This story takes place in the early days of a relationship where young love, infatuation and the desire to impress got the better of us and put us in a situation where we could have easily lost our young lives.

It was 2008 and I was living in Hervey Bay at the time. I had recently met a young woman we will call Lisa at a mate’s 21st, who was living in Rainbow Beach, a small beach town about 90 minutes away with a population of just over 1,000. We started seeing each other every other weekend, some weekends she would come up to mine, others I would go down to hers.

One Sunday afternoon we were at her’s in Rainbow Beach drinking at her place and doing what young lovers do. We had lost track of time and it was about 8 or 9 pm. We didn’t have anything to eat and decided to go out for dinner. I remember we had made a conscious decision that she should drive as I was still on a provisional license and wasn’t allowed any alcohol in my system, whereas she was on her opens and was allowed some leeway. Over the course of the afternoon, we had drunk just under half a bottle of vodka between us, I was a little bit drunk but felt fine to drive, I assumed she was the same. We drove into the one street town, and everything was shut. The fish ‘n chip shop, chinese takeaway, IGA, and even the local pubs. We tried one last ditch effort for an expensive restaurant that was a couple of minutes out of town.

It was a long straight road out to the restaurant, the road was elevated with tall swamp grass either side of it. At the end of the road there was a 90 degree bend, we were probably approaching it at about 80 km/hr and I remember telling Lisa to slow down. In retrospect this probably should have been a warning sign that I should drive, however I didn’t pay much attention to it at the time. We got to the restaurant and it too was shut, so we headed home. On the way back the shoulder of the road was under some repair with the edge not sealed with bitumen. Lisa was driving with the outside two wheels on the dirt and the other two wheels on the bitumen. It made me a bit nervous but I sat back and tried to relax, I was used to being in cars with drivers who liked to push things to the limit and would often take on a nonchalant attitude.

As I stated before the road was straight and Lisa was slowly gaining speed. I noticed at the end of the construction zone where the road repair wasn’t occurring there was some tree in our path that we would have to get back onto the bitumen to avoid. I assumed Lisa would do this, however we kept approaching them at speed. I grew more uneasy and at the last second I screamed out “watch out!”. She quickly turned the vehicle off to the right back onto the road but over corrected, she tried to recover but we went skidding off the road into the swamp land. The car rolled and we both had our seat belts on but I remember a weightless feeling as we got flung in all directions, not being able to discern anything out of the front windscreen and thinking “okay, so this is what it feels like to flip a car”. We finished up with the car on its roof, I had adrenaline pumping and unbuckled quickly and went around to Lisa’s side of the vehicle to help her get out. We were both fine physically but Lisa was in a bit of shock. We had water up to our ankles and tried to make our way back to the road, we did this by making our way through the tall swamp grass at the back of the car, but we didn’t get very far at all. The grass was thick and its edges sharp, giving us paper cuts as we tried to push through it. After about 5 minutes we had only made it about 1 or 2 meters, so we decided to give up, get some rest and wait for another car or daylight to come. So we lied down in the cold, wet, uncomfortable grass for a bit and Lisa started to cry. I comforted her, and asked her what she wanted to do. She wasn’t sure but she knew she didn’t want to stay there all night. So I suggested that she stay by the car and I would have another attempt at finding the road. This time I followed the track that the car had left in the swamp, I followed it for about 15 m and came out at the road. I turned out that the car was pretty much right next to the road but at a perpendicular angle with the headlights shining onto the embankment. Thus, in our original attempts we were actually going in the complete wrong direction.

I helped Lisa onto the road and we walked back to her house.

In the morning, we returned back to the car and noted two things. There were 3 distinct divots in the swamp which we suspected each represented one revolution of the car. The other thing of note was there was a solid power line pole pretty much right on where we left the road. How we missed it, we have no idea, and if we didn’t things could have turned out very different.

After the crash I felt responsible, I thought the car was a write off, although it did eventually get back on the road. We looked up its market value at the time, which was $8,000, I insisted Lisa take $4,000 from me as I believed I should pay half. It was a substantial part of my life savings at that time in my young life, but I simply felt it was the right thing to do.

