For Whom The Bell Tolls

I love Australia but…sometimes I want to throttle someone (maybe the ubiquitous “they”?) for the way we manage to get our priorities ass-up.

Let’s talk about tolls. We Aussies have an odd fascination with what we call “the road toll”. This is a national obsession in which we keep a tally each year of the number of deaths on our roads. We break it down via each state or territory and give it a lot of air time around busy, holiday times (like Easter) when we all love to get in our Holdens and go somewhere else.

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It’s an important issue, obviously nobody wants people dying in car accidents and education plays a vital part in the prevention of road death and trauma. Particularly when so many deaths could be avoided by small changes in behaviour – less speed, less drink driving and less marathon conversations with your best mate via text message whilst negotiating roundabouts. So you’ll get no complaints from me regarding the good intentions behind the road toll. Here’s where I find it all a little bit weird.

Our local newspaper recently printed page after page of stories, information and photos relating to the deaths of three Western Australians on our roads within a 24 hour period. Fair enough. Continue flicking a little further into the paper and there sits a lonely little column about a ten year old child in the north of our state who has committed suicide.

Ten. Years. Old. Not dead as the result of an accident, poor judgement, or a single mistake at a critical moment. Dead by choice at the age of ten. I went on to read various press articles regarding this unimaginable loss of a child and discovered many similar stories for the first time. An eleven year old boy who died by suicide in 2014, followed by the suicide of his mother nine months later. Three dead in our Goldfields region, buried side by side within five days of each other. Nineteen of our indigenous people dead by suicide since December last year.

Where is the outcry regarding these deaths? Where is the National Suicide Toll within our media highlighting that some years, we lose twice as many people to suicide than to our roads? Why are road deaths so fascinating for us to hear about while our children killing themselves is a taboo topic?  I suspect that many of these suicides of our children are ignored in the media because they are often our Indigenous children. From another part of this country. Where these things “just happen”. Not in our backyard and not of our concern.

As the Easter long weekend approaches, you’ll hear plenty across all forms of media about being careful on the roads. About double demerit points if you speed or do the wrong thing whilst driving. The Police Commissioner may make a plea to all drivers to be extra careful. You’ll certainly hear the road toll numbers. This year, do one more thing.

Ask yourself who are the unheard of others who have lost their lives this Easter weekend, preferring death to life in the “lucky country”?

If you or someone you know needs help, call Lifeline on 13 11 14 (24 hour support) or Beyond Blue on 1300 22 4636 (24 hour support). For urgent, life threatening emergencies please call 000 (Australia) or your country’s emergency line. For further information relating to suicide, depression and mental health, visit http://www.lifeline.org.au, http://www.beyondblue.org.au or http://www.youthbeyondblue.com.

 

 

Marching On…

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Are we there yet?

Despite being almost three months behind the eight ball, I’m determined to put some effort into this years project of change. I’m not the only one. I have a friend who announced she was having a “Year of Me” this year. Sounds wanky I know (I promise not to use the word “journey” at any stage throughout this…time of travelling from one area to another) however she actually deserves a year of her. I have other friends who are in their fourth consecutive “Decade of Me” celebrations. A year I can handle.

There truly is something about hitting the midlife mark that smacks you in the face with a big paddle that reads – YOU ARE SERIOUSLY RUNNING OUT OF TIME LADY. People you love die. They just off and go and then…they’re not there anymore. Even when you had a vague idea it was coming because they were almost 100 years old and Human Biology was one of few classes you didn’t wag in high school…it still comes as an enormous shock.

I used to chuckle to myself on the freeway if I passed some guy driving a red sports car with the rag top down (so his hair can blow) because he inevitably had no hair and was no Tom Selleck but rather a bald, middle-aged man. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

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You want hair baby? I got hair!

Now that I’m a fat middle-aged lady with greying hair, I completely understand this man. He’s not being vain or fantasising that all the young ladies in their Hondas may mistake him for Channing or one of those hard-chested Helmsworth brothers. The reality is, half his extended family have dropped dead, he attends more funerals than weddings and he’s been whacked across the back of his bald head with the YOU ARE SERIOUSLY RUNNING OUT OF TIME GEEZER stick. Buy that car buddy, they aren’t for sale in the afterlife.

Call me a slow learner but it’s taken me half a lifetime to work out that you only get a limited crack at this life business. So it’s time for a lifestyle overhaul consisting of various attempts to not die prematurely and crossing some stuff off my “Shit To Get Done Before I Die” List. Very challenging for someone who has trouble grasping that some form of preparation is required EVERY single day for that weird occasion that rolls around about 6pm when people get hungry. Or hangry.

I’ll do my best not to go too Oprah but here are my Top Ten ideas for the Winds of Change Project that you can eagerly anticipate reading about as this blog is born and blossoms.

  1. Declutter
  2. Detox
  3. Deal with Death
  4. Decide
  5. Discipline
  6. Dare
  7. Deliver
  8. Discover
  9. Dream
  10. Dance

Hope you can join in along the way.

 

Fabyouary

I’m off to a fab start, finessing my messy life at the start of the new year…in February*. Which shall henceforth be known as Fabyouary. Not to be confused with Fannuary in any way, shape or form. We all know the bush is back.

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Let’s take stock. It’s Fabyouary and I am forty, fat and frustrated. Midlife crisis? Quite possibly. Peri menopausal madness? Potentially. Woman gone wobbly? For sure. I’m a donkey on the edge. It’s the slow creep of inevitable death that pushes you into this mindset. Waking up suddenly and realising that half your life has dribbled down the drain while you were looking out the bathroom window. And that everything you thought you knew about yourself is complete horseshit.

So Fabyouary is about going all George Costanza and doing the opposite of what I’d normally do. Drive my own bus, give up giving a shit, wake up early, catch the worm, find my inner core and then don’t lose it under a pile of paperwork on the floor.

From chaos to creativity. Here we come.

*Well, it was February when I wrote this. Clearly more finessing required.