Expectations From Others

Published June 30, 2025 by helentastic67

Sometimes, there are little things about having a disability that you would never imagine or believe.

People will always imagine everyone treats me as a human being that deserves respect, love and support and that might feel fair and truthful for some of the time. However, on occasion someone you least expect will throw their emotional baggage at you they refuse to deal with themselves, I gather.

When I’m depressed, I hibernate to minimise fallout on others. I’ve found biting and hissing at others just makes them less likely to sign up for more.

It’s not for everyone. It’s not even good for a long-term solution for anyone with mental health issues. But I like to consider I’m taking responsibility for my issues and not projecting my shit on others. But other times, when someone wants to pick a fight with me, they will throw it in my face that I’m uneducated.

I’m sorry! Did you hear me?

About ten-years-ago I had an OT ask me “How far I made it in school?” I was offended. I finished secondary school. Then completed three years of Tertiary, Arts, sure, however, I’ve since completed a leadership course of which this blog was my project. I also did part of a Certificate IV in assessment and training but don’t even start me on that.

I never had to do a four-thousand-word essay until my first year of tertiary. My art history lecturer thought my presentation on Pop Art and the artists Andy Warhol and Roy Lichtenstein was brilliant. I know it may sound like I’m justifying but!

One thing I would never do is kick anybody when I’m struggling so I feel better about myself. So, you may be able to tell I’m having a hard time.

Sometimes, being one-handed, having half one’s eyesight, not being able to see. Work catches up on me. And as per I’ve some blogging to catch up on. I really don’t like blogging as a reactionary measure because I like to let the dust settle but maybe I need to rant.

Then I foresee many posts to context the ranting. Alas, it is 12.30am, and while this is early, I feel I should call it a day. Unpacking this shit always feels like unpacking dirty laundry.

As Promised

Published February 9, 2025 by helentastic67

As Promised

This is as promised my fifth post in a session of writing. I’m on a roll. I might even try to finish open a more positive note. No promises see what I can do?

So, to give some context from all the things regarding my previous posts. For the last seven years I’ve rented an apartment through an affordability scheme. It was to take people off the public housing list but help landlords more than the tenant’s long term. The scheme ran for ten years, of which I benefited only the last seven. The landlords of new developments for a period were asked to offer up several properties to be managed by the government in exchange for cheaper rent to the tenant and what they lost in rent they got back at tax time. You gotta have money to make money, right? It is to say, I got to live in a complex with normal people not in a public housing silo. It is also the time to say when I got into this housing arrangement some bright spark, (Note sarcasm) despite my telling him not to, he had me removed from the housing list.

Every year I had to sign a new lease and provide financials and income statements to prove I was the only resident and I still qualified as low enough income to qualify for the scheme. What a MOTHER FUCKER. Mind you I had to do it every year for the seven years I was there. Honestly, it’s a different mindset. Remember the days you just needed to prove you could afford the rent?

In the time I’ve been on the Disability Support Pension I’ve had rent assistance which despite my rent going up every time, mostly initiating me having to relocate. It’s like the government that decides how much rent assistance needs to be doesn’t pay rent, or live in the real world, or care to learn how much rent is. We know the answer to all these things. No, they don’t!

In the last twenty years, I’ve rented houses for 4 years, each HOUSES WITH HOUSEMATES and at the end of the fourth year I’ve not been able to negotiate out of a rent increase, the landlord situation changes and I’ve needed to pay exorbitant rent or move. So, I’ve moved.

The house I rented the first time I moved with my disability. I struggled to find something in my price range and I was literally paying someone’s mortgage. I only had housemates for four months of the year. I stayed there and even asked my dad, who helped me a few times to cover the rent even though I’d bankrupt him.

That household situation had me move further out again, to never want housemates again. The first housemate, I ended up taking to VCAT, AMD. The second that lived with me for three months and was years my senior and had a huge reduction on her portion of the rent and had her son practically live with us. No more. There was the assumption, the government was paying my rent and my lifestyle. So, she thought to take advantage of that.

The last of the scheme I was in I paid $317 a week. At the end of the scheme my rent was to be $550 per week. They wanted me to sign a lease and there was no way I was doing that. If I was going to pay that much rent it was going to be somewhere nicer and quieter. I paid two weeks of that rent and timed it perfectly to get the fuck out.