Following the incident when questioned what had happened? Our response was that something just jumped out in front of us, people assumed it was a bush turkey. From then on bush turkeys got a lot of the blame for things that went wrong in our relationship.

I headed home via the inner city bypass. On the way, a portable sign was flashing “Construction” – “This exit”, observing it as I approached it appeared to me that the timing was slightly changing between the change in words. Intrigued I took the exit.

I drove slowly looking for the construction. It was there but it wasn’t significant. As I passed I looked around, I was passing the hospital. After the construction, nothing was really significant, so I turned around with efforts towards heading home. While coming up to the hospital however, there was a sign indicating that parking was too the left. I took the turn.

As I drove into the backend of the hospital, there were parks available but they were all assigned. Eventually, I found a park assigned to the handicapped. Under normal circumstances, I would disdain able-bodied people taking such carparks, however, I thought it was fitting given my current condition. Used to parking in tight spaces I parked hugging a wall on the drivers’ side as close as I could folding in my mirror. Why I was just showing off how I could still operate under fatigue and pressure.

I exited the car through the passenger side and continued to explore the hospital grounds. I came across a sign that gave directions, to the left was family units, knowing my family history, I thought this was a fitting starting point. I walked down the hill and found a building dedicated by a politician with the last name of Austin. After operating on an average of about four hours of sleep a night for the past month, I was quickly becoming past wit’s end and had a small break down at this seeming revelation that an Austin was of some significance.

I continued on my journey trying to open a bin of documents to be shredded with my multi-tool, I gave up quickly, my tool was not strong enough. Dawn was fast approaching at this point, and I am pretty sure a shift change was coming on as people were trickling into the hospital. I stopped an individual and asked where the security was, he gave me directions and told me to look out for motorcycles.

As I was walking up the hill, I noted steam coming from the building with a flashing red light and a sign warning ‘danger’. I was scared. I noted the sign was by a door. Not one to run from my fears, I walked up to the door, it wasn’t locked when I opened it, the room it revealed was pitch black. I stepped in and the door slammed shut behind me with a sudden rush of wind. I stood still in the moment and absorbed my fear, I could see a small crack of light under a door directly in front of me, and after adjusting my eyesight to the dark, apparent boilers/pumps to my right and a wall of switches to my left. I could not see the ground. I walked cautiously to the door in front of me.

On the other side of the door was a hallway, once I entered this hallway the door behind me locked. It became apparent to me that the boilers/pumps were attached to the hydrotherapy pool. My father had done some rehabilitation work in this pool, and given the state of my knee, I thought it would be worthwhile to do some myself. I waited in the waiting area for probably about half an hour, killing the time with push-ups and reading the material provided. Eventually, a lady walked by, I asked her what time the pool opened. In a sympathetic voice, she responded: “Not for a couple of hours yet, honey”.

I decided to move on and set my sights for my original goal of the security office to get some help. On my way, I walked past a statue and as I was walking up the hill a couple of road bikes came down the hill. Remembering my instructions, I quickly stopped the bikes. The rider donning a helmet looked like he could have been crying, although it could have simply been bloodshot eyes from a long shift.

I asked the man if he knew where security was, he instructed me to continue up the hill. I did and ended back at my car. The sun was out by this stage, I considered continuing on my journey back home, but seeing the sign for the family unit I decided to give this one last shot.

The family unit was built on a hill. The first time I went to the entrance on the second floor, the second time around, I went further down the hill and decided to enter the ground floor area. There was a child’s playground there and a spider whose web I had to rearrange so I didn’t get caught up in it.

I knocked on a glass door and a lady answered, I came to realise that this was a child’s ward and extrapolated that I may indeed have a bastard I was unaware of. The lady asked, “who I was after?” I thought for a moment and responded “Austin”.She responded that no one was here by that name. I sat there and thought for a bit longer and knocked again, this time I asked for a Michael. The response was the same only this time she asked me to leave as I was disturbing the children. I listened and started my way up the hill towards my car.

About halfway up the hill, a security guard came on a postman’s bike. I stopped him and started talking to him. Before I knew it about seven guards rocked up on bikes and surrounded me. I was scared once again. I sat on the ground, broke down in tears and requested help, mental help.

