On the 10th of November I chose to perform something I wrote and it has opened my world to new possibilities.

I pushed painfully against the walls of my comfort zone, a place that in hindsight has never really been that comfortable and I dragged myself up on a stage that was not accessible to my mobility challenged body and with my phone in hand, read aloud to a crowd for the first time.

I have never really considered myself a writer. Many failed novels where I killed off the entire cast in the first chapter, written on an old typewriter with faded ink littered my world as a preteen. Eventually the visual arts stole my attention with all the endless possibilities of new hyperfixations an undiagnosed AuDHDer could dream of.

And yet, I never stopped enjoying the written word. It was an obsession that ruled me with anything I could get my hands on in fantasy, thrillers and horror. I’d take a cheap and cheesy romance from my Grandmother just to have a page to turn. Now that I am allowing myself to take up space with an aim to thrive, not just survive; I want to be the one writing the words that engage others. I want to push myself to express worlds both real and imagined. To process a life that often overwhelms psychologists and amazes strangers. To learn to live my own story, my own truths without forward momentum being stunted by guilt, shame or fear because my story is also a part of someone else’s story.

So, I will write. About childhood, adulthood and all the bits between. About the small moments and the large ones. My feelings and experiences, the violence and the love. I want to use flowery prose and effusive descriptions to sweep others into the story and down a road they may have never travelled before and expand others worlds just as my own has been broadened by every word I have read. I want to share my journey and see people like me feel less alone knowing there are others who share their experiences or feelings, much like I have been comforted by those who stood tall before me. I want to carry a well worn thesaurus again, proclaiming loudly that it is my favourite book like the snotty brat I once was and who continues to live inside me caged and quashed by societies expectations of people born female. To scream with joy about who I am and not fear whose feelings may be hurt by that. To not tarnish my own shine based on expectations of the majority. If I must be a thumb that sticks out, I don’t want to hit myself…the world does enough of that for me already. It’s time to embrace the colour, the sparkle and shine.

The Bug Tent

Where the story begins…I am housesitting in a wildly beautiful space out near Uki . This is a gorgeous open home in the forest with a creek bubbling past just metres away. A second structure reminds me of a treehouse fantasy. The serenity and nature, the exquisitely innumerable shades of green, the wallabies and birds are all so healing.

I love it here…

There’s a lot of mosquitoes buzzing by and sucking me dry and the March flies? Wow, the March flies are incessant and determined to get their next meal from any exposed flesh they can find. I have set up my new popup bug tent over the bed creating safety and seclusion from the love that the insects would thrust upon my unconsenting person.

But guess who’s hiding in the tent?

Me!!!!

I was minding my own business sitting on the couch, drawing when I hear a very, very loud scurrying. Like, exceptionally and surprisingly loud. It sounded like Thing was in a race for his life. I ignore it at first, thinking maybe it’s a mutant mouse or a shrunken possum…but it gets louder and faster.

I look up and a Shetland pony, masquerading as a fucking spider pops out from behind the aircon unit on the wall next to the couch. This thing is sprinting across the wall. I’ve seen some wild spiders in my life but I have never seen anything like this possessed mother fucker. Before I even had a moment to process what it was, it had already ran over to the bookcase, down a quarter of the ceiling height where it’s now the closest it could get to the couch from where I first saw it appear and it fucking jumped. The sound of it landing will haunt me for years to come.

Now it’s disappeared somewhere in the 2 feet between the bookcase and the couch, where I am sitting. I got the hell out of there as fast as I could, which wasn’t particularly swift. I have never seen or heard such a hefty spider in my life. The dude is on steroids for sure…jacked like he trained with Arnold and heavier than my arse cheek which is pretty bloody heavy.

And my real problem? My disabled arse is too slow to outrun that Usain Bolt pretender. So…this is where we find me, trapped in my bug tent for eternity.

Send food.

Harli Vi – Nov 2025