What is the best thing to do if the person whom you have forgiven continue to hurt you? "

"I am frightened of bad things happening to me,"

She whispered to me when I met her first time not far away from our house.

I took her hand and invited her inside. She checked my room and noticed the rusty water tank in our backyard.

"My parents worry as well that there will be not enough rain this winter..."

"That's different," she shrugged.

"I spend a great deal of time being troubled by how I look and how do I behave, do you as well?"

She suddenly turned to me checking her reflection in a mirror behind me.

"If there is not enough water, out cattle die and there will be not enough money..."

"Money for what?" She asked me absent mindendly.

"For my family to live on," I replied sadly and getting curious I asked her: "What about your family?"

"We live in that rundown house nearby," she vaguely pointed through the window out,

"My mum spend all the money we get from centrelink on her drink," her face shrank with sudden hate.

Without more words I just came closer and gave her a big hug.

"Bad things happen all the time, look at that wild bush outside, I mean snake can bite you, right?"

"Or you can drawn in our lake, I mean if there is enough water left there," I lauged, but she gave me a dark look.

"Look, there is enough water up there, I think it is perfectly reasonable to be troubled by that ...

and to brace yourself for the worst-case scenario, right?"

I took her hand into mine and pulled her behind me: "Come with me I show you something,"

"I don't think too much about the misfortunes ahead, except the rain," I explained walking in a warm sushine...

to show her my secret spot in the garden, "Bad things can happen," I smiled at her and twirled her around,

"should things go wrong, I deal with it at the time,"

"just like my father dealt with not enough rain, he built a special water tank," I pointed proudly at our new farm feature,

"It's a wonderful way to live your life," I beamed at her but she just stood there looking at the water rushing down.

"I can't imagine not worrying that no one would love me, that I will end up not worth of loving and alone..."

I brushed her cheek gently when we stopped in front of my house to say good bye: "Worrying about something won't stop it happening any more than wishing for something will make it come true."

She waved her good bye and followed her path out of my life, spending her time with negative thoughts that unfortunatelly become true.

What keeps you awake at night?

She answered with those

plaintive eyes

on full beam,

"It's always anxiety,

Something not done.

Someone I've let down..."

She carried

her own demons

from her own

childhood,

as her friend

I have been

in the frontline of her pain.

We travelled

together

in search of things past,

the countryside

increasingly

pushed away

by suburbia

to all that

isolates

those

who are

apparently

connected

by history

and proximity

to their neighbours.

Just like us...

Suddenly she stopped,

there was a new playground

in our way,

where things wild used to grow

and our secret path

we used to take

through the bush

to our place of childhood dreams.

'You looked so nervous,

so shy,

like a foal on the edge of fleeing,

I remember it

just like it was yesterday,

meeting you right here,

for the first time,"

I smiled at her and took her hand in mine.

"And you told me to be brave,"

She put her hand back into her pocket,

"Let me assure you the world is a wonderful place",

you used to say and it was

just like that,

for you.

"You have been the tallest in our class,

with dangly bones

and eyes so big,

the world was lost in them,

I would spot you anywhere,

rushing to your side,

when other kids teased you,

calling you 'girraffe'..."

She closed her eyes and clenched her fists

inside the pockets of her coat:

"I hated you for that, how much I hated you,

the perfect girl with a perfect smile..."

"No you didn't,

you just say so

now

to explain the sorrow

you caused me,

later on,"

I patted her arm and crossed the playground

in search of our childhood path,

I didn't turn around

but I sensed her

following me:

"You were eager to learn

and master everything I knew,

we were just like twins..."

"The perfect princess and her ugly sister,

you mean,

everyone loved you,

your sunny disposion

and the urge to please..."

"It took me a lifetime to learn to say no,

you have been always good at that."

I laughed turning around to see her grumpy face.

"I was one they resented,

they wanted to be in my place,

bathing in your sunshine,

I could never allow that,

therefore I chased your man away."

"Disloyalty, faithlessness, treachery,

arouse extreme dislike,

you should learn it by now,"

I found the overgrown path

and cleared the way

for her to pass...

"Who do you think you are,

to judge me?"

She hissed into my face passing by,

"You haven't been born in the middle of the freezing night

to an underaged 'pissed off' mother

who had no idea what to do with you..."

"You spent the most of the time in our house,

do you remember,

we shared everything even our nighties,

and my mum..."

"She hated me,"

Her long and sleek figure

was disappearing

fast down

to the clearing.

I quickly caught up

with her

and found

the bent old tree,

on his bark

the initials of our names

locked in the scratched

loveheart

barely visible.

"They thought we are lesbians,

never allowing any boy

to come between us,"

I whispered quietly.

"What about Jack who swept you of your feet,

you find your partner for life,

do you realize how painful it was for me?"

"I was in love,

believing

there was a man

next to me

who understood

that wonderful word:

'commitment.'

"Didn't take him long

to cheat on you,

just two years after you married him?"

"With you,"

I whispered quietly.