I later checked the rental listing and it was advertised as $500 per week. Just scum, I know this post is a lot of specific financially, but necessary.

I could have afforded the scheme amount of rent in a reasonably comfortable lifestyle until sixty, when my income changes and I could no longer keep a roof over my head or the lights and internet on.

Not giving up all my things that tell people who I was/am/aspire to return to or just giving in and moving to some shit-fuck suburb, I wouldn’t survive in around people who HAVE ASPIRED TO NOT DO BETTER OR CARE, or to do better in life.

This post has not ended on a positive note has it.

HellonWheels

Published April 29, 2024 by helentastic67

HellonWheels

You might have wondered why my last post saw me so fucking livid? I suggest that’s accurate and there is some context from that post relevant here.

Had a bit of a scooter out on hellonwheels today. It’s a Monday, often a stay-at-home day but stupidly, I booked my 5th Vax for Covid and out I went. I really enjoy going out on my scooter, my mind working overtime on all the things I need to write about, how freeing it is and how much I get to enjoy the independence my scooter brings me.

I stopped on my way home to chat to a new shop owner who looks to be the supplier of my next Messenger bag. So happy and I paused briefly at an intersection to make sure I did not get collected as I went around a weirdly parked tow-truck. It was to collect a small car with a two-initials brand logo, whose front end was a little dinted and the airbags had adequately deployed. Younger man standing sadly by the fence watching on with his hands in his pockets. I even stopped at the local post office to collect a parcel, the staff member seeing me coming came out from behind the counter to put my parcel in my hand. So, I could leave and the queue not so long. The woman in front of me looking questioning why I had been served first?

Scootered home checked letterbox. I can even do this while still seated on my scooter. Some fancy driving and reversing and turning enough to reach my keys from my bag on their elastic cord. Fang it around the corner, press the button on the fob in my pocket and while the garage door lifts, I reach back and remove my red flag to put in the back and I bob down a bit as I clear the gate. I normally fang it to the basement and back to my shed on B1 before putting her away stating I like to open her up a bit, the motor of course is not horses but electric, however it amuses everyone I’ve said this too.

However, seeing my scooter shed as I turned a corner, I was confronted by this!

Recall, I sent to my neighbour in my previous post how Chef would name and shame people? So, the above photos, I flicked a short but polite text to my neighbour. To my understanding she doesn’t live here anymore but her adult children do. But I spent several hours messaging her, my property manager etc, to remedy this insult. I was ignored by my neighbour. My property manager got onto the OC, the other tenants then a tow-truck company to remove the bike.

Don’t Worry

Published March 28, 2022 by helentastic67

Don’t Worry

We have made our way out of the 2nd Covid lockdown in Melbourne 2020 and people have been talking about all the vivid dreams they were having. ‘Only during Covid’ I ask. I always have very vivid dreams; I greet my carers in the morning with “I had a crazy dream!”

They literally shrug their shoulders like “What’s new?” years ago, I had to start what has become a tradition. I said to a friend “I had a dream; you were in it” he then made a bit of a hopeful questioning noise and I responded, “Don’t worry we had clothes on” To his great disappointment.

Evil laugh.

So, ever since I’ve always stated that line on every comment when I’m telling someone they were in my dream the night before. You were in my dreams last night. Don’t worry, we had our clothes on and I’ve often received responses. “Why would you say that?” A little disturbed.

So, try it next time you have a dream and someone is in it. Tell them they featured and they had their clothes on. Then explain the context.

Is this how legends begin?

Birkies – Part 3

Published January 24, 2020 by helentastic67

Birkies – Part 3

Yes, I’m finally getting back to it, part three. I’ve given you the context, but the reason you needed the context was for this part. I had a dream the other day, I don’t generally dream about places I’ve lived except the previously mentioned house I lived with my favourite housemate “B”.

For a few years I lived there alone with B and after a year of the house being in some form or other of needing repairs after a horrible storm, where I was home alone trying to prioritise if I rescued my thing’s or B’s (The answer is both, but mine first) and the last few years (we were there four years all up) my then boyfriend moved in, making it cleaner and cheaper.

But I dream about it sometimes, crazy dreams where I’m in my old bedroom, on a bed that isn’t made, the bed is higher off the ground and I’m leaning back against pillows and there are two young children (not mine, I don’t have any) playing on the bed.

My mum is out and girls are on the pillows around me. There are other details I recall from this dream too, but don’t seem relevant and I remember them for weeks without any idea why this seems important to revisit.