The security guards, requested the rocket, it turns out that the rocket was just a shuttle bus, but its name along with my imagination led me to think up some scary thoughts along the line of injections. While we waited for the rocket we took a walk up the road to show them where my car was parked, I gave them my keys and the said they would park it in long term parking. It was at this point that I noticed that one of the guards was crying with tears falling down his face.

I took the rocket down to the ER and when I asked what my problem was, I didn’t know, so I responded in a cryptic fashion that I was being followed by angels and demons. I was admitted to the ER mental health ward where I was asked by the hospital if they could contact anyone for me. I requested my father, but it was my mother that ended up coming in as my father had to go to work.

When my mother came to visit I broke down in tears enquiring if Jerry, a close Taiwanese friend from my childhood, was part of the angels and demons. Jerry died of meningococcal when I was in grade seven and my world was quickly becoming engulfed in a conspiracy that I was coming of age into a clandestine world that operated in an anarchic fashion. I did not put it past this community to sabotage any childhood connections that might create diplomatic issues in the future.

My mother took my question on face value and consulted me saying that she was sure he was with the angels. We waited in the mental health ward of the ER and during my time there, there was an aboriginal man and a young kid who crashed his old man’s car. I tried to consult the aboriginal man by hugging him and looking into his eyes, but they were blurred seeming with cataracts. I was unable to hold his gaze or his embrace and disconnected. After that I went to the toilet, as I sat there I felt defeated at my inability to connect with this man and admitted to myself there was much to learn if I am going to operate in such a world I felt I was entering. I hit the emergency button in the toilet, and proceeded to clean up after myself while I felt like I was ready to come clean and “confess”. However, as I was getting ready a moment of resolve entered me. I was not done yet. I hit the emergency button again to call off the button and walked out of the toilet. I responded to enquiries into the emergency call as a mistake.

I spoke to two doctors that day, telling them cryptically about the build-up to my present situation. Using religion as a disguise for all my believed clandestine interactions. They were presenting me with two options: a short hospital admission or to take prescription drugs at home. That week was a culminating week of university though and I had a presentation to provide at work that week, thus I did not want to take the hospitalisation.

As I sat in the small concrete courtyard, I was with the young kid, he was cold, as it was the middle of winter. I gave him my jumper and asked him what it was he wanted to do with his life – he responded ‘acting’. I asked him what his favourite scene was and to act it out. He wouldn’t do it, so I led by example acting out the scene where Achilles summons Hector in the movie Troy. I stood there screaming out “Hector” at the top of my lungs. As the day wore on, as did these two other patients until it was only my mother and me waiting in the ward. I spent a bit of time outside, it was twilight now and I found yelling at the top of my lungs to be therapeutic, so I started screaming “Hector” again. My mother came out and gave me a hug. I saw the Doctor come out behind her with a happy face, I gave him the finger, as I believed him to be part of a system that was dragging me down and interfering in my personal affairs. The Doctor’s smile faded and he turned around.

When I went inside, I was informed that I had to be hospitalised under the mental health act. My mother left, I went outside a little bit more into the cold. Then with a ‘come what may’ attitude reentered the ward and took the drugs that were prescribed.

On the way into the office which was located in the CBD, I spotted an old bold overweight man wearing dodgy clothes carrying a David Jones shopping bag. The pattern stood out to me as I had recently had a previous encounter with a woman wearing a top with that pattern. Furthermore, the man definitely did not look like he was in the stores demographic.

After noticing this oddity, I became hypervigilant looking at every person and billboard for signs. When I parked at work, I parked in front of a rolling billboard. The advertisements were for a bank, something else with a flower, and then a cologne/watch or something with a male model wearing a suit.

I was going to go to work and thought if I am going to be the recipient of $15 million I should learn how to invest responsibly. I took the flower to be a reminder to enjoy myself and the suit as a reminder that I should dress the part.

At this point, I sat in my car for about five minutes and surveyed the scenes trying to relax and “smell the roses”.

