life since that suicide attempt in 2015. It hasn’t been easy. I trust only in my psychiatrist now and even that is not full and complete trust. The Covidian Insanity imposed on our population by my government in the last 6 years showed me true hearts and minds and the constant broiling dangers we are living through.

I feel fragile and hollow. Like a reed sinking her roots the dark waters, deep into the mud, fighting for sunshine and fresh air and a new Becoming.

Jasmine told me to finish the job of killing myself in early 2005. But I did not. I chose Life…again and again. Why? Even I don’t know. Perhaps because I always knew I deserved love and truth and basic human decency…so I kept coming back for more… torture.

But slowly life has shifted for me. Even alone…I have peace, and hope and trust in the Universe that there is still a better life for me where I am loved: truly, honourably, kindly.

Maybe it’s an illusion…maybe it’s a waking nightmare and a lie I tell myself. But I keep living, observing , waiting for my life to become beautiful at long last.

So that dream of little Jasmine who is almost 39 now, is an old trauma dream. Not based in reality. She is happy and successful without her deadshit brutalised traumatised struggling mother she hated so much.

I am okay with that. I can’t control my dreams but I can control how I live out my life. Peacefully, safely, allowing only those people who are kind, supportive and courageous in my inner circle. I suffered enough. Enough already.

Good morning. Arise and Shine. Wherever you are, be blessed. Be safe. Be love.

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In defiance of my isolation, loss of key love relationships and my verkachte cptsd brain which vomits up nightmares about things that cannot be changed and people that are unwilling or incapable of ever loving me or even being present with me…I am going out to the Art Gallery.

It’s raining but cooler and I have been trapped in my home long enough. Time to face the world! (Fully made up, showered, dressed and up and at ‘em). May this day gift me kindness and peace and resolution. Never ever let the bastards (or daemonic entities of my past!) grind me down. :-))))).

The only way to navigate this inverted sadistic life is to keep pushing myself through. As Winston Churchill quipped “When going through hell, just keep going!” I will be the love long denied me!

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12:07 pm waiting for the bus to go to the cultural centre stop (for GOMA) a lovely lady comes along. She is from the Phillipines. She looks my age but it turns out she is 16 years older than I. I tell her she looks very fresh!

She tells me her husband just died in November. I tell her “I am very sorry for your loss but very happy for your emancipation” She tells me where she lives. I try not to react. I had not recognised her but she lives close to me, on the other corner down the street. Her husband was a horrible man to me. Horrible. Always being vicious about my little dogs. But that was many years ago and he is gone now.

I do not say anything to her about her husband. I just tell her that widowhood is a very freeing thing for women, even happily married ones. My mother in law positively bloomed after my father in law’s death after 46 years of marriage! Magdalena tells me she was married 44 years. She worked for 36 years.

I said “I know it’s hard losing a husband, a family member, after such a long marriage but I see you being free and happy now.”

So time takes care of everything and everyone...eventually. Even me, when my time comes.

She is going to church in the city. The big church! She is Roman Catholic. I had complimented her on her beautiful gold medallion that has Mother Mary on it. I told her I am Jewish but I have drifted away from my community after too many years of nastiness. G-d is everywhere and in everything and when you have faith it’s a symbiotic relationship. He is always with us. No matter what path we follow.

Hmmm….is this even true? I hope so. The drifting spirit-driven shamanic Mama T. When you know, you know. I knew I HAD to go out today and that it would be “spiritual”.

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The QAGOMA Bistro is weird and unfriendly. The manager rudely told me to wait while he pretentiously ordered some staff member around. No Chum…serve your customers First as a priority. Then he informed me he was going to ruin my day as they don’t accept cash.

When I told him, with great irritation that they are bowing to the idiocracy of the Digital ID regime he said “It comes from up top!”” Hmmm, this is a government owned establishment. Orders are orders….fucking ghastly. It’s odd as the staff member accepted my $21 dollars in coins when I paid for the exhibition ticket. Also let me split the payment.

At least I made a female staff member laugh when I ordered my fries and he said “small or large?” Meaning the cappuchino so I said “Large…all that and a bowl of chips”.

I saw my daughter on arrival, (awkward!) I didn’t think she worked Friday’s. Watching her look of animosity and horror, was gut wrenching…but I am used to being ghosted by family members of origin. So the “what the fuckery” was par for the course, I am afraid…actually NOT AFRAID. So I went to the exhibition and enjoyed what I could of it .

“PRESENCE”…the irony of the title not lost on me.

