Love Your Sister

I had some issues farming the succulents, putting it mildly, then my nephew Sullivan stole my farming hat. I didn’t offer it to him. I never even imagined he’d wear it ever. Wherever he lays that hat, that’s his home now. I’m not just hatless, I’m homeless.

I want to spew out my best insults, but I’m holding my tongue. Literally.

We thought we farmed enough Sullivan Succulents, but who knows what the Village wants, so it’s a first-in-best-dressed thingo. Sullivan Succulents are now available in our market.

www.loveyoursister.org/market

xFarmerSam

PS: You can leave your hat on, Sull.

Ewing’s sarcoma targets youngsters. All cancers are horrible, but this one targets early teens for some sick reason. My sister Connie’s first cancer was Ewing's sarcoma and nearly took her life at the tender age of 11. Everyone at school thought they would catch it. My sister was bald and she might die. Her actual end?

Every child with cancer now receives Precision Medicine, and of course we proudly and financially support the Zero programme for kids with cancer but back then things were a lot different. My sister Connie was a part of the first wave of kids to survive cancer, back in the 1980’s. There was chemo for kids, thankfully, but we just couldn’t treat the nausea. Then, suddenly and miraculously, Ondansetron came on the market, making cancer treatment way less sickening.

But not for kids. Initially, it was only prescribed for adult cancer patients. My big sister was well under 18 and desperate for anything to combat the nausea, so she wrote a slew of letters to the health ministry. The federal minister granted Connie an exemption and suddenly she could use the magical Ondansetron on her next treatment. Even as a kid, Connie tried to change the world. She actively sought improved patient outcomes. I wanted to be like her.

Decades later, in the last days of her third and final cancer, my sister lobbied hard on the hill. Dying, in active pain and away from her children, her message to every MP was the same. ‘It’s too late for me, but it’s not too late for others. Please do this, for all of us!’ The Medical Research Future Fund legislation passed. My sister got it done.

Connie showed me, when I was a kid, that one person can cause change. Then, years later, she caused positive change for all of us. Now I don’t just raise funds for a worthy cause - I try to end cancer now, like her, because she is still right. Our families matter more than anything. This is over when we stop losing our loved ones. We all make a difference. It’s us.

For my Ondansetron flagbearer; for all of us so unnecessarily interrupted by the emperor of all maladies, we’ve come so far and have further to go, and we shall, because we must.

xSammySeal (brother of Connie Cottonsocks)

P.S. Buy rad thingies from our market if you wanna help me stand for us?

Up to you, as per…

www.loveyoursister.org/market

We all span a wide continent and we fight for all of us. If you’re not in a position to visit our LYS market, then you can hit the magic ‘like’ button and further accelerate our progress!

Do I have really big hands or are our villagers really small? You know what they say about big hands? Big gloves!

I was ripping through some orders today, being a good village market boy, and who should visit? Some caring villagers. I love what I do and I love you. I’m not even frunk. Yet.

Whhooopsie, I meant drunkle,.

xxshammy

www.loveyoursister.org/market

Got me a helmet. Got me a handy bike pump. I don’t have me a bike. Here’s the thing.

I live the ideal life in a small town, called Tallarook. 925 people live in it. Our only LYS retail outlet is at the General Store here, which is also the Post Office.

In Tallarook the mail is delivered in the early morning on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays. It’s only three streets, three mornings a week, but it’s a 32k round trip! Much of it is off-road too. I have to ride a rail trail there, for example, and most all of the mail boxes are along dirt driveways. The surfaces are not too chunky or anything, but I’m looking for a sturdy bike. I’m also not looking for a mountain bike. I already unicycled around the country and I’m a little older now, so I’m chasing a sturdy electric bike. I can become the Tallarook Postie, and I've already got the job! I’ve wanted to be a Postie forever and this is my chance.

I’ve got back up too! When I’ve got LYS business, like when I have to fly to Sydney for a meeting with the CWA, The NSW Health Minister and Omico, for example, Nigel at the General Store is happy to do my Postie run in my absence. It really is the perfect little par- time gig for me. Those early mornings will ensure I don’t go an hour over the night before. It’s my new self-care thang.