Within view was a topless bar, that cut hair. Two unremarkable men came out, looked around and then walked off. At that point I decided to treat myself. I went in for a beer, a haircut and and an eyeful. However, when I got in, the hairdressers were on break. Annoyed, I settled for a beer and watched some rugby on the big screen. This was short-lived, however as on the rugby a man injured his knee. They kept playing replays (combined with “a discover behind the scenes” tourism Tasmania advertisement). Emotionally disturbed from watching an injury I had a two-time personal experience with over and over, and somewhat inspired by the advertisement, I turned to the few other patrons at the bar prior to re-enquiring about the hair cut. There was one group of lads (about four) that were shouting a homeless man a drink. With strong desires to help the homeless when I was younger and in an emotionally weak state, I nearly cried at this, but I stayed strong. Wearing an Australian Wallabies Jersey I started speaking to the homeless man, he asked if I played for the world. I left and said “nah, just Australia”. But I took this as a direct comment to my international relation papers which took on quite a cosmopolitan view.

I then enquired about the haircut and was told to wait. I finished my beer and went elsewhere. My first stop was the Myer centre where I stopped by several hairdressers/barbers all of which were unavailable all I felt in a ploy to deliberately allow for further observation/annoyance of myself.

Outside the last hair salon in the centre I noticed a large 300# pacific islander observing me while on his phone. I considered instigating a confrontation with him, however the public place and the sheer size of the gentleman led me to consider otherwise.

At this point, I realised it was about midday and while I had not eaten, nor was I hungry, I figured fuel was needed as well as relocation. I bought a salad and seeking to “smell the flowers” and relax for a bit, I sought out an engaging conversation from some eligible young females. The food court didn’t look too appealing, so I left to see what was happening in downtown Brisbane.

As I was going up the escalators I started speaking to the two attractive ladies behind me. I noticed an American accent and asked them whereabouts in the states they were from? They said “Guess?” a line I always used when travelling. Disgusted by what I considered to be a personal invasion of my pick up material, I stormed up the escalators and left the women behind.

Now, quite furious at this perceived meddling in my personal affairs, I was walking down the street eyeballing everyone, thinking every so often that I was spotting an “observer”. I decided that going to the botanical gardens was a good place to smell the flowers and find women. As I was eyeballing everyone, I noticed an Asian woman wearing sunglasses in a restaurant perceivably staring straight at me without breaking contact. I stopped in my tracks, her glare still fixed. I took it on board, if I was going to be eyeballing everyone I should be wearing sunnies to shield my eyes.

I looked around and saw a pharmacist coming up. As I was walking past Time Zone, I saw the same two gentlemen that left the topless bar at the beginning of my escapades. I asked them what they were doing and let them know that I saw them at the bar. They responded in an American accent it was the best place in town to get a haircut.

I said fair enough and continued on my way. Continuing to eyeball everyone but somewhat happy that I spotted what perceived to be a slip up in my surveillance. I continued on my way to the pharmacist. At this point, the two men from the bar approached me and asked me how I was going. I told them I was looking for sunglasses disinterested in them at this stage I started walking briskly to which they followed.

They asked me what a man was doing walking around in shorts and a jersey, with a salad in hand in Brisbane City in the middle of winter. I explained I was going to eat lunch at the gardens and was looking for women. The bigger fella asking the questions said: “ahh so you’re sarging.” Initially, I was angered at such a suggestion and was going to react with “I have no idea what you are talking about” (to me it was about smelling the flowers, not “sarging”). However, I knew what the term meant, knew that they knew I knew and the term did fit. So I said, “I guess so”. They asked if I was having a good time, I responded that “I now was” as the apparent actual breakdown of the observation into the conversation. I felt as respectful and flattering. At this point we were at an intersection, they informed me what pub they were going to after I asked, and we parted ways.

Forgetting about the sunglasses I reached the garden, I was disappointed that there was not a young woman in sight. At a nearby table, there was a young man however sitting by himself. I approached him and asked if I could sit with him. He was friendly enough. His name was Michael, after Michael Jordan, he was a student from South Korea and claimed that he didn’t have many friends. I asked him what his original name was and he didn’t understand. Not appreciative of the fact that coincidentally this man and I shared the same first name, I was weary and unaccommodating. He offered me his home-made tea. I declined. He asked why not as he took a sip, “I have trust issues” I responded.