"You have been too naive,

remember what I told you then,

just two of us again

and little Jack,

how he used to cry for his dad,

how is he now,

he must be old

just like this carved letters..."

She smiled and gently touched the bark

of the dying tree.

"Fly high in your dreams,

but keep your feet on the ground,"

I never forget that saying,

anyway,

Jack is fine,

they get along famously with Bret."

"Your new husband,

I can't wait to meet him,"

She clasped her hands enthusiastically,

but I shook my head in sudden disapproval.

"You are part of my past not present

and I prefer to stay it that way..."

"But I am your family,

don't forget that,

being married to your brother..."

"Who is dead,"

I sighed confronted with a sudden painful memory.

"He was an alcoholic,

whose fault is that?"

"He loved you,"

I protested,

"He gave you everything

until there was nothing more to give..."

"He spent ages daydreaming,

must run in your family,

drove me crazy with his selfless love..."

"It is time for me to go,

there is nothing to be said,

any more,"

I looked at her

for the last time

inside those

well known

and yet foreign

plaintive,

pleading eyes.

"This town is your home,

are you running away again,

leaving me behind?"

I turned around

and her words followed me

down the path

like endless chain of sorrow and pain,

"Friends and family

are the cornerstone of your life,

I have disappoint you,

but you too,

are guilty

of breaking my heart"

At the end of the path

I turned back

to give her one last big smile

and waved,

regret can not fix what we lost

and yet

there was pity what I felt

not hate,

never part on an angry word,

I repeated to myself

when I shouted back:

"Keep safe my friend from the past,

you taught me I can never have enough disappointment,

you gave me great story ideas

that should keep me in writing business for life."

What would you change in your family?

There is not a lot of joy living in my parents' house

He said straight away before I had a chance to start our counselling session. " Isn't it?" I was taken back: "I thought your parents send you here because they care..."

"They don't understand me," he cut me out: "Drugs are my way out, they are fascinating cause they change my consciousness."

" What is your first childhood memory?" I asked him suddenly imagined him as a little child.

"The smell of the forest and my father holding me tight, he died when I was very young." He closed his eyes and I let him to reflect but suddenly he opened his eyes again.

"I still smell this forest when the needle slid into my arm, a bizzare awesome calm, it's in your blood, moving towards your brain..."

"Your body may fall apart," I whispered, quietly in sudden silence, but he doesn't hear me. "I am stoned, I am high, I am above and below law and reality."

Another client. She entered the room quietly. "Are you okey?" I asked her gently and she murmured under her breath.

"I am so relaxed, opiates help me to live in a never ending dream. I am in a mystical place, very little that's negative gets through me."

"Tell me about your family," I nudged her quietly. "There is nothing to tell," she shrugged and closed in.

"I can imagine you as a beautiful child with a big smile," I suddenly heard myself to say.

"Where I come from all girls had to be beautiful and obedient." She bit her lip painfully and closed her eyes again.

Another client, another day. "Why do I take drugs, hmm, let me think?" He winked at me: "Cause I can do more things with grass."

"And what about your family?" I asked suddenly. "What about them?" He threw the question at me back: "They just don't understand."

"What is your best childhood memory?" I tried again. "Swimming together in our family pool,"

his eyes moistured with a sweet memory, "We had some good times together."

"You had to be a good swimmer?" I smiled at him encouragingly. "Swam as a fish, my mum even gave me blue bedsheets so I pretend to swim in my cot too."

"What happened then?" I asked again. "I stopped swimming, I lost my confidence," he bit his nail: "Blue sheets turned red with blood, but with grass everything happens naturally I can get into the kiss, believe in innocent touch again... "

"There were always too many rules in my family," another client said to me. "What do you mean by rules?"

" Too many eyes to watch over you, neighbours living just behind the wall, hearing everything and your parents commenting endlessly on your behaviour..."

"They are just worried about you," I tried to say but he jumped in: "About what, about those few drinks ?"

"Why do you drink?" "Why, I guess everything is unconstrained, there is not as many social barriers placed on me, I do what I want to do..."

"I need to escape," another client made his point clear. "Escape from what?" I asked quietly.

"Escape from everything, from our conflicts, our family, LSD can do it for me."

I watched my last client to leave our counselling room for a day thinking about their issues with drug use.

The first thing to be aware of is that only a minority of people using any drug, except nicotine, develop serious problems with their use.

People developing problematic use who end up in drug treatment are often faced with social deprivation, drug law enforcement practices and availability....

They are often rejected by mainstream and seek active emulation and admiration from like minded peers...

They start to use drugs at an early age, often have no social competence,  they suffer from personal disorders and psychological distress or trauma from childhood....

What about their family? Are they left behind? Some of them complain of no relationships with their family and some of overly authoritarian or neglect parent...AND YET NONE OF THEM FEEL THAT THEIR FAMILY LET THEM DOWN

"There is not a lot of joy in raising my son,"

her plaintive eyes

said it all,

knowingly

patting her arm,

the words came out

of my mouth

repeated

so many times

to overstressed parents,

whose children

I had

in my class.

