Fears (Elysum)

Samantha

Samuel is such a pain! He permits me no freedom. He is just like father, standing with his back so fiercely upright that it looks as though he will break his spine. I hope he does, he is so horrible!

I am glad nobody knows I have this journal. Or, for that matter, that I can write as well as this. It is ever so exciting to keep a secret diary! Those months of practise behind the town hall were well spent indeed. It is upsetting to look back over the ugly entries I penned in the first pages of this diary.

However, I must transfer is location once more, as one of the new villagers was wandering around its hiding place earlier this morning. He was an elder, with hair white as summertime sun. He wore strange clothes and appeared very bedraggled. I watched him from my hiding place as he walked aroudn the back of the hall, treading carefully. His eyes were always on the woods right behind the hall.

The new families have been in the village for one week now. People have spoken of others coming to Elysum from neighbouring villages. There is a sense of worry in the air. Teresa said she heard from a travelling cloth merchant that he passed through Arcade Village and it was abandonned! However, nobody seems to know why people are leaving the surrounding villages, least of all the newcomers, who seem foreign and distrustful.

Father says the village council shall convene tonight to discuss what to do about the refugees from the other villages. The council do take their time to make decisions. Tonight will be the first night.

Newcomers (Elysum)

Samuel

We finished work on the lumber mill today. Jonathon and I spent all afternoon hammering in nails, while Peter and Jack solved the problem with the chimney-pipe. The exhaust had been billowing lighter-coloured smoke than was usual, and it came to be known that there was a blockage in the furnace. With a little force, and the aid of my keen eye, they were able to clear it out.

Upon my return home Samantha welcomed me to the home of our parents with a wreath of flowers collected from the edge of the forest, by the hollow tree trunk. She had taken some of the younger girls from the school out to pick flowers and make daisy chains.

I tried to warn her about what father would say on the matter, as he did not approve of girls or women going to the forest without an escort of men. It is simply too dangerous these days, with all the reports of wolves in the vicinity.

She bridled me for my vain efforts to control her, and to my own horror I pushed her roughly on the shoulders, a tone of anger flaring in my voice. I tried to temper this ill mood but she had run off, not hearing my calls of apology.

Alas, I cannot control the wonton behaviour of my sister. She is a waifish lass, the likes of whom tend to attract the fearsome attention of the village council, and the eyes of the unruliest men. I shall have to double my efforts to subdue her, and maintain my vigilance.

There have been rumours of more new arrivals to our peaceful village. With three score residents in Elysum this is a larger town, though I am not certain there is room for any more souls. The Timbers boy spoke of an old crone living alone in a shack, and that nobody knows from whence she came, except that she has been seen twice this past week.

However, I cannot dwell on such matters. There are other questions which are more pressing. For instance, I wonder if Elsbeth will be keen for a dance with me at the ball next month?

Dreamer

Magical ideation is a wonderful thing, but often hard to explain. It can seem alienating, as you try to tell others that you get vibes from situations and imagine impossible things occurring constantly, with full knowledge that they're happening only in your mind. The best explanation I can come up with is this:

The dream never truly ends; reality just slowly seeps in. Thoughts of people, things to do, responsibilities, all sink in, the weight of them layering upon like a heavy blanket. Gradually the memories of functional reality and psychic creation begin to separate, pulling apart strand by strand. It becomes clear that one lot of images will be phased out for the next 16 hours, and that conventionality must take precedence.

It never feels pleasant, this coming back into the world. The temptation to just float back into dream space is almost too great, and yet every day the battle is fought and lost. Willingly, I might add. The realisation befalls that there is responsibility and regular upkeep and social expectation all riding upon the ability to smother the magical thoughts and just get on with things. And so, you wake up, properly.

Throughout the day you permit yourself little secret pleasure by slipping back into the dream world, only for a moment. When walking between rooms and buildings, you imagine you're staggered throughout time, a cross-section flitting from one broken frame to the next, every decision about which direction to walk fracturing time and creating an alternate you. Or when sitting in the park at lunchtime, watching the imaginary grass roots split through your shoe and feed your feet with pulses of earthen energy, reinvigorating your soul. Or during conversations with people, when you touch your forehead in concentration, then pull your finger away with a slip of paper containing your real thoughts, letting it float down gently in the middle of you both, communicating and fully connecting with another human being.

That's what each day is like. It is magical and it is wonderful. It's also a little sad that I can't share this directly with anyone, or that some (few) people have reacted with a special mixture of abject fascination and befuddlement when I begin to explain how swiping my finger through the air creates a line of flame burning open a rift in the air, such that I can reach inside and grab a torch. They don't quite get that.

Luckily, I have you, dear reader, to whom to confess all of this. It's an isolating yet enriching experience, every single time.

-J

Opening

Welcome back, me!

Following an information session about a family therapy course I intended to study next year, I've decided that I no longer want to do it. Wow, that makes for a great story.

