Waiting at the bus stop

I’m just going to write.

For the most part I do ok, I bury myself in the internet, which I’m good at, but I do it because I’m very sad inside, and I’m continually on the search for an escape route.

I use the bus stop as a metaphor, the bus comes, people get on, and they change or they vanish, they move into a new home, or get some new exciting job, or fall in love, or die.

I never get on the bus, it comes and goes with regularity, I want to go, so badly.

When I had the cancer, I got my ticket, it wsn’t the best ticket I could have had, but at least it was a ticket… and I gave it up.

And often I ask myself why.

Having survived, which I did for Mum and Myself, but mostly for her… It was one year later that I lost her anyway, Mum and I got on so well, and being without her breaks my heart.

I did give Katie a life, without me, all she would have got was the needle, she’s had six years more, and that is something I don’t regret.

I have lost a part of my hearing, I loved music, and since this accident I have been quite depressed… music no longer tickles my ears, I have memories of music that I loved, but I mostly enjoy it in my head, sound is not nice anymore.

And now, if you’ll permit, the strange bit.

You see, this “furry” thing is quite serious with me, I took a survey on this recently and one question was “Do you feel like an animal trapped in a human body” Well yes, yes I do.

And this my friends is not somehing I felt after seeing some “weirdo” talk about their odd furry companions… this is how some people feel anyway.

I was feeling like this as far back as the 80′s, and we didn’t have internet then.

I’d like to fall in love, I would *love* to fall in love, but you understand… there’s nobody, there’s just me.

It’s like the earth coughed out another species and that was me, and there’s nobody else.

I don’t do relationships because I feel so awkward because of this, I so so desperately want to be loved, but there’s this, here, and I don’t know what to do with it.

It’s not like I see someone about it in an effort to be cured, unless homosexuals can be cured, unless transexuals can be cured.

And understand that this is not about my sexuality, this bit, it’s about my inner-being, the part which is more ME than anything else.

My heart goes out to the Gay community and so forth, because I know how it aches,
but… I don’t know how to deal with it.

What am I? Where do I fit in? Why am I stuck here like this?

The pain I have inside is just dreadful, I often feel I’m not wanted, I really try so hard to be wanted.

I want Mum and Dad back, I can’t tell you how much I miss them.

When someone gets on the bus, sometimes I’m happy for them, other times, when things go wrong, it’s awful.

Sometimes I’m just a tiny bit envious.

I’m a little scared of writing this, this is about me, not you, I know some of you are hurting too… I was once in a chat room, many years ago, talking to someone who was depressed, in much the same way I am now… the next day I found they had taken their life.

So don’t take this on board if you’re sad, I’m just having a downer, tomorrow life will go on as usual and I’ll be here.

Wolfie!

That dream.

Mum was in bed, it was daylight, and she had the sheets pulled up close around her head, like she was almost hiding, only her face was showing

she looked depressed, her eyes were closed

I asked her “What’s wrong Mum?”

She replied “You don’t love me anymore”

And apart from me trying to counter her suggestion, and her not budging from her case, that was it.

It left me feeling somewhat disturbed all day.

My Short Fuse

The PE teacher at high-school, who I almost bit on the ankle once, said that if we should ever feel angry, we should beat up our pillows… I was against that, for one thing, I’m a passive sort of fellow who rarely go angry… I think it’s because I’m large. You never see Clydesdale horses who are pissed off, they’re calm and together, while Shetlands bite. It’s the same with Dogs… Nine times out of ten it’s the little dog who’s full of agro, while your larger dog couldn’t care less.

And I am passive… oh you noticed that bit about taking a chunk out of the PE teachers ankle, eh? well yes, there was that, In the 80s Physical Education was a bit like boot camp, do this, do that, twenty pushups from you for doing the wrong thing… it was supposed to cultivate respect, or something… But I just thought he was a prick.

One day I was made to do these pushups for some crap I had apparently done, and he was standing, right there, within easy reach, and I was tempted, oh so sorely tempted to sink my teeth into his ankle, seriously too, drawing blood and all.

I was mostly angry with him, I hated sports and PE, and I hated wasting my time with it when I could’ve been laying around in the library, absorbing a book on inventions.

I stopped bringing my uniform, and kept saying “I forgot it, sir” which really meant “I didn’t bring it, you skinny cunt, I don’t want to join in”.