After lunch, I headed back into the City and resolved to head back to work and get a few tasks done. On the way back however. the pedestrian crossings were not working. This occurred as I arrived at the lights and continued for a couple of cycles as the crowd of pedestrians built around me. A few pedestrians got fed up with the wait and crossed when green would normally appear. After a few cycles, I crossed amused by the perceived game. This occurred at the next light too, however, I was jaywalking at will now. While I can’t be certain, looking behind me the lights seemed to clear themselves.

Hitting another red and taking it as a sign, plus I was starting to get somewhat annoyed again, I shifted gears and turned right, hypervigilant once again. I did this with the intention of shaking any tails and searching for a hairdresser/barber. I found one with a wait, agitated I sat down as I could clearly see staff and chairs available.

I sat down and as soon as I started to relax a position becomes available. The woman explained to me that my wait was due to her having to deal with a plumber. She was complaining about the cost for a plumber, as a wastewater engineer I thought to myself ‘wait until your without water or have shit everywhere, then you would know their value’.

The rest of the haircut went without incident, with the exception that at some point everyone in the salon was looking out the window and not moving or saying anything. I felt like I was being conditioned and I refused to look out the window. However, eventually, I got fed up and looked out the storefront window.

I did not see anything and the moment I looked everyone returned to their tasks (there was no mention of anything happening outside). Happy with my haircut I returned to my car, it was now somewhat late (‘fourish and I had a mates engagement party that evening).

That night I attended the party and perceived it as a night of “discovery” where information would be gathered and I would speak with old high school mates with a new perspective. I wasn’t drinking that night and left somewhat early as I perceived I had gained all the info/intel there was to gain.

Maybe I went home and spent time with my brother, however, I probably went straight back to work. I remember trying to get my finances in order (buy some shares) but I couldn’t remember my password and was literally about twelve hours off my wit’s end (in terms of being admitted anyway). I resorted to writing an email to people I presumed were “in the loop”.

Outlook was giving me grief though, not letting me auto-recall email addresses as it normally would, this made me even more angry and persistent, until eventually something in Outlook clicked and I had access to all the email addresses I required. At this point I broke emotionally, I saw it as an acknowledgement and a granting of some autonomy, by the powers that be.

I threw myself on the floor of the empty office at 3 AM and sobbed big deep healing tears.

After I recovered myself I decided I was not done yet, deleted my email and started heading for home and bed.

For a short period during my upbringing (grades 5-7), we lived in Daisy Hill which is about halfway between Brisbane and the Gold Coast. One summer my parents enrolled me in little nippers at Tugun SLSC, I was hopeless at the sport as I was with most sports my parents enrolled me in. However, being a kid of solid build that was tall for his age, I discovered in a game of gang-up tackle red-rover that I was somewhat unstoppable against kids my own age. I still remember charging down the touchline, on the sand, and bumping off other attackers to be the last child to remain and ultimately the victor. Up to that point, it was the first time I had ever won anything physical/sporting.

But little nippers is not just about competing on the sand, the most significant part of the sport is in the surf. And, while I was a capable swimmer, there was much I needed to learn about the ocean. My mother tells a story about once there was a group of us on a sandbar that got swept away, and how another parent saved a portion of this group (brought us back to where we could stand) prior to saving his own son. My mother marveled at this man’s confidence in his son’s ability and his heroism of saving us ‘newbies’ first.

I remember this experience, but it is not the one this story is about.

After I had been at the club for a little while, I was privileged enough to be lent a board and to go out into the surf with a mate and his father. The board was like a surfboard with handles but no leash. We started out away from the safety of the flags, as surf craft aren’t allowed in these areas and headed out the back to where the waves were breaking. With these boards when a wave is coming you don’t dive under, but simply turtle by flipping upside down and holding onto the board.

As we were getting out the back, the waves were getting bigger and we were starting to wait for the right one. With little to no experience, and lacking the patience such a sport possess, I saw a big wave approaching. The father and his son identified it straight away as a dumper and turtled up. Me, true to my nature – saw it as a challenge. I quickly turned my surf craft around and began paddling earnestly. I caught it, and for a few brief moments I was riding it, that is until sure enough it dumped on me and I went head over.  In the upturn, I lost grip of my board and was let go out in the deep, away from the father and son, but also a fair distance away from the beach.