I’m looking for advice. I don’t really know where to start! I need recommendations for the best electric bike for a part-time Postie on slightly dodgy roads! One with a battery that will last for all 32ks? Suggestions?

xsam

www.loveyoursister.org/market or link in profile!

I need your help. Thoughts please?

The Great Rift Valley. Ethiopia. We came from here. The place where humanity began. The Great Rift Valley is our earthly Garden of Eden. Our us.

The human brain didn’t grow gradually. It boosted in three distinct time periods. Firstly, 1.8 million years ago. Next, 1 million years ago. Then again, 200,000 years ago. What happened to cause this? Why?

The three times, 800,000 years apart, correspond to the time when the earth’s orbit was at its most elliptical. The unique geology and position of the Great Rift Valley amplified these changes.

Rain like we’ve never seen ourselves. Constant rain, for countless months, every 800,000 years. Elliptical rain. Great lakes formed. Trees became few and far between. Basically, heavy rain every 800,000 years caused humans to be.

It’s recent and is called ‘The Pulse Climate Variability Hypothesis’. Without an inconceivably unlikely set of coincidences and the way these conspired together to change the climate in one system of valleys in Ethiopia, we simply wouldn’t exist.

I wanna do a three-part doco on the human brain. Part One is the history of the brain, including the ‘The Pulse Climate Variability Hypothesis’. I’ve kinda got Part One covered.

Part Two is where I need your help. Part Two is the modern brain. The last 100 years. I was thinking of including dreams, lobotomies, psychedelics, deja vu and how nearly all of the true greats were autistic, but other than that I’m packing nothing but air and I need a lot of help with Part Two.

The third part is AI. We’re building another brain before we really understand our own. I’ll also need your feedback here. What do we really know about AI? Are we justifiably scared of biogenesis and AI now? Is ‘Artificial Intelligence’ a scary shadow, a gift or both?

Just because I’m fascinated by our human brain doesn’t mean I think I’m Australia’s Louis Theroux. I could be barking up the wrong tree here. I’ve done that plenty of times before. Wanna tell me what interests you so I don't pitch a show that you have no interest in?

This no brainer is doing my head in, so what say we build this documentary together, yeah? Like or comment or share? As always, I’ll read every comment even though I'm unable to reply to all.

xsammy

PS: The human brain is the most complex single object in the known universe. The brain contains about 85 billion individual neurons, which is of the same order as the number of stars in an average galaxy. But that doesn’t begin to describe its complexity. Each neuron is thought to make between 10,000 and 100,000 connections to other neurons. When we do manage to simulate a brain, sentience will emerge. ‘Consciousness is not magic, it is an emergent property consistent with the known laws of nature.’

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https://www.loveyoursister.org/market

They fell off the back of a truck, if you know what I mean. I paid off a dodgy bloke and came upon some Bertie Beetles. It was thoroughly against the law, yes, but it was still the right thing to do. Thus, I have a few Bertie Beetles spare for anyone who wants to help us keep the lights on so I can continue to sanctify donations. And I’m looking to offload these Bertie Beetles before I get arrested for publicly and proudly admitting to a crime.

Also (and I try not to do this often), you need a proper scolding. I don’t want to lecture you about mountains and molehills, or the power of togetherness, but I simply cannot tolerate so many of you apologising for not doing more. No. Just no.

You are apologising for your vital help? Did you wake up in Topsy Turvy land or something? I’m never sorry for repping you, but apparently you’re sorry for giving me a drum to bang? It really does all add up. The truest thanks are mine. This torrent of apologies are never shared.

Also, there’s a bunch of you that asked to be reminded about ‘keeping the lights on’ next pay cycle, so here it is! And, to villager Sally L, the Bertie Beetle helicopter hat arrived (pictured) and is coming your way (nearly new!) for your son who loves goofy hats.

Lemme be very clear, otherwise I’ll get into even more trubs. This is NOT me raising funds for Precision Medicine for all cancer patients. This is NOT a donation. This is me bribing you with Bertie Beetles to consider helping us keep the lights on.