Once he bought me a huge pair of shorts, which would have fitted Dumbo, and asked me to put them on… I was torn between wearing them and having the balls to say that I wouldn’t… but years later realised what I shoud’ve done was streak naked through the high-school, who’s main building seperated each classroom with massive sheets of glass, making sure that everyone would’ve got a good view… and I would’ve been expelled, a good job too, I hated the place something fierce.

Sometimes I think that I am an angry person, that deep inside something is bubbling away like a sleeping volcano that may erupt.

I have no tolerance for religion anymore, it’s something that got in my way, stunted my views, tripped me up, blocked my path and basically made life difficult.

When I aired my views to my dear but brainwashed Mum, She yelled out “You’re a Heathen, Just like your Father”, What could a kid do? Although there were times that Mum raised her own doubts.

Dad used to say that he thought the Bible was “A big fish story”.

I highly suspect the reason I was packed off to Sunday School when I could have spent the day resting, was Mum was having problems with my emerging sexuality, and wanted to put the fear of God into me… not that the sunday school people were like that, they were pretty nice people, Not the fire and brimstone type.

Or it was to do with My Cousin who was going through relationship problems, so they’d send all the kids to sunday school to give them a free hours woman to woman chat.

There was a touch of tradition there too, Mum and my Sister had attended, and Mum had a family background with the Salvos and their band.

The first time I saw cancer, it was with Laddie, my very special collie x shepherd, who was my right arm, rather like Katie is today, it was always Laddie and I who did things together.

Laddie taught me responsibility.

Then the cancer came along, and he literally mented like an ice-cream in the sun, I prayed and prayed for him, but nothing could be done, and in the end he died at the vets surgery, just an hour before he got the needle.

I saw a tumour grow in Timothy, a lovely cat, this ball grew inside him at frightening speed, and there was nothing I could do about it, He was put down too.

The next was Dad, who writhed in pain in bed, he had tubes hanging out of him, and there was this smell, it’s always the same smell, like rotting wood, I know what cancer smells like now, I’m too familiar with it, it lingers in the room.

Dad would rush to the toilet and cry out in pain as he tried to move his bowels, there was a mess on his hands, on the walls, a pervasive odour of urine in stained Pyjamas. Dad was a giant, full of brawn and it whittled him down to this, there were prayers again, not that any of them did any good.

Benny, My lovely Malamute, which Dad gave to me after Laddie passed on, was out gentle giant, a loving being who adored everyone, including cats, especially cats, but never other dogs, even females. He taught me how to be open, and be myself, and not worry what others thought, Benny was the escense of Wolfie, had it not been for him, I would never have come this far. He could really let rip with his deep howls, which were useful as Mum lost most of her hearing in the weaving mills years before, She couldn’t always hear the phone ring, but Benny could, and it would get him howling… “What did the phone say?” We’d ask him, and he’d howl in reply… Visitors loved the show, and Benny was always very keen to show off to people.

Benny got cancer, and I prayed, I prayed a lot, but he withered away until eventually his back legs couldn’t hold him, he cried as the vet examined him in our Bathroom, He couldn’t move. His cries sounded like “Oh No!, Oh No!, Oh No!” It was like someone was mourning a child who had just been run over by a train, the sound stabbed me like a knife.

He was given the “green needle” and off he went, we carried him off in a bag.

There was myself, who I’ve written about before, so we’ll skip this.

Then I smelt that smell in Mums Room, That same musty odour, and I told her it was there, I knew that one of us had it, or the carpet was damp, I hoped for the latter, but it wasn’t long before Mum passed on.

Then the phone went one night and it was my Sister, She had Ovarian Cancer… She fought it for over a year, and I really thought she was gaining th upper hand, but she didn’t. Three lots of chemo I think she had, three lots?
I could barely handly one lot… I didn’t think She was as strong as that, and was amazed with her fight, but it was a fight that she lost, and she was cremated last September.

So don’t talk to me about how great your God is, how merciful, and how wonderful he is, there was no help from above. If God was so great, then why did we get cancer in the first place? why were we all forced to suffer? why was I allowed to remain alive even though all my family are dead?

Religion is my trigger now, it sets me off quicker than anything.

I despise it.

God botherers on twitter get a mouthful of abuse if they try to suggest that as an athiest, I’m wrong, I’m not wrong, I know from painful experience that I’m not wrong.