However, it’s very pretty out here looking across the morose river. Almost a vista of illusory freedom and native sweetness.

A perplexity and a ponderance. Onwards and upwards, I guess. My feet hurt lol.

I met a lovely couple from Perth who were at the Presence exhibition. I commented I liked the art piece of the spinning rock and I had observed her husband liked that one too. The wife said “Oh my husband likes rocks!” I replied “Of course he does…he is a geologist”. She looked at me with astonishment. “How did you know that?”

I just smiled and said “….He likes rocks!” Even the husband was greatly amused by my “intuition” or assumption. He told me he worked at a gold mine in Ravenswood, near Townsville. There is a coal mine out of Toowoomba, at Oakey. Another piece of information I had no idea about.

I told him I would like to visit mines where gold, opal, precious stones are mined…but alas I never get to go anywhere. Anyway, I get gold fever when I am around too much gold. It’s not so much the monetary value but the energy. He just smiled and quietly shrank into himself. (Why do I do that?) At least they chatted to me for a while. Well, I don’t fit in anywhere…but I am okay with that.

Time to head home, I guess. My first foray out in months. Interesting!

I took a photo of the ever-diminishing tidelines of my mug, cos Art, People of Earth!

Ps. My day has NOT been ruined. Not by the rain. Nor by the humanoids. Nothing and no one has the power to ruin my day. Mama T has SPOKEN. I am delighting in the cool refreshing atmospheric change after the ghastly unrelenting heat.

13 February 2025

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Update: the full moon was last night…but I only saw tonight’s waning gibbous but still very full, moon.

13 February 2023

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https://youtu.be/-6vP33qkXhg

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It’s been another scathing hot day. I sat under the trees most of the day then drove to Coco’s at Annerley around 2:30pm to buy fruit and vegetables and some chicken schnitzels and chicken wings.

People in the store were super friendly and kind. It was lovely. I drove back home and unpacked my groceries. I bought a big bag of bread flour to make home made bread or pizza with.

I threw some in my bread maker to make a nice corn and red capsicum bread. I hope it turns out delicious! I also made a crème brûlée from a packet mix.

Then I sat on the aircon in the lounge and relaxed and watched tv.

I have a sense of anticipation (now 6:26 pm) like some unexpected but pleasant surprise is coming my way. Be’ezrat Hashem it’s a good surprise! :-)

13 February 2022

13 February 2021

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11:11 am hallelujah... babies!

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13 February 2020

3:38 pm wow. I slept all day. All my activated trauma triggers must have worn me out. Here I am. Back in the “room”. Ms Arons regrets she was unable to lunch today (or function!)

I notice I am much more fragile with my cptsd after my last long bout of illness. But I am fighting on for no good reason other than I can.

I must have looked brittle last night. Like a crackling glazed pot. I thought I spoke well and with compassion, even for Cees with his complete evil towards me as a child and a young woman.

Where does it end? No doubt with my own death. The ghosts of 13 million that died in those camps haunt me but demanded I speak for their continued memory. Good people, innocent people who were slaughtered for no reason.

But they know the danger is imminent again and we must survive...again.

Time seeps like sand between my toes. Becomes ever more precious and valuable. My lungs daily remind me that I am running low on it. My nervous system frequently overly-activated as I fight to stay alive to bear witness to a better future for all. Animals, human, earth. Interconnected. Interdependent. Hopefully, Joyous.

It helps to be a little bit insane and a little bit too idealistic. Life goes on, with or without me.

My mother used to ask me “Why does your head always have to be on the chopping block?!” In reference to my eternal victimhood. Because my head and heart is full. Of dreams, of Love, of painful ridiculous Hope.

Of laughter both joyously natural and at times cynical and sardonic. Of courage. Of vulnerability. Of great power bestowed by the gods in their little trickster (almost Heyoka!) way as I am always clumsily klutzy but gutsy and stoic.

Fuck it all. In 5 years or 50 years or a thousand years only the internet will remember my name, my struggles, my thoughts recorded for eternity in the ether. I don’t matter but I am matter. We all matter. To the Holy One and to our own hearts and minds.

Our souls soar untainted by the filth of physicality and our clay feet that drag us to the ground. Hair flying in the wind. Mouths sighing or singing or variously screaming. Feet holding up our stoic frames that stumble in the mud.