But wait. I heard about some of the other courses being run at the institute, and one of them was in Narrative Therapy. The counselling equivalent of folktalkes. It immediately piqued my interest. As the professor spoke about his humbled views on what the course had to offer - not just techniques and phrasing, but rather an entirely new perspective on working with people - I became transfixed. His words sang to me about a foundation for therapy which was far broader than that; it could shape the way I view everything.

My friend Thomas has often talked about storytelling and its potency for change and enlightenment, and I've always agreed with him (well, for the larger part), but we've never quite connected in our views. I could detail all the differences here, but the major themes are that we just use different theories and approaches. As I see it, his focus is more on numinous, emotional experience to guide us through life, whereas mine is more bent towards meshing body and mind towards reflective adaptation in the world. Basically, inner determines outer, versus its opposite.

That's not to say I disagree at all with his views, just that I find mine pull more weight. I'm curious to see how my focusing on the narrative experiences of people's lives will shape the way I see myself. Because that's really the driving force behind studying this. What I learn about the world and people, I learn about myself.

Hence, keeping a journal for this might be a good idea. See what happens!

-J

Defenders

Social work. A profession where they train you to be a Swiss Army Knife, equipping you with skills and tools to be able to work across a broad range of fields, from mental health to homelessness to families to drug & alcohol to disability to unemployment to refugees to forensics to aged care to cultural diversity to whatever. We are fashioned into capable workers such that we can apply a multidimensional approach to whatever field we head into, to remain forever aware of the other areas of human life and diversity in order to provide the most beneficial services possible.

The two main criticisms of social work are that it [a] is undefinable, and [b] fosters dependence. While I agree with both these points, I also have strong opposing arguments opposing, and I'd rather talk about them

Firstly, social work is very broad and difficult to quantify. This makes it troublesome to promote, or sell. You ask an engineer what their profession is about and they'll have a quick answer for you. Ask a social worker and they'll fumble for a minute then talk about their own particular brand of work. As far as I can see, this is the simplest and most definitive answer:

"Social work is about helping to improve the lives of disadvantaged people, through direct practice with people and advocating for systemic policy change."

Still a bit of a mouthful, but you could shrink it further to "helping disadvantaged people" and you'd be pretty much on the money. If asked how you go about doing this, you could further add that it's through counselling, case work, community education, rallying community support, and informing policy change.

The primary model used is that person-in-environment model, which looks at the multitude aspects of a person's life including inner world (biology, psychology, spirituality), their family, their community, the services system around them, their culture, and the time period in which they've lived and currently live. Hope that clarifies.

Secondly, there is a common view that providing services to disadvantaged people will discourage them from forming their own coping skills as they can easily fall back on the service system to provide, therefore making them become a 'drain' on the economy. One of the most powerful features of social work is that it focuses on self-determination, and the best application of this is when people can foster their own resilience. If you take away the 'safety net' then many people will crumble, and this will create a ripple throughout generations of people who aren't able to learn how to cope because of their disadvantage.

Taking money away from the service system makes little sense, unless you are replacing it with something else. The sad truth is that so many people's lives are very fucked up. Limiting or removing their opportunity to access supports which can help them is the stupidest thing a government can do. For example, more and more research, reviews and analyses are informing government that money spent improving the healthcare system (including health education, counselling, specialist services) is a bucket load more money saved in other costs such as economic burden, acute healthcare, and counselling.

Whilst some people are dependent upon the system, it's important to put this into perspective: a great deal more people are not. Some people benefit from one or two short-term interactions with the public service system, and then go about their lives. For other people who require more intensive and longer-term support, think of the cost if they had fewer services. Acute healthcare costs would blow out of proportion; the prison system would be bursting at the seams; some suburbs would become veritable 'dumping grounds' for problematic groups, and then years later Australia would be faced with young people who have suffered significant intergenerational trauma and are perpetuating the cycle.

This already happens. The entire social services sector is unable to cope with the demands from the public. It is not possible to expect them to be able to meet these needs. Some people need significant support through case management and treatment, which further limits services' capacity to work with a greater number of people. Aiming for quantity over quality is not an option when people's lives and livelihoods are at stake, and failing to act in an appropriate and timely manner often leads to more entrenched problems which are more costly to address later.

For many people accessing a social service is something they only do when they aren't able to cope with all their current supports (i.e. personal resilience, family, friends, work, etc.). That is why they needs are so complex; they've exhausted several other avenues. Disallow them from accessing a service and the drain to their current supports will be even greater. Rarely will there be an 'elegant' solution such as they resolve their issues enough to function better, or they die without affecting anyone in any way. You don't live with disadvantage without learning some survival skills, even if their long-term impacts are destructive on yourself or on other people.

So anyway, social work isn't just what "do-gooders" do in their spare time. It's an incredibly challenging and incredibly rewarding field, often at the same time. Every day I alternate between feeling powerless to affect change, and feeling wholly inspired because I see someone positively influence their life and take back control. Curiously, my aim is to make myself redundant in their life: I hope that every one of them is able to deal with their own problems effectively and without having to fall back on someone else. Should they need, though, they can always ask for help.

