While I was in Darwin, people broke into my house again. Despite the massive bolt and lock I put on the door. I got back to Halls Creek on Sunday morning, which is when I learned of it. The road had been opened on Friday so I drove straight down to take a look. The police had resecured the door, but really they need not have bothered. I was devastated to find that everything of value or of significance to me was gone, or destroyed.
Everything. My valuables, my artefacts, my documents, my kitchen stuff, food, tools, whatever. Gone. What was not taken was wantonly destroyed. They stabbed holes in my bodhran, they smashed my laptops, trampled any books, cds and DVDs they did not take. They pissed on my clothes and desecrated the bed. They wrote on the wall but not in ink.
I truly could not handle it. Once I found my most precious things were not there, I did a perfunctory check of the rest and realised I could not cope and I could not stay.
I did not stay. I just locked the door again and left. I am back in the SPQ.
I tell myself it is all just things, only things.
But I am grieved and angry.
That is why I wrote the Prozac song. Humour is my coping mechanism. Even so, I took a double dose today.