Unable to see my accompanying surf mate or his father, I headed towards the beach. The waves (for me anyway) were breaking hard, I got dunked several times and I am pretty sure I swallowed some salt water. As I made my way in I was getting fatigued, I had already done a session of nippers and I was a fair way out. I was just about at the point of waving for help from the lifesavers, I am not sure whether they would have seen me considering I was not in the flags, but this gives a good indication to my fatigue levels.

Suddenly as if by a miracle, I was washed up onto a sandbar which allowed me a long while to catch my breath. After which I returned slowly to the beach to find my washed up surf craft and headed sheepishly back to the club.

I have always been a man of seasons, I work hard and rise to the occasion when one arises and the rest of the time do what is needed to get by. Intellectually this resulted in me being pretty lazy with a poor work ethic through school and university. However, I never failed a subject and on occasions for a semester or two I would get pretty stellar marks, before slacking off again.

And of course there were restless nights sometimes thinking about a girl, or simply pulling all nighters partying, playing games or doing school work.

My studies through high school were all centered around mathematics, physics and chemistry, all subjects I was naturally good at. In my undergraduate degree I dabbled in a few subjects that were in political economy. I found them enjoyable and for the first time was needing to keep up consistent performances. For the international development subjects I managed to keep up with the consistent readings, voice my opinions in class, writing essays though was quite the labour. A labour of love,  but a labour nonetheless.

Nevertheless, I managed to get through them, mainly because they were first year undergraduate courses I believe.

After passing university and being recommended by a professor for a water consulting job. I managed to settle into the post-uni life working in the real world as a graduate a global engineering consultancy.

I quickly settled into a great culture with many young cohort, and different social events occurring pretty much every month.

Unfortunately, though the company was over staffed and there wasn’t too much work for me to do. Thus, I got bored and looked at starting efforts towards a Masters in International Relations, not the most practical degree but I figured I wanted to switch lanes and give something else a shot.

It was there in Advanced International relations that my metal was really tested. A 5,000 word essay was expected of me. While we were being spoon fed very little and expected to know how to research and what for.

I was however enjoying the class as I do with those sorts of topics. Thus, I was managing to pull of this class work, a pretty heavy social life and a bit of extra curriculum rugby all at the same time. And things were going pretty good at this stage. That is until I busted my knee for the second time playing rugby.

The first time around I tore my ACL downhill mountain biking, attempting terrain that was beyond my skill level or bikes ability. The second time occurred during a corporate rugby tournament and I found it quite difficult at the time mentally. The first time you bust the knee it is almost a right of passage. You work hard to ensure your knee comes back better than ever. But when it broke for a second time, it is like all your hard work went to waste. It was a character building event no doubt.

This was coupled with the unfortunate timing of having to delay my initial employment training for the military for the second time by two years. Following that I clung onto the only female relationship I had in my life at the time, and she in turn pushed me further away. This led me to a few tears and sleepless nights and shook me up like I haven’t been before. Young and resilient however, I tried to get back on the horse. I did so socially in about two months, but my mental focus took a bit more to recover, I ended up handing in a essay about four to five months late, it was in really poor form and I failed my subject.

So after my first fail in my academic career and the first time on the receiving end of a break up, I took some time off study to give myself a break and time to relax and recover.

The next semester rolled around and I wasn’t going to drop out of my course after one “not so minor” set back. I enrolled in International Political Economy (IPE).

Things were going well for me. My social life was good, and while I was the victim of a few silent calls (where an unknown number would just ring me and not say anything) from time to time, I was generally on an even path.

Pin pointing it now in retrospect if I had to look back, my trouble began a night after having Pizza with the IPE crew at the Kookaburra Café. The night in itself was innocent enough, the food was wholesome and the company grand. It was my intention however to pull an allnighter with the help of some dexamphetamines and complete another dreaded essay. The drugs didn’t work. They were shit. The elevated heart rate wasn’t inductive to creative or analytical thought. They did keep me up however, and have me running up and down the hallways of my work and doing push ups after hours as I tried to type away. (I would now also like to blame L-Carnitine, which I was supplementing at the time).