I had a weird realisation about the rock I brought from Mittelbau-Dora and described how the prisoners threw one down into the mud each morning and night, in and out of the tunnels so less men were shot for slipping and falling into the mud and a path was formed over several weeks or months... well, when I stepped outside the home of the hosts, their front path was made of concrete squares each one surrounded by beautiful white large gravel which gleamed in the night’s rain.

I struggled in my high heels to step carefully on each square until I made the front gate but in the dark and rain I could not find the latch to open it. I was standing there a minute or two feeling utterly foolish and broken (I abhor helplessness, find it embarrassing, rarely accommodate it - I am no victim!!!) until one of the men came and I had to ask him to open the gate. He too, struggled to find it in the rain so I felt less crazy and helpless - wanting only a dignified peaceful exit.

Life is weird. How it throws me into scenarios of absolute horror and how I must navigate it like a sailor on stormtossed seas. White gravel. White stone from Dora. Searing white electric eclectic heart.

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She is right that war is hell. All wars. Even the war on child sexual abuse survivors. Under attack by other survivors (the children of Holocaust survivors) myself included amongst them, but Othered due to my blunt shameless raw honesty about my poverty, my abusive violent childhood and my inability to succeed in real world applications. I felt scorned and derided.

But feelings pass, the horror passes and what is left? The transparency and fluidity like water. The courage under Fire. The desire to be seen. Valued. The cognitively dissonant awareness that not all things are the same or created equal.

That trauma is not always a shared experience. That some succeed against all odds under extreme circumstances while others...like myself stand as a glaring example of how much hate there is in the world, even amongst Survivors.

Be authentic and watch bits of yourself be deconstructed and held up to deep unabated bloodletting criticism.

I walked to my car in the pissing rain. Dry like a husk inside. The rain soaked my desiccated brittle heart. I had contained my innate rage. Held myself in crystalline prowess.

Some people will never forget me...but they will not always comprehend what created me. The God and the goddess. The whimsy and the treachery. The I and Thou and ...the we.

Antisemitism on the rise. Jews hating themselves and often each other. In an apocalyptic world where genocide is still prevalent and modern viruses are claiming us and the social construct disintegrates in fear of death which sooner or later finds us all anyway: regardless of race, creed or social status.

Fuck.

Sometimes I wonder what I am fighting for... even a failure at suicide. It’s utterly ridiculous. All of it a dystopian myopic microcosmic shit show. But I showed up. Represented the men who lost their lives in Dora. Was doubted. The disdain…a seepage of pustulant horror. Because of my $4 shoes? Or my life?

There’s not enough drugs in this world can cleanse that. Not enough psychiatrists in one room can analyse That. One man held my gaze. Watched me like a bacterium in a Petri dish. At times he seemed paternalistically encouraging. Was he an ally or an enemy? One never can tell when one brings her significant truth into the glaring light.

I was laughed at when I stated that I was not there for therapy but would indeed be in therapy for the rest of my life, courtesy of the Australian government. A son of a survivor of Auschwitz who hates me because of my decency and my freedom. My defiance. My raw honesty. When I was scorned for being a victim.

I laughed too. I laughed because I was pilloried by monstrous idiots. Again and again. But I am older now. I survived.

I was not cared for or respected. A rape “victim”. My only success? Shoes…Scratches my head. My real success. Standing up and being counted. Alone.

The irony that I was disliked for my shoes. Things that represent standing up on my own two feet (even my stilettoed inappropriate fetish for teetering on the brink). Falling into and out of the abyss.

Abysmal but fearless. Faithful to my jewish god I am not sure I believe in anymore. (It really was Aliens...giggles). But HaShem has me shine the light from Within, like an excoriated victim for the capricious entertainment of Men.

The facilitator who had the arrant chutzpah to disparage another woman for being a “rich Jew”. I actually uttered out loud “Pshhh” as it was so vile. Attack me for my sexuality and shoes is one thing. But attack another woman for her wealth? In a room full of extremely wealthy successful people??? What kind of surrealist psychodrama was that?

But I hope they got something out of it. I certainly did. Schlocky shock treatment. Cheaper than ect.

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13 February 2019

Today was a scorcher. But I kept busy. I went to Reverse Garbage to buy a few bits and pieces. Then to Stones Corner to get cat litter at Aldi which was incredibly heavy on my aching joints.

Then home to sort some beads into storage containers, then I went to see my psychiatrist for my fortnightly debrief. Then back home to hose and shovel all the dirt from under the house. That took a long time!

I watered the front garden after that, then took a shower to wash all the dirt and sweat off. I feel utterly exhausted. Time to watch some tv and relax a bit before going to bed.

