Reaching for the Universe

Copyright © 2015 by Billie Kaine.

Library of Congress Control Number:          2012922523

ISBN:                  Hardcover                          978-1-4797-5745-9

                            Softcover                            978-1-4797-5744-2

                            eBook                                  978-1-4797-5746-6

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Rev. date: 08/13/2015

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CONTENTS

Authors Note

Acknowledgements

About The Author

Prologue In Understanding The End, One Has to Return to the Beginning

Chapter One Memories of a Child

Chapter Two the Flying Flea

Chapter Three Do I Belong?

Chapter Four Home, But not Sweet Home

Chapter Five Love and Marriage

Chapter Six Independence

Chapter Seven Pathway of a Bodybuilder

Chapter Eight Surgery and Recovery

Chapter Nine a Golden Opportunity

Chapter Ten World Qualifier – New Zealand 1996 Worlds — Germany

Chapter Eleven The World is My Oyster

Chapter Twelve European Escapade

Chapter Thirteen Pathway to the Universe

Chapter Fourteen Reaching the Universe; United Kingdom

Chapter Fifteen ‘Universe Overall’, Tick

Chapter Sixteen R & R in Waikiki

Chapter Seventeen Decision Time

Chapter Eighteen Calm Before the Storm

Chapter Nineteen Zombie

Chapter Twenty A New Perspective

I dedicate this account of my life to my beautiful daughters,

Niki and Kelli. TIAB xx

AUTHORS NOTE

W riting about one’s family and life is subjective but I have in good faith tried to be factual in all accounts. Some names have been changed for privacy reasons.

I hope readers who come from a background of deprivation and suffering will, after reading this book, have courage and realise that with dedication and help, it is possible to reach your goals and dreams.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

N iki, my very talented daughter, I am eternally grateful to you for doing the first edit; you had to agonise over chapters that brought my life closer to yours. I love you.

Cathy Simpson, you are my beloved friend and have walked protectively with me without ever waning. Your complete acceptance of me has helped me through many of my desperate trials in life. Thank you, you are a true friend and an inspiration.

Lois Daly, even though our paths crossed fairly recently, I have learned so much from you. I value your friendship and the amazing job you did improving my book. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.

Without a lot of help from some very special people in my life, this book may not have been possible. For those whom I have omitted but who have had a profound influence, I apologise.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

B illie Kaine was born in the South Island of New Zealand and competed for her country in bodybuilding competitions at an International Level.

She was raised in an impoverished and challenging environment and she considers that this helped her to become more aware and humble.

After suffering several spinal impairments which have resulted in permanent disabilities, she has now found inner peace and acceptance through Buddhist teachings and her close friends.

She has two grown daughters and currently resides in New Zealand.

PROLOGUE

In Understanding the End,

One Has to Return to the Beginning

I t was dark, not cold and not hot; it wasn’t an ‘anywhere place’ or ‘anything place’. It was just somewhere out there - safe, still, and incredibly peaceful. Time had no place there. That place existed in my mind, deep, secure, and just for me to possess. That place was mine exclusively, to visit and leave whenever I could. It was my rescuer, my saviour, and my protector. Life would have been far more destructive for me than it was if this safe place in my mind hadn’t existed.

I used this escape place for many years. That world of ignorant bliss was of my very own making. It held me together. It enabled me to cope with the nasty things that were happening around me, things that I couldn’t comprehend. It kept me alive and breathing air. I didn’t want to know about any other place, just my special safe place.

The place around me was chilling and had a cruel and cold feeling about it, but I wasn’t sure why. This place was where I was scared, sad, confused, overwhelmed and unsafe. I didn’t know many words, or their meanings, as I was only about three years old. The loneliness was what I remembered. The darkness! Black angry space surrounded me.

I remember thinking that when everyone in my chilly and nasty world died, I would be the only one left behind. This terrified me and, by five years of age, I had already learnt I could not talk to anyone in my family. There were not many actual words inside my head, just the fearful feelings and images in my mind. Maybe, hopefully, it was all just dreams but the reality was, they were my reality. If I had been brave enough to ask, perhaps I would have learnt that it was not possible for me to be the last person alive. That knowledge would have arrested some of my fears.

My safe, soundless world was where I would go to protect myself from fear. It was to be years later when the ugly truth became known to me and the burden on my shoulders was eventually lifted. I felt so much lighter. My cruel, real world was very small and consisted of the people in the family. For some reason, I did not feel close to them, never felt close to them. I was afraid of them. I lived alone in my harsh, day-to-day world.

I was totally alone. Alone while being with others who didn’t include me when it mattered - others who didn’t nurture me, didn’t communicate with me, didn’t love or care for me, or try to make me happy. This place around me was not good like my special safe place where I didn’t feel alone. The real place where I lived was not as safe as it should have been. I felt unsafe both day and night. Life was always the same.

Over a very long time I came to know that my world at home was always going to be scary and threatening.