About this time, I was also seconded to a local utility and worked in a team that was daily facing the challenges of people having their properties and houses literally flooded with shit.

The one dexy, the ladies and the study were affecting my sleep pattern. But I was directly in the clients office talking to their customers each and every day. I saw it as my responsibility and my mission to convey a professional attitude and decorum and I did. For a time anyway.

After several weeks into the secondment I was casually dating one of the administrators whilst trying to continue a professional demeanor with the remainder of the the administrators.

This was difficult however, as I kept on finding errors by one administrator in particular. She was close to the lady I was seeing and I don’t think she was too fond of myself nor my relationship with her friend.

One evening I received a call from one of the clients customers, they were expressing their displeasure at the fact that nothing had been done, despite ringing myself several times and receiving my assurances that something would be done.

That day I asked (in writing) the young administrator if she had completed the tasks required to progress this customers investigation. She replied that she had. After my own investigation however I found out she had flat out lied. While she had coldly lied to my face before this was the first time she had done so in an email.

While I know now with experience, foresight and most importantly apathy, that at that point I should have gone directly to her superiors. At the time I viewed this as dishonorable and not fair on her.

So I instead prepared to confront her myself. However, by the time I was ready she had already snuck off home. Infuriating me even more, I quickly started writing her an email, expressing my displeasure and informing her that if it happened again I would inform our supervisors.

Being a young male army reservists, I viewed it as firing a warning shot or, as a combatant that had been under fire for a period of time finally in a position to exert some freedom of movement (I had become somewhat of a lacky at this position, getting moved around and constantly working extra hours). Unfortunately, I had given too much/not enough respect to my counterpart. Not enough, in that I still believed she disliked me and wanted to see my demise (she would brag that she was responsible for moving me around) – thus, I should have foreseen that complaining to human resources would definitely not have been beneath her. Too much, in that thinking she had a strong work ethic and that my email would promote better performance.

In the end though, and I even requested this prior to the incident, I believe the team was mismanaged and that amicable relations could have occurred if a team event was organized. Moving on though, I have no doubt now that I have matured while also becoming less emotionally stable/confident/arrogant. I now understand that while there was a dislike there, there was also genuine incompetence and hurt feelings. I have definitely learnt from the mistake.

Needless to say I lost the secondment and had to write an apology letter that was made infinitely better by an older professional female partner which I am very grateful for.

This however, was not a good time to be without work. Our company was well oversized after finishing up on several major projects and was adjusting through constant redundancies.

Nevertheless, I was trying to keep myself busy, and was succeeding for a period of time. However, as previously stated, through study, partying and the pursuit of women, as well as the fitness regime I was trying to develop, my sleep was definitely deteriorating.

I remember starting to feel like I was breaking down for the first time. I felt like a dead man walking, as there was no local work for me and contracts were drying up and contacts (friends and mentors) were leaving or being let go. Furthermore, I felt and knew I was being talked about as there was a further interest in my well being.

It was over a long weekend I believe, that I took myself to hospital, but it is in the few days prior that make this episode intriguing.

The first key point that I told good long term mate from Hervey Bay (on about Wednesday I believe) that I was cracking up. The second was a conversation I had with a mentor , who told me to “look for signs” I didn’t understand what that meant and when I asked for clarification, he mentioned job boards.

That weekend I was also moving out being in a shit mood I took to becoming insulated and cleaning the house by myself largely ignoring my roommates. This most likely led to them being hyper sensitive around me or acting oddly. Also at some point that week they had taken to watching the Seinfeld episode of George moving in with his parents. I felt it as a little jab considering this is what I was doing and it eroded on my sensibility.

Somehow through my delusions and grandeur at the time, I believed I was being broken down so I could be moulded into something better. This was a constant phrase that was used throughout basic training in the military. And to me made sense with the ghost/prank calls I was receiving as well as sabotage of my hair while I slept by unknown assailants, combined with emails that never made it through. These unknowns mixed with the carnitine, my curiosity and desire to know, were all slowly eroding me down.