I’ve recently increased my very mild anti-depressants to help with my “Crazy Bitch Hormones” and sleeping problems. Although the dreams are getting weirder and my desire to hurt people has not diminished.

I’m debating with whether this as the happiest time in my life and this is why my subconscious returns there? But the dreams are always vivid and immaculately detailed.

Why am I hiding under the round formed dining table in the room that was B’s bedroom? What am I even doing inside? How can they not see me?

Can the manufacturers of anti-depressants get this shit sorted out? I never took drugs in the 90’s, so it’s all new to me and I don’t like it.

Sort this shit out please!

Birkies – Part 2

Published January 20, 2020 by helentastic67

Birkies – Part 2

Now, you may ask, did we ever work out who this neighbourhood passive/aggressive carpark stealer was? With the red Barina and the nickname for a company on the side?

Why yes, we did and I worked it out because I’m the cluey one in the house at the time. The following conversation I had with B is why I loved sharing with him.

I didn’t think of the name, but I knew he would tell me if I prompted him, this is how the conversation went.

“What’s the name of the women’s shoes?”

I know that didn’t actually help much and he answered as any self-respecting straight man would.

“I’m not good with women’s shoe brands.”

Turns out that was a lie.

“What are those shoes that German/Lesbian backpacker tourists wear?”

Before you get all OMG Helen, you didn’t. He replied swiftly.

“Oh, Birkenstocks.”

Yes. Oh, we laughed.

We had neighbours who were German (No offense) they had a house next door that was originally two houses, they bought that, had been renovated to make a bigger house. Eventually, after we moved out and our house was sold, they bought it and renovated it after four years and merged it into theirs.

They had family live out here for six months every year to be with their family. Ok, that’s done. Now the reason I had to give you that context?

Burkies – Part 1

Published January 17, 2020 by helentastic67

Burkies – Part 1

Ok, the next two short posts are purely context for the third, I now must write today. So, bare with me and strap in for a bit of a chuckle.

When I was first diagnosed in 2007, I lived with my favourite housemate down in Clifton Hill. My favourite housemate even in twenty years of sharing, will as he has in the past, go by the name of ‘B’. The street we lived on ‘F’. We lived on a corner of ‘F’ and whatever the side street was.

During peak hour F street became the alternative route for people not wanting to use Hoddle Street, which was once described by my friend Frank as the carpark. Clifton Hill often had many commuters drive from the outer suburbs, so they could catch the tram from there to work.

The home was brick veneer and our bedrooms were right at the front of the house, surprisingly not as noisy to sleep as you might think.

We had a tiny bathroom, an equally small kitchen with an old Aga, where I stored my gladwrap, foil and such. To put it in perspective, an Italian couple had immigrated to Australia back in the 40’s and this was their first home, where they had, had and raised their children before moving out to the suburbs (as they did).

We had an outside toilet; we did have a garage and possums in the backyard which I fed bread. No, don’t eat that, eat the bread. That’s my finger! Eat the bread!

Anyway, I digress, B parked his car at the front of F street and occasionally he would not be able to park in this spot and he would become quite grumpy.

We consulted over this mysterious red car that was in ‘his’ spot. It was a little red Barina and it has stencilled letters on the side. You know, like those for Tupperware or Mary Kay or Avon.

Anyway, even if you know who is parking in your car spot, you can’t really say anything to them because it seems you are being rude. You resolve this dilemma in all good neighbourhood squabbles with the appropriate passive/aggressive culture of you just keep your car there until they stop trying to park there.

Anyway, B didn’t drive his car for a good few months, maybe he couldn’t afford his rego or whatever. B decided to sell it.

One particular Saturday, he called RACV who were out the front getting his car started. That afternoon, a woman came to see the car and buy it. Ironically, she had gotten a job as a Personal Carer (Support Worker) and needed a car. What a small world.

After the sale was completed, I was moving from one room to another and saw B standing inside the front door, which was timber and glass and he was (from where I was) hugging the door. I thought maybe he was sad to see his car go. He had inherited it from his grandmother.

I went past him a second time and he was still there, so I prompted him “Are you OK?” his reply came after a few moments. A car engine idled in the distance.

“Yes, I’m just making sure she got through the lights down the street and it didn’t conk out” or something to that affect, he was concerned she would come back insisting on a refund.