Hard Cuddles. James Harding
were times in my life when I was consistently getting into trouble for the way I chose to live my life and it was tempting to give up and try to fit in. But I didn’t and I am so thankful that I have endured. In the end, it’s not about being right or wrong; it’s about staying true to yourself. No matter how far you have to go on your journey in life, you can always find your way back home.
This book was written as a process of self-healing and an opportunity to look back and remember how far I’ve come. If anyone reads this and decides that I haven’t covered a particular story the way they remembered—well, they are probably correct. Everyone has their own sense of reality and their memories will be different to mine.
This story is mine, no one else’s. I have done my best to be as candid as I can. The truth is by far the most entertaining form of reality. There have been plenty of stories that cannot be told out of respect for my wife and children. There are also stories that can’t be told because many people I used to know are still very active in that world. Just because I decided to leave doesn’t mean I am going to sell out. Rules are rules after all. A few people have done this and it makes for some pretty exciting reading but I entered that game with my head held high and I can certainly leave it the way I found it, meaning: I’m right here if anyone wants to see me.
I only considered letting other people read this after my sister snuck onto the computer and read a chapter. She loved what she saw and suggested I get it published. If this book helps someone who is stuck or helps a parent gain insight into what their kids might be going through, that is enough for me. It was certainly a massive learning curve for both my parents. My lovely Mum discovered spirituality as a way of healing herself through the process. At the tail end of my journey into the dark side, I found spirituality and meditation as well. Because of this we have this special bond that has allowed me to communicate with my Mum on a level that I thought was only possible with drugs. I found that drugs heightened my senses towards the spiritual realm and opened my eyes to a much more involved existence.
It’s amazing, the people you attract in life. I have been blessed to meet some of the most charismatic and energetic humans. I have also had the opportunity to meet some really challenging souls. Some that I have met have been vital to helping me understand myself. When you are face-to-face with a known hit man, for example, you learn to rely on your instincts and intuition. This is when you feel really alive. Your body and skin tingling. Your senses are heightened when you are operating on a second-to-second basis. You’re right in the moment.
That’s where I still like to operate from: that dark side of life. Navigating my way down into a dark cavern doesn’t concern me one bit, not if I can find some truth that will enrich my life or help someone. I am right at home with addicts, the homeless, the mentally challenged and the downright nasty. For me that is but another reflection of the system, just the same as the incredible stories you hear about humans achieving amazing things. You need both energies to get the balance right. I like to learn about both—some people may consider it an ugly truth. I like to think of it as a kind of beautiful darkness.
This discovery was profound because I learned to trust and rely on these senses to guide me back home. Where the Wild Things Are, by Maurice Sendak, expresses this so well. A young boy, Max gets in trouble and his mum sends him to his room. There, he uses his imagination to go on a journey to where the wild things are. He sails over to the island where monsters live and becomes one of them. Max uses a special trick to tame them, then he dances and bares his claws and fangs with them well into the night. Eventually he becomes the king of the monsters. But after a while he tires and gets bored and decides to sail back home. When he does, the monsters tell him they will miss him too much and they don’t want him to go. Max leaves anyway and when he gets home, he finds his dinner waiting for him and it’s still warm.
This is the story of my life.
A MASSIVE BABY
‘Are you ready for this?’
The scales read 12 pounds 3 ounces when they weighed me at Bethlehem Hospital, Caulfield on 1 April 1981. I was the size of a six-month-old baby. Mum told me I was very sick. I swallowed some crap at birth. It turns out this isn’t uncommon and might even be considered good life experience. I overcame my early predicament and was doted on by my parents and grandparents. My mother is a kind and loving person but we are very similar people and would often annoy each other. Mum was trying to get me to kinder as early as possible. Not only was I a handful, I was one of those kids that was ready to socialise very early. My upbringing was full of Sri Lankan customs. Nanna and her Mum would often come over when I was sick or misbehaving. I instantly knew I had better tighten things up a bit when Nanna came over.
Mum told me I was playing up in the supermarket one day and she walked over to tell me off. I took the opportunity to throw myself on the floor and yell out, ‘Please don’t kick me’. I hope that gives you an idea of how cunning I could be at such a tender age. Mum got used to dealing with all sorts of behaviour from me. Once I got loose, went out the front and changed everyone’s mail around in the street. By the time Dad got home from work, Mum had usually had enough. We had exhausted each other. Dad would tap in and Mum would jump in the car to go and get some peace and quiet.
Right from the beginning there were always two voices in my head: a good voice and a voice that was more fun and interesting. You don’t have to be a doctor to work out which one I followed in life. It wasn’t till my late twenties did I even consider that the good voice may be trying to help me. I’m fairly sure from some of the stories my mother tells me I was a spirited child, forever pushing the boundaries and pushing people into pools.
NANNA AND GRAMPS
‘There is only one happiness in life, to love and be loved’
— George Sand
I can still smell their house. My earliest memories include them. My feelings towards these people cannot be described in words. The two of them were angels put on earth to make other people’s lives easier. I hope everyone else has the same overwhelming feeling when they talk about their grandparents. Mine were amazing.
There were many times when I was in trouble as a little person and having Nanna and Gramps living in the next street was a chance to escape from it all. I was safe there.
Someone had given me an old suitcase and it was perfect for a toddler: there was enough room for a book, my teddy bear and another toy. This was neatly packed and on standby near my bedroom door. Any time I felt my mother was completely out of line with her decision making or punishment, I would grab the suitcase and off I went. It is fair to say, I spent a lot of time around at their place.
Their backyard was massive with a vegetable patch and all sorts of fruit trees in it. In the corner near his shed was Gramps’ prized avocado tree, standing prouder than a honeymooner’s dick. Gramps really put the hours into it. He would often go out there and just stare at it, very much the way my Dad stares at Colorbond roofs.
My grandparents were born in Ceylon, now the beautiful island of Sri Lanka. We are what you call burghers—or fair-skinned Sri Lankans with Dutch surnames, due to our Dutch heritage. Gramps used to tell me some amazing stories about his life in Ceylon. My grandparents had a unique way of communicating. They had a certain place where they would meet where there was a big piece of cardboard. My grandpa would write my Nanna love notes on the ground with a rock and cover it with the cardboard. Gramps was very good-looking and spoke three languages: Singhalese, English and Latin. A highly educated man, he had a really eccentric way and loved to talk to people about their lives and financial situations. If you walked past his house, he would demand to know what you brought him or how much you were earning. He thought this was the height of good humour—to put people on the spot. He had a Norton motorcycle and was quite the man about town. His brother, Gem, was an entrepreneurial businessman who started tourism in Ceylon. Gem got up to all sorts of illegal shit and at one point smuggled gold to and from India. Gem also owned some of the original hotels in that beautiful country. The other brother, Earl, was the strongest man in Ceylon. He worked on the railroads and was able to bend a coin over on itself with his thumb and forefinger. Earl was a hippie and back then often wore a flower in his hair. He was also an artist and did what he liked, wandering around