Hard Cuddles. James Harding
you imagine what could have happened if he was looking at Facebook or Instagram instead of watching me? I may not be writing this book.
ADDICTED AT 6 YEARS OLD
‘Every form of addiction is bad, no matter whether the narcotic be alcohol or morphine or idealism.’
— Carl Jung
As early as I can remember I have had an insatiable addiction to any sort of mind-altering substance. In fact, I am easily addicted to anything: food, fun, alcohol, drugs, people, a good time, anything that gets the adrenaline pumping.
My earliest recollection of being addicted to drugs was in grade two. It was spring and a lovely sunny day. I have always suffered from asthma and on a couple of occasions it got quite serious. I always carried a Ventolin asthma puffer. On this particular day I was tearing around the playground when I noticed that I was short of breath. I had experienced this before and realised an asthma attack was not far off, so I immediately walked back to the school and made my way upstairs to the classroom.
When I found my bag hanging on its hook out the front of the classroom, I grabbed the Ventolin and took two puffs. Just above the row of hooks was a window that overlooked the whole playground. While I stood there and waited for the medication to work, I had a thought. What would happen if I continued to keep on puffing?
I held the Ventolin in my mouth and I continued to squeeze the pump over and over again. Call me crazy, but I had this overwhelming sense of excitement as to what was going to happen and that was when I slowly started to feel like I was stepping away from my body. It was full steam ahead. Pssht, pssht, pssht, I was pressing away. That’s when I heard that magical word for the first time. SFIDFIDA is what it sounded like. That’s the only way I can describe it. This sound came in waves from the left eardrum and moved into the right eardrum over and over again. That noise, SFIDFIDA was the direct result of hallucinating from taking too much Ventolin. I was well aware what I was doing was forbidden but I just could not stop. Pssht, pssht, pssht, I kept pressing, the SFIDFIDA got louder and more present. It felt like someone was singing straight through my head. In my mind it felt like I was watching myself, watching the kids running around the school playground and I can recall thinking, ‘I bet they’re not having as much fun as me.’
I was in such a peaceful state of mind. It was undoubtedly dangerous and I’m sure I knew this, but the issue of safety had never entered my mind, it still doesn’t. My ability to always feel safe is part of my genetic make-up and is probably a massive part of the reason nothing sinister has really happened to me. That and a dash of good luck.
Pssht, pssht, pssht, now it seemed like I was getting further and further away from my body and the SFIDFIDA noise was getting more prominent. I realised it may be the time to just enjoy the fruits of my labour and continue my quest for the ultimate buzz at a later date. The Ventolin dropped down to my thigh with my hand attached to it. I felt like some sort of grand conductor standing on the second floor, directing and controlling with my mind the little school children down below, running around like ants.
My Ventolin puffing extravaganzas only subsided when Mum realised I was burning through these puffers at a rapid rate, she took me to see an asthma specialist, Dr McIntyre, one of the leading asthma men in Melbourne. He had the gall to question the regularity and administration of my application. If anything I was proactive, rather than overzealous. The two of them ganged up on me, the old divide and conquer routine. I had seen my school teachers try this on me. I held firm to my denial of the accusations against my good name, till the doc suggested that if one was to continue using Ventolin at this rate, one would risk the chance of getting emphysema. What the fuck? Now I was all for having a good time, but this startling revelation was too much. Still…the seed had been sown.
THE DOG BITE
‘Don’t let the same dog bite you twice.’
— Chuck Berry
It was a reasonably overcast day. My sister and I were playing in the front garden when Jerusalem Joe, our next door neighbour popped over to our house and asked my parents if I could go for a bike ride with him. Jerusalem Joe was fond of me and made a real effort to include me in his activities. He managed three daughters and I guess he considered me the little boy he longed for. Jerusalem Joe was a unique looking specimen, very much from the David Helfgott mould, the real life piano player that inspired the Oscar for Geoffrey Rush in the movie Shine.
Jerusalem Joe was a trailblazer in the fashion stakes as well. You would often see him tearing around Bentleigh in a pair of tracksuit pants, Velcro runners and a leather man-bag. Not the sort of man-bag you see the men of today carrying with the leather shoulder strap. This was more of a man-purse with a little leather strap that you put around your wrist. I was always amazed by his trendsetting bag. Once I filled in at Jerusalem Joe’s company for a day and his employees all called him ‘the enigma’, due to his hyperactivity.
I was riding a hand-me-down BMX from one of my cousins. Dad had done it up with a new seat and hand grips to make it passable. In hindsight it was awful, but at the time I thought it was very special.
We were about a block away from our houses when we turned into Austin Street and I had a feeling as soon as I turned into the street, that something was not right. There were lots of people pottering around and then it happened.
Jerusalem Joe was about ten metres in front of me as we were halfway down the street and everything started to slow down. I heard a dog barking and a man yelling. I recall it was getting closer to me. I looked to see this grey blur coming towards me. Jerusalem Joe by this stage had stopped to look back at what was happening because this motherfucker was growling and making a godawful noise.
A grey weimaraner had charged out of its house and started attacking my calf. I felt my leg compress and I saw the dog shaking his head from side to side. It was as if time stood still, everyone was watching what was happening to me, but no one seemed to be able to do anything. It was all so quiet and serene. Very much like an out-of-body experience. I don’t recall any pain. After the dog had bitten me, he raced off. I thought it might be a good idea to jump off my bike and see if there was any damage to my leg. Upon first inspection, everything looked okay as there was no damage to my track pants, not even a hole. I continued wearing them for years after the attack.
When I jumped off the bike, the situation hit me like a fishmonger’s prices at Christmas. I sat down on the footpath and lifted up the track pant leg and saw that the dog had made an upside-down u shape incision on the whole of my calf. As I lifted my pant leg further, the bottom of the u-shaped skin flap had caught in the elastic and come off. So all I saw was bloody, pink flesh the size of the back of my calf. I knew then and there that this was one of those life changing moments.
People started screaming and running around not knowing what to do. One of my kinder friend’s father happened to be working in the street and chased the dog with a shovel. As I sat there on the nature strip holding my calf to my leg, the owner of the dog ran out to me with some tea towels and started to secure them around my wound. I guess I was in shock because I didn’t feel anything. But I remember being calm under pressure, a skill that would serve me well during my life. Blood started to seep through the first tea towel and drip onto the ground, so the owner wrapped another one around it.
I could see the fear in the dog owner’s eyes, he was terrified. The man couldn’t bring himself to say anything, he just stared at me. There was blood all over the footpath by this stage and poor old Jerusalem Joe had turned pale. He decided it would be best if he rode home to tell Dad. I recall people talking about an ambulance because of the blood loss. There was quite a crowd now and all of them where freaking out. I recall the sun setting at the bottom of the street as I watched for Dad’s car.
Then he turned the corner in his white Falcon station wagon that he was so damned proud of. Such an overwhelming feeling of safety and relief washed over me. Everything was going to be all right now, even though my leg was torn apart and my calf was hanging by a piece of skin. I felt safe because Dad was there. He took charge and got me into the back seat straight away. I can’t remember him saying much, he didn’t need to. I knew he had the situation under control. That’s a special feeling,