13 February 2018

I had a beautiful day yesterday at Coochiemudlo Island. Jarrod and I and our dogs swam and lay in the millpond turquoise sea for hours.

Now I have insomnia and a very sore leg but it was all worth it.

So happy and grateful for my beautiful friends and my blossoming life. I am looking forward to being pain-free again. That will be amazing!

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Here comes the storm again. (No rain yet, just lots of rumbling of Thor’s Tum). Release the soothing sky liquid, Ye gods!

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13 February 2017

13 February 2016

I slept until 4 pm. Then this afternoon, very late, almost evening I took Beauregard to the dog park. There were several other small dogs there so he had fun playing.

On the way back, I saw James sitting with his two rescue cats in the forest he has cleared. He is so thrilled that people walk through it now and are enjoying his hard labour. He mentioned he wished the council would put in more lighting.

I mentioned on pension weeks we could buy a few cheap solar lights and make our own circle with lighting. If we buy 2 or 3 each week it won't take long until we have 20 lights.

I am going to transfer my Avocado sapling to the forest so it will have room to grow to be a large tree. It will be too crowded where I have planted it in my garden.

James (who has his own mental health issues) told me how the trees talk to each other. I told him that has just been documented scientifically that all of nature communicates.

I told him how it is healing to hug a tree and give it our worries or ask for answers to our questions and let the tree take our energy ( or stress) and take it down to the earth's core for healing and transmutation. I said it will inspire him.

He then told me his idea for a sci-fi trilogy. I really liked it. He said he was waiting to do a computer course so he could type it and print it. I said. Why wait? Hand-write it for now and when you have the ability, type it and print it from your hand-written book.

I said to him authors like the guy who wrote stories like Peter Pan (and he interjected with "like Dark Crystal") wrote their inspiration by hand then later got it typed and printed. So don't wait. Make that book and make those movies.

I like his mind. Very creative, genuine, sincere and community-minded.

This is why people deemed crazy by mainstream society should never be written-off. You never know what magic or power or generosity, what great works of literature, art or cinema lurk behind a damaged heart and soul. Love love love that I can be a motivator for kindred spirits who have been tossed aside like garbage.

I love watching beautiful minds and spirits evolve and grow into their own authentic integrity. It is humbling and heartening.

His work in the forest has brought him great peace and healing. Just as my work in my own garden brought me in my own turbulent grief-struck years.

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5.45 am. Another awesome night, dancing. Sally and Gina gave me so many drinks. We all danced wildly. I had a fantastic time. I was given some lovely compliments on my outfit by several women.

Unfortunately I sat down on someone's chewing gum so that ruined my wiggle skirt. I will have to find a way to get it out later today.

I have just had an Epsom salt bath but my feet are still cramping and spasming. Time to sleep if Beauregard will let me.

13 February 2015

6:11 pm. Up and at 'em. Chest very tight, sore throat. Blech! Should have gone to my doctor.

Slept all day which means I am well rested. But the sleep apnoea plays havoc when I have a sickness on board so feel a bit woozy.

Lovely evening outside. I let the chooks out. Little Frieda is foraging, all alone now. I will have to buy another silky for a companion for her and another larger laying hen. More eggssss!!!

I miss our Mischief boy. The garden is so quiet without his muffled crowing (which was not muffled quite enough!). I miss seeing him doing his rooster strut around the garden. I am positive that Frieda misses her son too, more so at night as he kept guard over her.

13 February 2014

13 February 2012

13 February 2011

Happy Valentine's Day (the only Catholic holiday I subscribe to, but only cos I'm lacking romance in real life!) for tomorrow. I hope you girls get wooed, and that the fellas get with the programme LOL. (As for me, I will be resorting to my usual comfort food, chocolate!)

Highlight of my valentines day....being told that I am infinitely less attractive than my lovely young neighbour. Quite miffed at that. I am just as attractive as her, only older. Sheesh...Men! Lucky he wasn't a lover or I think I'd knock his block off!

It's indicative of society's view though, that the older woman is no longer a contender for attraction to the male. Now I may have to prove this theory wrong! If I can be bothered...lol

13 February 2009

Sylvia Shine: HI SWEETIE,sorry about your broken romance,oh well [next]hope the play goes well and you enjoy yourself.How is Bella?How is your mum?You look after yourself,life ys short.wE ARE 6 WEEKS OFF OUR CRUISE,looking forward so much.Keep well,write soon all my love SYLVIA x x x x x x x

Copyright Tanya Désirée Arons