*We are all born helpless. Without the kindness and nurturing of our parents, we would not survive, much less prosper. When children grow up in constant fear, with no one to rely on, they can suffer for their whole lives. The mind of a small child is very delicate, and the need for kindness and nurturing is particularly important.*

CHAPTER ONE

Memories of a Child

M y memories of the early years of my life are still as vivid and real to me as if they only happened yesterday. I was an unsettled and distressed child, confused much of the time. Introverted, shy, lacking confidence, and insecure. I felt smaller than I really was and often wished I could just slide through a crack in the floor and disappear.

The youngest child of three, I co-existed with my sisters and parents almost from a distance. I didn’t feel part of the family, always sensing that I didn’t belong, that I was utterly superfluous. My constant attempts to be noticed and accepted were a tiresome effort. It seemed like the more I tried, the less significant I became.

I saw and experienced many things as a child, things a child should never have to see, hear, or have done to her. These things were normality for me. Everyone else had a similar life and went through the same things, didn’t they? Eventually, I was to learn that my upbringing was not normal and that the things I witnessed and lived with were unacceptable for any child.

I didn’t feel I belonged anywhere – neither home nor school were places I wanted to be. Home always had a heavy feel about it. It represented an absolute feeling of bleakness, negativity, violence and abuse. Even as a mere child I could sense the wrongness and the shroud of secrets that enveloped it.

And instead of being a haven to escape to, school was yet another environment I entered without the tools and resources to manage. My first day of school was horrific. I was terrified of leaving my familiar home environment, even though that was a nightmare in itself. School was such unfamiliar territory - it smelt different, and all the other children were so boisterous and loud. This was unsettling to me and made me anxious. I could see that my classmates were different to me. I was astonished to see them actually laughing, having fun and playing ball and other mysterious games. They appeared comfortably relaxed in their environment and were interacting in a way I had not learned to do. I had not felt comfortable or relaxed at home, and now I didn’t feel comfortable or relaxed in this place either.

I would watch the other children from a distance, pressed away in a corner of the playground or sitting inconspicuously, seemingly invisible, by myself somewhere out of the way. I was envious of their ability to make friends and be at ease with each other, neither self-conscious nor guarded in their manner. Jealousy consumed my whole being. A penetrating sadness and emptiness filled me and would switch to anger and rage as quickly as the flick of a switch. Why was I so different? How was I so different? Why didn’t anyone want to be my friend?

I felt completely alone in my godforsaken home and desolate at school. My concentration span was minimal, and most of the time I could not connect with what I was being taught. I felt stupid and dumb. I felt as though everyone was watching me and could feel my discomfort, but of course they weren’t. The shrinking feeling which seemed to permeate my body and the wishing that I could be somewhere else was always there. In the classroom I would gaze out the windows into nothingness, mentally remove myself from the lesson to find sanctuary back in my safe place.

Billie – The Child

One day, a teacher gave me the duty of ringing the bell at lunchtime for the week, and as not everyone got that opportunity I felt quite privileged and special. I embarked on my duty with every intention of taking the job very seriously but, from the first time I did it, it also became a daunting task. As soon as I had pulled the rope attached to the bell, everyone came clambering out of the classrooms, yelling and squealing. It was a crazy and disorderly scene in which I felt confronted and intimidated. The need to escape from this uncontrolled ordeal was overpowering, and I began panicking, the adrenalin pumping through my veins. I was too timid to return to the classroom as we had been told we were not allowed to go back inside without permission. My lunch was in my satchel in a cubby hole in the hallway. Scared to go back inside for it, I felt trapped standing beside the bell, my feet rooted to the spot just like in a nightmare when you are being chased and can’t flee. Weighing up my options, I reasoned that the only thing left for me to do was to run away and escape the bedlam.

And so began my routine as bell ringer. Instead of going back into class to fetch my lunch I would ring the bell and sprint home as fast as my legs would take me. I didn’t really want to be at home, but I didn’t want to be at school either. I felt like a pendulum in a clock, oscillating back and forth between school and home, neither of which I wanted to be part of. I ran the kilometre home in whatever weather, be it pouring with rain or brilliant sunshine. On particularly cold or wet days I would take my socks, shoes and cardigan off and dash through all the puddles hoping I would become ill and be sent to bed for a few days. But alas, I couldn’t seem to make myself sick no matter what I did.

My Mum never said anything about my impromptu return visits at lunch time, which surprised me. I expected to be scolded but instead there was only indifference which confirmed to me that it was okay to leave the school grounds. If she wasn’t home, I would panic and scream. My feelings were indescribable. Often in my dreams I would find myself alone, the only person who existed in the world, and when this seemed to be happening in real life I felt desperate, trapped in that dream. If she came home and found me screaming and crying, I was immediately told, ‘Stop all that yelling! What will the neighbours think?’ I can’t ever recall her consoling me with a hug or even asking what was wrong. All I ever wanted was for her, or for someone, anyone, to tell me I would be all right and that I was safe.