No more apologies today. Instead, just say ‘happy to help you achieve the impossible’ or something. We clear? Good. I got dirty beetles to munch on.

xsam

www.loveyoursister.org/market

Imagine that you ordered a single Love Your Sister Bouncing Ball and opened the satchel, expecting the single bouncy ball, as ordered, only to be pelted by a torrent of balls that blocked out the sun.

Our program is 89 times more successful than anticipated.

EIGHTY NINE.

My brain stopped when I read this. I couldn’t compute it. I actually had to hit them up to make sure that it wasn’t a typo, it looked too good to believe.

We are so proud to be funding the Collaborate and Cure program at Macquarie University. Taking and sequencing samples of all sorts of cancers as well as putting them in the biobank and then making the data available to other researchers in the field is my kind of yes.

Furthering Precision Medicine? Check.
Eliminating wastage? Checkitty check.
A pan-cancer approach for the benefit of everybody? Check mate!

But 89 times more successful than anticipated is bonkers and bezerkles.

Thank you is the only small word we have to partially express our true gratitude to the whole team there. I thought you were amongst the brightest researchers on the planet. It seems I might be right.

89 wows from here. We owe you forever - you know how this works.

Sam and the LYS village.

As much as inflammatory clickbait could help me here, I’d rather reach fewer of you with the simple truth. This is my polite version. Charity fatigue is real. Charity cynicism is rampant. For good reason. We read the annual reports.

I call them “the other mobs”. There are 55,000-60,000 registered charities in Australia. Most all spend your donations to survive. They say things like “100%”, and then have “of profits” or “of proceeds” in the fine print. Love Your Sister will never be like them.

We don’t touch your donations. Never have, never will. I promised my sister, and my word is all I have. In order to NEVER touch donations, I rely on kind-hearted people to help me out. So I’m pulling out the big guns. Not just any beetle. Bertie Beetles. If you rate Bertie Beetles and reckon LYS should continue our work, then you might want to contemplate this tasty bribe? Nom nom.

www.loveyoursister.org/market

Over the years many board members, lawyers, accountants and auditors have all strongly recommended that we touch donations to survive. I have to be very clear with them all - it’s my only non-negotiable. I choose to do it the hard way. I dream of the smell of an oily rag. I call it the ‘you choose’ model. What if YOU decided what was fair? You can help keep our lights on, or not. It’s up to you.

www.loveyoursister.org/market

xsam

PS: Apparently a very goofy helicopter hat will arrive with the boxes of Berties, so I’ll be sure to don it and remind you about keeping our lights on next pay cycle, as you’ve instructed me to do in the comments.

PPS: Also, many villagers have wondered how we got our mitts on the old beetles. Let’s just say I have friends in chocolatey places! And I slipped the truckie $50.

Turns out you’re open to bribery. I recently did a Curly Wurly deal and y’all went thoroughly bezerkles and sent our volunteers even greyer. So…here’s what I’m scheming.

You help us keep our lights on and we send you Bertie Beetles! The more you help, the more Beetles you get!

www.loveyoursister.org/market

I hope you are having a superb now. I want to continue my work by never touching donations. I promised my sister and you in our Village. And my word is all I have. In order to NEVER touch donations, I rely on kind-hearted people to help me out. If you rate Bertie Beetles and reckon LYS should continue our work, then you might want to contemplate this tasty bribe? Garn.

www.loveyoursister.org/market

xsam

LMCT: I f*ckin’ love youse.

I had me a little mishap exactly 36 months ago. One degree of separation! My sister Mik is true friends with Penny, who is shacked up with Nathan. Nathan and Penny are willing a baby to come (that means rooting). Turns out Nathan was my Primary Care Doctor when I danced between life and death itself, 36 months ago. Nathan is one of the major reasons I still breathe. You know, one of those smart people who finished university and so on! So, I reckon he’s got the life thing down pat when it comes to his future family with Penny! Small world.

My sister is on the left. That’s Mik (also Laine’s little sister). Nathan, the life-giver, is in the middle and his girl Penny is on the right. I was smart, I remembered to ask Penny for permish to publish this photo, knowing full-well that these medical types are bound by a kabillion hoops, and she told me to go for it!

Life doesn’t come for nothing. We rely on smarter people than me to put humpty’s like me back together again. Thanks Nathan. I owe you life itself. And Penny, I reckon your heart chose right! And Mik, I’ll see you soon sis. We got tickets.