So while me telling a mate that I felt I was going crazy was my first spoken act. (I should mention that crying in the bathroom and in public on walks are also a pretty good sign in retrospect).

I believe my first act of being crazy was when I confronted my roommates at the end of the move out. In a friendly manner around a pizza on the floor I told them that I knew they were “in on it”. They didn’t deny anything, but were curious, in a jokingly and friendly manner as to “what they were in on?” – I told them that something was going to happen and that I was either up for a promotion at work or going to get fired. They wanted to know “how they would be linked to work?” I didn’t have a specific answer but didn’t see it as that far of a reach considering work new where I lived.

I remember the term “I don’t know whether to laugh or have a hard on” in reference to how elaborate my plot was, being spoken by one of the brothers. I remember telling them I just needed to learn one lesson and they asked what’s that. I said “To communicate more”. As we were parting ways one of my flat mates looked at me and said “Congratulations on the promotion”.

That evening I went to two mates from work’s house (one lived there the other was also visiting). I had one puff of weed and became tearful when they started talking about moving in with the parents. My mood was erratic and I accused them of being “in on it too”. From my perceived vantage point they cunningly evaded my accusations to which I laughed and responded “I don’t know whether to laugh or have a hard on” as the phrase which seemed somewhat out of place when I first heard it, was now embraced to full effect, laughing out loud hysterically.

At that point, the gentlemen who did not live there left. And the resident and friend was left there alone to console me. I don’t remember the details of the conversation, but I was going to go into the Valley. However, he managed to convince me to jump in a taxi and go home.

I recall that at the time two different cabs arrived (one dropping people off) and while I was going to get into the other my mate guided me into the ordered cab.

In the cab the driver, and we started talking about Australia, in particular what happened to the natives when the Europeans arrived. At that point, I believed, as an East Indian, that man was portraying a subtext which wasn’t friendly for current Australians. I noticed as that as we got closer to home the meter was not running, when we arrived at my home I negotiated with the taxi driver my fare. He offered it for free but I would not accept was deliberately aiming high and it was him that was bringing me down to a more reasonable price.

I also believed that he was “in on it too” as my psychosis expanded ever wider from that of just my work to clandestine organizations that were evaluating and assessing me.

That night I made it home, I can’t remember if it was this night or the night after, but not being able to sleep, I requested to hang out with my brother in his room. Thinking he was “in on it too” I was seeking some information from him. However, I said nothing and he said nothing. And eventually I left and went to bed.

The next morning I caught a lift from the old man to my mates place, as I had left my car there previously the night before.

I was eager to get to work as I had some study to do. As well as research now that I had this new awareness of “looking for signs”.

However my mate slowed me down, understandably he wanted to know what the last night was about, and if I was doing okay. But for me it felt like an interrogation and a harassment of my time. However, I was starting to learn that people give a lot of respect and humility to a man of my size in an irrational and psychotic state. They would offer me pretty much anything to stay safe with them for a bit.

My first experience of this was the cab ride home, I saw the cab ride as an offering as a further empowerment to my perceived promotion or direction. And my counter offer a notion as to how I operate when treated fairly.

So when I visited my mates picking up my car and was in a rush to leave. We negotiated for my time. For me it was serious, for him a necessary lie I presume.

I saw this negotiation as my initiation package/negotiation of a contract. I don’t remember the details but I settled on something like $15 million, I did not perceived it as a ridiculous sum but definitely as a game changer as it would boost me into the lower upper class. I was happy with this as it would take me out of the rat race and allow me to start from the bottom and work my way up in the craft with a relatively small amount of capital.

After the negotiation took place we began to talk for a bit, he expressed his concern for my safety, his safety and the safety of the public the previous night. And wanted to know why I was acting weird and if I was all right.

I don’t recall explaining much as for the next several years I would be extremely guarded and only talked in sub-text generally through songs and movies.

But when he saw that I was relatively calm and stable, he let me go asking what I was up to. I explained to him that I was heading into the office to do some work. He said okay but on our departure told me to “take time to smell the roses” and that I have $15 million.

I acknowledged him and drove into work.