-J

Consultation

Today I had a consultation with a psychologist. I had initially booked myself in for an assessment, however changed my mind for three reasons: [1] the appointment would be sooner, [2] it was $680 cheaper, and [3] I was unsure as to whether a full assessment was necessary.

I sat with him for an hour, explaining what my childhood and adolescence were like and why I'd come to see him now. We talked theories, clinical signs, what I could do well and what I struggled with. He ran a couple of preliminary tests, and they indicated that I was kinda halfway, not in one camp or the other. The end result was actually exactly what I'd expected but not what I'd hoped for. I left with all my intuitive beliefs confirmed, but without a proper resolution.

Turns out I have a number of traits of Asperger's Syndrome, however they are presently subclinical. Had I gone for this assessment 20 years ago, the results would more likely have been conclusive. Asperger's doesn't just appear out of nowhere - it tends to be present from birth. The major difference between now and then is, I've learnt a whole range of social skills, and therefore have enough Theory of Mind to survive and thrive in social situations.

Damn.

What I wanted was something definitive, pushing one way or another. I wanted some deep-seated issues to be brought to the surface so that I could deal with them directly, and begin to feel, well, normal. Instead, I've become so adept at functioning in public life through repeated exposure that not only can I get along well around others, but I've turned it into a great personal strength such that I now teach those skills to people.

I've learnt to act so well that often I feel a strong obligation to continue the performance, by spending all my time around people. I've managed to convince myself that this 'tethers' me to the world so that I don't retreat completely inside my own mind. I still do that to an extent, and am easily (and constantly) worn out by social situations, but still I do it, day in day out.

My most recent learning (yes, it took me a long time to come to this) was that I don't need to be around people so much. I've grown to think myself both invaluable to them and they so intrinsic to my survival. that I need constant contact. Since I began acting as if I had Asperger's I've been spending more time by myself, politely denying company in favour of solitude. Not overly so, but definitely more than usual. And I love it!

So maybe that's the next step. Act as if. I've been doing that my whole life around other people, so perhaps it's time to do it with myself. Tricky tricky, but I'm sure I can rise to the challenge. I've been pushing myself hard continuously since near the end of high school, so this shouldn't be any different. Except maybe it'll make things a lot easier for me.

It's a wonderful thing, to know you can relax in your own skin. I've always been quirky, and this seems like the prime time to allow myself to tone down the moderating of that in public. Watch this space!

-J

Shopkeep

Following an incident at a kebab shop, I wrote this on the tram:

"All these horrible stores and their angry shopkeeps, complaining they don't get enough trade throughout the day, or that the trade is insufficient and inadequate or just that the people they service are fallible and rude and despicable. These shopkeeps latch onto you and impress their misfortune upon you, the unsuspected and innocent visitor to their premises. You, of course, are just the clientele they desire; you possess their every desired quality you are a paragon of virtue, you represent a beacon of light and hope to them, tethered to their wave-washed rock in the storming sea of pitiful insignificance. They must be so glad to have your ear on these matters, you who are so very sympathetic and understanding of their plight and can recognise their many great strains as they battle this non-present tide of awful customers, none of whom are privy to such information. You are amongst their limited rollcall, a select few who are lucky enough to be bombarded by their travails and insufferable, intolerable pain.

The shopkeep rants on and on, indebting you with their knowledge, requesting in a subtle manner that you acquiesce to what they are saying, nod your approval to their claims, validate their temper and entire existence. But when they talk, it is at you, not to you, as you fulfil your dutiful role as a willing audience member who has dragged on stage for some macabre act, and for the delight of the sadistic performer, that ineffable shopkeep. You feel shrunken in their presence, in their clutches; merely a puppet to dance to their angry tune, the melody sombre and irascible, the speed increasing with every poison-barb word uttered and thrown with sheer aggression at the corrupted multitudes of other patrons who plague their business. Your silence begs them to proceed, unleashing another stream of vitriol directed at the world in general. They are miserable, and they love company that doesn't visibly get upset and walk away with impunity.

As you begin the gradual process of collecting your purchase, they increase the pace, in the vain hope you will stick around to listen. But they do not think, "You must have a life to go to!" They are far too internalised and narrow-sighted - mistaking blunt selfishness for introspective wisdom - and want tot have their unreasonable demands heard.

Yet, you recall the inevitable drift towards separation that is a necessary component of your engagement with this individual (not to mention, your sanity hastens this breakaway). You edge toward the door, having paid your dues and therefore officially terminated this economic relationship, turn your head longingly towards the exit door, and shorten your replies to monosyllabic murmurs. This shopkeep, reading the signals of their defeat, accepts your non-committal responses as rallying to their cause, and leaves you be.

You depart, not a moment too soon. You wonder at your staying power amidst the tirade you've just encountered. Your purchases lays in your hands, somewhere between a victor's spoils and an apologist's oblation. Was it really worth it? You hope so, and with a flickering thought to the shopkeep, that irrational being who unavoidably consumed your time, you stride forward, adding distance between you and them."

-J