Oh, by the way, the Curly Wurly thing is going bezerkles.

xsam

Insert evil cackle! I’ve got an in with a couple guys at Cadbury and I did a sweet deal with them. And, drumroll please, I can’t say too much, but I have a mate at Aussie Post who’ll pull a swifty for us and I got a secret handshake kinda deal on postage. I didn’t get everything free, so we can’t go completely bezerkles, but here’s the rub…

I want to give you a free Curly Wurly and in return I’m asking you to click a link.

The link is to a show called ‘The Hospital - In The Deep End’. All 3 eps have screened now so you can binge now if you wanna. I want the clicks because SBS and the pollies are aware of how many ‘chapters’ we viewers/constituents watch. I’m fighting to keep our public health system by better looking after the people who work in it, basically, and one of the ways we fight for them is by doing stuff like this.

And I should confess, I want to do more of this type of gig with SBS. Acting is pretendies and this is real s**t.

Watch the show here: www.sbs.com.au/ondemand
Claim Curly Wurly’s here: www.loveyoursister.org/market

xsam

I spoke with others about wrestling the crocodile. I spoke with y’all about ‘mental health’ stuff this week because I’m doing a show on SBS about the public health system and one of my categories is mental health.

The system has changed a lot since Medicare covered public health 40 years ago. My mum was in a ‘mental home’ back when she was wrestling the crocodile (the croc won that time) and ‘mental homes’ don’t even exist anymore. A lot has changed.

Help me lift the taboo? This is your one hour (ish) warning. It’s about to air and all that. Yada yada.

www.sbs.com.au/ondemand 8:30pm AEST

I’d suggest you just click the link, even if watching something heavy isn’t your thing now. There’s a Curly Wurly in it for ya! I’ll explain further tomorrow when I’m not so wiped. I had my Curly’s a bit early today (an Early Wurly) and I’m tanking after the sugar rush. I’ll prolly fall asleep while I try to watch myself on the gogglebox. It’s like looking in the mirror for an hour. Horror. Sleep is way better. Might just click me a link and earn more Curly Wurly’s. Because I can! And because it seems my mental health is a little wonky right now, like my vestibular system. I’m rambling. Righto. If you’re going to stream it, click here to claim your free Curly Wurly…

www.loveyoursister.org/market

SBS On Demand
SBS Australia

This is as real for me as it gets. Here goes everything.

My mum opted out of life itself, after countless attempts, when I was three; before my memory worked. You are 9 times more likely to try again if you try once. There is only one photograph of us together. I don’t know whether I was breast fed. I didn’t know how to spell her first name until I was well into my teen years. Hug was just a word - I defibrillated at touch. I still don’t know what colour she wore her hair, or how long it was. I still don’t know if she was buried or cremated, or where she rests. Or when she chose to stop.

A mum was what other kids had, because my mum left. I had nothing to remember to miss. Luckily my Dad was a champ and I just assumed, based on her countless attempts, that mum found life to be a most dreadful and onerous undertaking. I just invented dark clouds because they must surely accompany self-death?

Over the years, I came to know my mum. She wasn’t just dark and cloudy. She wasn’t just institutionalised, depressed and suicidal. She lived a life. She loved sharking fellas for money on the pool table in men-only bars. My mum was a gifted pianist, as a hobby, but professionally, she was a poet. An actual, real-life poet. When I was 14, I found her poetry in an anthology of Australian women's poetry. It was aptly titled ‘Mother, I’m Rooted’. It had four of her poems in it. They all smiled. My favourite?

Softball Match At The Tech School

Frangar
Chook
F**kerata
Susie Babe
Danger
Fungoid Fool
Anderson’s dick, you can’t find it,
Pig’s ring
Bullcrap
Stick your arse behind the backstop and
Shut yer mouth
Four balls make a walk
He stole the whole base
Miss; Miss.
We wanna go home
Strike one for Fatty
Over there
This kid’s trying to kill me
Murder you
F**k you
Take it easy

I had to get me a beret, immediately. All of a sudden poetry was cool and my mum was becoming real. Why did she choose to die? I had a natural lust for life - did she? What happened? Was my dad involved somehow? I had four poems, but as far as I could tell, she was a true truth-master…

A whole decade later I found a poem she wrote, only for me. She dated it too, just months before her exit. In brackets, at the top, it simply says ‘for Samuel Joseph’. That’s my real name. She wrote a poem to her boy, a brief season before she died. She ended her poem simply, with…

All the seas of joy
Rise to sing for you boy
Surge and swell and roar

All the seas of joy
Sound wonderfully near
Since you’ve been here.