"Do not give up,

never give up

on your children,

being born

in different shapes

and sounds,

no one can predict

who we greet

when time comes."

She nodded,

but I knew,

she didn't hear me,

"Impulsive and narcisstic

was my little one,

from the first time

I hold him in my arms,"

she was lost in her past:

"I ignored his tantrums,

and him as well,

you know,

his father left me,

when he was just two and half,

but what I really need to ask,

is my child act impulsively

because of his ADHD?"

"It is not easy to raise a child

on your own,

especially sons

they crave

to have their dads around."

I smiled at her encouragingly.

Another teacher-parents' meeting,

another mum,

"She was beautiful,

she was mine,

I was on the top of the world,

holding that soft pink skin

looking in her angelic eyes,

that tiny miniature of me,"

her eyes moistured

with memories of love.

"Never needed to scold her too much,

never really went on my nerves,

but now

I am just

too tired

to look after my autistic child."

I nodded and she closed her eyes.

For a change,

both parents

entered

our school,

hand in hand:

"Then we noticed

something else

in our five years old,

still,

were not ready

to admit,

there is something wrong,"

the father told me

and his wife just sighed,

"He was

just,

suddenly,

hard to control,

often hostile to us

and everyone else."

"There are many professionals

to help,

you are not

the only one,

having

severely

misbehaving

child."

I gestured at them

to follow me

to see the full classes

of students

lacking basic social skills.

There was a student

with conduct disorder,

screaming on the top of his lungs:

"Screw you and your game,

whatever you tell me,

I am not going to do."

They looked at each other

reminded,

suddenly,

of their son.

When we passed the classroom,

one more time,

the student settled down,

enjoying the game

he refused to play.

This time they smiled

at each other,

there was hope in their eyes.

Then an young mum

rushed through the school gate,

from distance

I noticed

her pale face,

her nervous eyes

darting around

she finally said:

"My child looks normal,

there is really nothing wrong with him,

not like that,"

she pointed at a student in a wheelchair,

"He is just growing up

without showing emotion,

remorse or empathy."

"What do you mean by that?"

I quietly asked.

"He likes to lie,

not just avoid punishment,

as all children will,

but for any reason

or none."

She shrugged and took a cigarete out.

I pointed at the 'no smoking' sign

but she just kept puffing away

and talking at once:

"If I cry and tell him,

he hurted my feelings,

he just doesn't care.

He just have to have

what he wants.

If he gets it,

he chooses not to be cruel,

but at the end of the day,

he will do whatever works best,

he has already killed his friend's pet,

just a tiny guinea pig,

cause he was told to hand it back..."

"Are you going to ignore it?"

I asked looking her straight into eyes.

"Ignore what, it was just a guinea pig after all?"

"Those traits of antisocial behaviour,

you told me about,

or are you going to confront the problem

to help your child to change the course?"

"No one can tell me

if my son has personality disorder,

they just say,

that his brain is still developing

that the normal behaviour

up to teenager's years

can be misinterpreted

as psychopathic,

do I want my son be diagnozed

with disorder

been considered

untreatable?"

Suddenly she came close to me

and the cigarette's smoke filled my lungs,

I started to cough

while she resolutely shook her head:

"No way, forget it."

"I admire your attitude,

but smoking

is really forbidden,

here,"

I took the cigarete from her hand,

while she continued.

"I have read on internet,

the capacity of empathy,

which is controlled

by specific parts of the brain,

might still exist

weakly

in my son

and could be strengthened,

I have to hope that's true,

I have to be patient,

I want to believe it is true."

Her eyes shone expectantly

and I desperately wanted

to give her

only positive news.

"He may grow up from it

in his late teens,

the experts say.

He will learn to pacify the rough waters,

learning to control

himself

from outside in."

I quietly said and she beamed

waving at me:

"I'll bring him in,

straight away tomorrow,

I'll bring him in."

Looking after her

I remembered

what she was not told,

that some of these children

just develop a larger skill set

of manipulation.

They know how to get what they want.

'The callous-unemotional child',

was written under Kyle's name,

opening the new student's file,

her son's diagnosis

suddenly obvious,

and something else

added in neat handwriting:

'respond to reward

far more than punishment,

what you will notice first

is the manipulativeness

that he is showing.'

'The cold-blooded behaviours

low levels of cortisol

and below-normal function

in the amygdala,

the portion of the brain

that processes fear

and shame...'

I studied his condition,

that no one else at the school had.

'The callous-unemotional kids

don't feel

uncomfortable,

don't develop

the same aversion

to punishment

or to the experience

of hurting someone..'

I read more thinking

about his young mum

and her determination

to help him out.

Why some callous-unemotional children

grow up to be

deeply troubled adults

while others do not?

I asked myself

and the answer lied just in front of me...

"What would you change in your family,

if you had a chance?"

"Nothing,

I have a new boyfriend

who helps me with Kyle,

his father was just a 'ratbag',

but look,"

she pulled up a sleeve up on her blouse,

name of her son was tattooed on her arm,

" You can't wash it out,

family is forever,

Kyle will be fine,

Kyle is my son."