I hate being angry, I really do… there was a time that I was more tolerant, but I can’t be now.

In my opinion, religion has held back science to such a degree that had it been allowed, then perhaps medicine may have been decades ahead of itself, and perhaps there would have already been a cure, perhaps… my family would have still been alive.

I seethe with rage everytime some nut says that “Evolution is just a theory”.

Personally I think Science ought to be using a new word, call it a “fact” instead, get rid of that stupid word, why is science so precious about it anyway, If the whole of Australia suddenly feels that what we used to call biscuits are actually Cookies (Because as you know, The Americans are ALWAYS right, and as a second class country, we’re just not as good as them, they just know better) Then “Theory” can be changed to “FACT.

Science can do this, because unlike some people, we have that flexibility.

So I fight religion now, each and everytime I come up against it, I blog on athiesm, I retweet stories about how catholic priests rape kids and treat Homosexuals poorly, claiming they spread AIDS while simultaniously banning condoms, I post scientific literature on Facebook and discuss it in science forums, I add my voice to the many who are waking up from history and seeing the logical truth which we can clearly see in our age.

Religion is dying, allow it to die, it’s a sad relic of our tribal history.

So please forgive my little explosions on twitter and other places, I really hate being angry, but these days I am just a little more bitter than I’ve been before.

Wolfie!

The first time that I was a disappointment to a girl.

The 80′s was a rough time for me, I went to a school which scared me because others there were violent or just bullies or a combo of both, I had a few friends, but they were very timid too. I hated the place.

And I was going through puberty, strange things were happening to my body that made me feel shame, I had nobody to talk with about sex, I kept everything sexual under cover, it was never mentioned… I’d even shave till my skin was red to make out that nothing was happening, I never mentioned the shaving, I was dreadfully embarrassed about it as it was proof that I was growing up, although evidence of it could be seen, it was never mentioned, My Mum knew, but she didn’t know how to approach the problem, I think she tried once, but there was shouting and she backed down.

Dad just never seemed to notice anything.

My Cousin kept talking about girls and sex, quite openly and I didn’t like it, it made me feel uncomfortable.
He kept asking me when I would try it on with someone.

I kept telling Mum and Jan (My Sister) that I never would, but they’d give me the look and say that it’d be different when I was older.

Jan kept asking me when I’d make her an Aunt, half serious, half joking.

There came a point when I was in my 30s that they both realised that it wasn’t going to happen.

I fell in love with a girl once, when I was at high school, the whole thing came to a head while on an excursion somewhere with the school. I felt my feet floating off the ground, She never knew of course, She was my little red headed girl.

Anyway, teenage years.

My Cousin, had offered to take us out to his mates Italian restaurant, which had tables around a small dancefloor which nobody was using. I think we, the seven of us, Mum, Dad and I, My Cousin (Daryl) his Wife, Inga (Who was lovely) and their new baby, Kama. were one of only a few parties there.

I have a feeling this was all a bit pre-meditated by Daryl, it seems the kind of thing he’d do, I can’t believe that something like this would just happen out of the blue.

A girl, some girl, came over to the table and asked me if I wanted to dance. There was nothing wrong with her, I remember she was a little heavy, had pale skin and I’m pretty sure that she was blonde, she was nicely dressed and seemed nice.

I was confused, who was this person?

I couldn’t dance, what did she expect of me?

I knew that I’d be making a complete fool of myself, so I politely turned down her request.

She tried again, perhaps it seemed that if she whined enough, I’d get up and dance with her, that seemed to be a ploy that worked in the movies where the guy decides to be a gentleman, gets up, treats the lady to a dance and maybe they talk later, and she slaps his face or they kiss or James Bond turns up and the place gets shot up

I turned down her offer once more.

She was now pulling on my jacket, quite forcefully, Daryl was giggling, and I was feeling trapped and worried.
“No!” I yelled “Leave me alone!”

And She dropped me, I sat down and watched her walk away, crying.

I’m not sure how old I was, maybe fifteen.

Once in a while I think about this moment in time and wish it had been different, Yes she had gone about things the wrong way, but what if she’d been told that I loved dancing and if she pushed me, then I probably would have done so?

I wonder if this is what caused me to build that wall?

I love people, I love company, but there’s no love, falling in love is something I don’t do.

That evening was the last time I made a girl cry, and I’m sorry, I wish I could tell you that I’m really sorry.

Wolfie!