My dad farewelled his true love. Connie, Hilde and I farewelled our Mum, Merrill. She left her poetry behind for us. Her empty everything.

Then, decades later, my girl hanged herself in our bedroom. Deadly irony, laced with poetry and love letters. History repeated. Two true hearts. Gone too soon.

Now, in my mind, it’s not actually all about my mum opting out, or whether I could have given Lainie any more days; it’s that I can still listen better. Now I don’t put real matters underneath an imaginary rug. Now I try to listen to others, for our departed; our loves. Now I search harder for poets. Now I stand tall and ask my questions. For that to be remotely effective I try to love me like they did.

The world only turns twice for the lucky. Once for the laughter. Once for the memories after. All the rest is just weather and fines.

Visit our market if you want to keep ‘Love Your Sister’ going? The link is here and the choice is yours…

www.loveyoursister.org/market

All the love as per,

Mr Happy (when I was little that was my actual nickname)

Or, with all the love, from a poet’s boy, Samuel Joseph Johnson - as per my birth certificate because my mum, Merrill, was very religious and named me ‘a son of God’.

PS: We all have our own darknesses. None of us are immune. I call it wrestling the crocodile (the black dog is not near deadly enough). Sometimes the crocodile wins the violent wrestle. Some of us fold and lose everything because feeling nothing becomes way better than feeling all the somethings. More of our loved ones are opting out. World wide. Real stats and empirical facts.

I share and care, like those in our todays and our yesterdays, and if you need someone to talk to, we are here for you in this Village, and there’s groups like Beyond Blue and Lifeline…let your reach exceed your grasp, as I have tried to do. Smiles can come for the hardy?

xsam

SBS Australia SBS Australia

Today matters so much to me. I get it, we try not to take today for granted but some days mean everything. Today is my treasured, third year ‘acciversary’. It’s more significant than a birthday, than Christmas, than all the things put together. It’s not the day I was born. It’s the day I didn’t die.

Exactly three years ago I was in an epic accident and my life very nearly ended. I tanked in trauma, then somehow made it through 11 days of ‘acute PTA’ (Post Traumatic Amnesia). I had three fractures in my neck, a 1.3cm gap in my occipital bone (the back of my skull) and glass was found inside my organs. I was proper munted.

The first thing I remember is asking my girl to put a pillow over my face if I didn’t get better. I couldn’t bear the thought of her spending her final years looking after a Sam that couldn’t care for her in return. She nodded and promised to do anything I asked her to. I told her she would know when. I fell asleep, remembering her nod for me. Sometimes you say what your loved ones need to hear. And you nod.

We left for a dinner and finally came home six months later. We undertook another 12 months of rehab and fought to keep LYS ticking. I had a clear priority. I would be as good a patient as she was a carer. I would do my all to break her free from spending all her hours caring for me, even though she cares for me no matter what. I became who I wanted to be, because I didn’t want to let her down.

It makes more sense now. My sister loved saying ‘Now is Awesome’.

I suppose you get given enough pointers along the way by true hearts and you end up in a heaven you can’t build by yourself?

So how do I celebrate today with you? I pull out my best. The Curly Wurly. No argument there. Don’t go getting all weird in the comments and start suggesting there is something comparable. There isn’t. This is the best. Hands down.

Your Curly Wurly is free, pleasurable, fattening and easily redeemable! All you have to do is what’s dubbed ‘clicktivism’. Let me explain…

I did a Q&A, hosted by the NSW Minister for Health and with many other ministers about this show - ‘The Hospital - In The Deep End’, all about the Australian health system. The more eyeballs we get on this, the more the government will see that we take our health system very seriously. I know they are watching this. Are enough of us doing the same?