While I was seeking refuge at home, the lunch hour would pass with what seemed to be the blink of an eye. Trying to stretch out every second for as long as I could, I waited anxiously until only a few minutes remained and then I would race back to school again. Those lunchtimes became a habit, and further escalated into a regular schedule of running back and forth between home and school for the morning and afternoon break as well. During the shorter breaks I would sprint home, but have to return to school immediately as I was worried about being late and any repercussions. The thought of walking into class late and knowing everyone would be watching me was horrendous and I couldn’t allow that to happen. I had become paranoid about being watched and was sure people could see what I was thinking or feeling, my many insecurities on display for all. This more often than not led me to keep my head lowered but I was frequently rebuked and told to hold my head up.

As time went by and I learned how easy it was for my unusual routines to go unnoticed by my family and teachers alike; I discovered that by pretending to be unwell I could stay at home altogether and avoid sprinting back and forth from school. It didn’t take much – no one seemed unduly concerned about my not attending school.

My incomplete school work and many absences were seldom questioned by the school. How things might have been different if they had approached me and queried my detachment, but at that time it was easier to turn a blind eye than to become involved in private family business.

We had very little as a family - we were extremely poor with only the basic necessities. The neighbourhood where we lived had the odd nice house dotted around, but most of them lacked the niceties – many were run-down and unkempt. Ours was by far the worst. It was tumbling down around us and miserably neglected. We had strings for door handles, a drafty outside toilet, and an old Aga to cook on which we had to keep filled with coal so that we could have hot water. The wallpaper was virtually non-existent, and in places the inner lath and plaster walls were exposed. Spider’s webs clung to the wood, and a thick layer of dust had collected on every surface. I loathed our home, and was deeply embarrassed and ashamed of our living conditions.

Along with the disorganised chaos of the house came a general lack of cleanliness. My family didn’t place much importance on hygiene, housework, or any other sense of order whatsoever. I had a bath once a week on a Sunday night after everyone else, in the grubby water from all their bodies. It was repugnant, but that was the way we lived.

Even as a small child, the house was appalling enough for me to want to try to keep things as clean and tidy as I could. I eventually realised that no matter what I did, it would soon be a mess again. I seemed to be the only one who cared about it.

I would sift and sort through old newspapers and magazines and put them in orderly piles, pair up shoes and place them neatly on the floor and wash and dry dishes which had been stacked beside the kitchen sink. I always felt pleased with what I had done and hoped someone might notice and acknowledge me, but not once did anyone praise or even thank me. The child that I was could only come to the conclusion that I had not done enough or that what I had done wasn’t good enough. I evolved into a perfectionist. Even when I became an adult I still struggled to see the value in anything I attempted, and I was never convinced that I had done something well. My irrational perception of myself led me to believe that I would always fall short, that I would be an automatic failure at everything I tried to do. Nothing I did seemed very special or worthy. I now realise with sadness that my inability to feel proud of myself and enjoy the success of my achievements was the direct result of not being nurtured or receiving recognition from my elders. All children need to feel the sense of joy and belonging that comes from the encouragement and approval of the adults around them.

I was largely ignored by my family, left entirely to my own devices even from a young age. My memory takes me back to when I was only four years old. I was seldom put to bed at a sensible hour for a child - my bedtime was whenever. I slept on a camping stretcher which was opened out in front of the fireplace in the living room every night, so bed for me revolved around what everyone else was doing. The living room was more often than not occupied until late at night. I remember that when I felt sleepy and couldn’t go to bed I would lie down on the floor mat in the kitchen, curl up as small as I could, and fall asleep. It certainly wasn’t the most comfortable solution, but I was so tired that I would resolve to stay there rather than bother anyone by asking to go to sleep. There never seemed to be enough space for everyone in the house and it wasn’t until much later that I was upgraded to a bed of my own which was actually located in a proper bedroom.

Before this finally happened I was to endure other weird and wonderful sleeping arrangements. Our house had three bedrooms - one of the three rooms was used for storing junk which continued to accumulate and over time reached as high as the rafters. It was dark and musty–smelling, with the blinds and windows always closed. In this room was stored a double mattress which I would haul out every night, place on the lounge floor and make up when the others had gone to bed. I shared the mattress with my two older sisters, the three of us all squashed up tightly together with barely enough room to move. When they were promoted to two single beds in the front room, my mother became my new mattress buddy. Although sharing with mum wasn’t ideal, I was pleased to have more space to stretch out on the mattress by myself before she came to bed.

The third bedroom was where my father slept when he was home, and this he shared with a boarder who stayed with us.

I slept on the mattress on the floor with my mother until I was eleven years old. Somewhere during this time I learned that other children at school didn’t have to drag a mattress out from a storage room every evening - they had their own beds. I decided that no one could ever know my secret. I was so afraid that someone would find out, and all the children at school would make fun of me. I knew first-hand how cruel children could be at times.

For some unknown reason, once