If we can win a mirrorball trophy or a golden d***o (logie), we can do this, surely? Set every device in the house (TV’s, phones, tablets) to watch the show on sbs.com.au/ondemand

Once you’ve got them going, click this link to claim your free Curly Wurly. You get one Curly Wurly for every device you streamed on! And you don’t even have to watch the episodes if, like me, you’re not up for it. Set the devices off and you can play with your kids, get off facial and go back to work, or walk your iguana if you have to - just visit here to redeem one Curly Wurly per device - www.loveyoursister.org/market.

My dad used to say ‘I don’t care if you bulls**t me, just don’t bulls**t yourself’. Honesty system applies. And don’t be a muppet and not claim what is rightfully yours. I have pre-ordered boxes of these and I don’t want to get too fat, so don’t be a pelican. You’re not. You’re a human with a predilection for diamonds of chocolate and caramel. Like me.

Wanna help a brother out?

x Breathing Sam

PS: Also worth noting, this is NOT paid for by the honchos at Curly Wurly. I would love to officially endorse their wonderful juicy goodness, but this is not that. Can you imagine? Imagine endorsing something you actually believe in? ‘The Curly’s are better at Curly Wurlys!’ He-he. Who knows, right?

PPS: I woke up in a foreign place and my girl wasn’t holding my hand. Covid separated us, like it separated so many loved ones. So, I sent her this picture to let her know I was okay.

SBS On Demand SBS Australia

Before beers, b***s and bongs. Alliterative and crude, I know, but that’s how it is in my head. My corporate keynote version is ‘going backwards to go forwards’.

What did I like before the maelstrom, the p***c hair, the chaos and looming adulthood? What did I like doing before that?

I liked my diablo. I liked my kaleidoscopes, then dad’s binoculars, then photography consumed me. I loved riding my bike. Being underwater amazed me.

So, to help me navigate my way through this complicated adventure we call life, I look backwards to go forwards. I’ve re-instituted what I loved doing before I grew too much. Now, I ride my bike, look through binoculars, swim plenty, take pics (on my personal instie) and I pull out the diablo. I’m not reflecting on the past, I’m reliving my version of it now. I try to find windows and that’s what I do with them. It really helps make me be ok.

I had my share of comforts too. I loved my dressing gown then, and now I have a $40 beauty - perfect floof, that all my family and friends wear now. I loved a blanky, and now I sleep with one on top of my doona. My grandma’s toy dog was in my loving custody after she passed - I just loved my soft toys. Which is why we sell an ‘Emotional Support Pickle’, and plenty of his friends, at the Love Your Sister Village market!

After all, it’s kinda mental health week here in the Village - where I can yabba on about non-cancery stuffski, and what better way to break up all the earnest with an Emotional Support Pickle post! Although, how supportive is calling me a big dill? Explain yourself Pickle! Get a range of positive veggies here and now if you wanna? Even if you can’t afford one, they are sure to make you smile!

www.loveyoursister.org/market

xsam

PS: Tomorrow is a big one! I’ll explain then.

Here she is doing selfies before we called them that, in a mirror with an old-school camera. She was an analogue girl entering a digital world, sure, but she can’t tell her story today, so I shall try…

Her name was Lainie. Loins had her own way of talking. Most of her sentences would end with ‘true’ or ‘farkin’’ - both said with adorable, bogan, high-pitched inflections. She dubbed the supermarket the ‘stupidmarket’. She retitled Free Parking in Monopoly ‘Pree Farkin’’. Sweet RTD’s were better being ‘Bitchpops’ and UDL cans were referred to without solid syllables as ‘Yoodules’. Hilari-arse meant very funny. Ooontz defined the ultimate cool. PJ Stupid Mild were her ciggies of choice. She named me Samage.

She had three hundred bucks, two op-shops and somehow produced us a real home. We lived together in our home, which she celebrated by making a multicoloured paddle pop stick art piece for - it proudly announced ‘Loins and Samage’s Homage’.

She had no problem fighting other women. Literally. She would punch them in the face if deemed necessary. I would walk into The Savoia Hotel with her, she’d frost a girl at thirty feet and the girl would promptly finish up and leave. Mostly the whole town knew she didn’t stand for any s**t. To send the right message you see. The message? Don’t f**k with our clan or I’ll hurt you. Of course she was the total opposite towards her loved ones. She was always full of so much love. She was someone who would actually take a bullet for you. Lainie was all in or fold.

Lainie was also going to be the most perfect a mother can be. I was scared of fathering and nowhere near being dependable. Over time, I started to believe I might be costing her actual love; for her child, a real family. Did we not want different lives? I broke up with her so she could find a good father. I didn’t stop loving her. She knew that. I kissed her on the forehead and told her I loved her. Her silent tears started and I left before they fell too far.

Lainie hanged herself later that night. In our bedroom. With our dog’s choker chain. While I slunk off into the shadows she went to the darkest dark. To a song I introduced her to, played first to me by my sister Connie, sung by ‘Muse’, and the lyrics included:

Hopelessly, I’ll love you endlessly.
Hopelessly, I’ll give you everything,
But I won't give you up.

Her workmate found her hanging there in our bedroom where we had spooned together so soon ago.

Our love song played on repeat 186 times before the cops pressed stop on a track called ‘Endlessly’.

Weeks before she died, my girl Lainie confided the most private, heaviest thing to me. She wasn’t just a working-class girl from the western suburbs of Sydney, she went through things no-one should ever have to even contemplate. I said the right things and never brought it up again. I couldn’t even think about it. I shoved her words straight under the rug.

I only remembered her outcry after she died.

It was a true slap in the face with that fish we call hindsight. I had loved her the best I could, but I had also unwittingly and ultimately ignored her pain. Me, the person she loved and trusted the most, couldn’t handle the truth and took the expressway to the rug factory, on the too-hard basket street. That was where I went. That was me.

And Lainie was gone. For always. For no good.

Decades ago, when I was just a tot, Dad broke up with Mum and Mum opted out of life also. History repeated, years later. The circle of death. My feelings ran out. My heart was gone. Deathly silence was the only sound my dad could hug me with.

Luckily for me, I’ve been here the 18 years since. Lainie’s mum, Kim, is my mum now. Lainie’s siblings are my siblings too. I spend Christmas and Easter with them all, some in betweens, and every year on Lainie’s birthday we do ‘The Lainie Walk’ - we trek from where she died to her resting place and camp overnight together at Lainie’s cemetery, beneath her beloved Mount Franklin. Over a long time it has become my favourite night in every year.

The first thing Lainie’s mum Kim said to me after Lainie died was ‘I’ll never blame you.’ It’s my life’s most profound turning point. Now I know what taking a bullet for someone really means. I can, at least, try to listen better. For that to be remotely effective I try to also love myself like Lainie loved me.

The world only turns twice for the lucky. Once for the laughter. Once for the memories after. All the rest is just kicking through the weather and fines.

I’ve never really spoken much about mental health here before. This is a safe cancer space - we’ve built it together and I didn’t ever contemplate drowning it with my baggage, after all we vanquish cancer with joy. But if you or a loved one gets cancer, your mental health invariably nosedives. Everything becomes instantly f**ked. So, perhaps I should have shared some of my mental health experiences here a bit earlier?

You loved and saved me. You can also punch cancer in the dick if you wanna. Farkin’. True!

www.loveyoursister.org/market (the stupidmarket!)

On ‘The Hospital: In The Deep End’ I dived into the mental health unit at St Vincent's Hospital in central Sydney, courtesy of the patients (people like me and Mum), SBS, St Vincent’s Hospital and a group of legendary nuns who still fight admirably for the marginalised. It airs (hits me like a train) this Thursday night. Your loved ones, and prolly you, know similar dark clouds to mine and we can only lift the taboo if we share our stories together instead of shoving tough stuff under the rug. I’m trying to listen better and share my forever scars because I reckon we matter.

www.sbs.com.au/ondemand

Samage

PS: I’m oft referred to as an actor, a fundraiser, a brother, a proud co-founder of LYS, a unicyclist, a voice-guy or a base hedonist. They are all appropriate monikers, but the one that’s important to me? I always will be her Samage.

SBS Australia SBS On Demand