I Will Not Eat The Darkness

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes

2010-04-05T23:03:00.000-04:00

Plumb-Cut

Fireflight-Stand Up

Sunday's Secret on Monday

2009-05-25T21:00:00.000-04:00

Secret Sunday

2009-04-19T11:51:00.000-04:00

The Valleys Ain't So Great

2009-04-17T21:22:00.000-04:00

On Wednesday, my boss told me that she no longer needed me to do the Runner job at the car dealership where I work. She said that there wasn't enough for me to do and that I was spending to much time idle. You know how sometimes when someone lies to you, you have that experience where you know immediately that you are being lied to? I had that experience Wednesday. I was so mad that I couldn't speak. I just grabbed my stuff out of my desk while slamming the drawers shut and rushed downstairs to my part-time switchboard operator that I still have (thank God). When I got down there to relieve the full-time switchboard operator she took one look at me and knew that something was wrong. She asked me if I was ok and I said no that I was definitely not ok. Then, she hightailed it out of the dealership. Then, I broke down in tears. I can't believe they did that to me.
Here's the thing: The office upstairs has 5 people, not including the owner's daughter and my boss. One of these people is the title clerk who is about 70. He NEVER does any work. He plays Solitaire and Hearts on his computer mostly and talks on his cellphone. On the odd occasion he does actually do some work, he makes so many mistakes that it takes someone else extra time to fix them when it isn't even that person's job. Now, I don't have a prejudice against old people at all. It's just that I don't understand why the dealership keeps paying him NOT to work. I talked to one of my best friends about all of this (as it happens she works with me and is the one who has to correct all of the title clerk's mistakes) and she seems to think that my boss will have him doing the work he was supposed to be doing, mistakes and all, AND my job as well. Tell me how a 70-year-old man is supposed to work two jobs? My dad is nearly 70 and he can barely walk without assistance. I don't think that's fair to him and I think it will probably make him sick, since our immune systems gradually decrease in effectiveness as we grow older. It's also not fair to me. My boss told me that I spend too much of my time "idle", which is total bullshit. I had so much to do with that job that I barely got to take a lunch. To clarify: the Runner's job at the car dealership where I work is the person who personally takes messages, bills, bank deposit runs and basically whatever else anyone in the dealership needs. I would routinely take the bank deposits (hella large sums of money) and go to the store for office supplies, go to the lawyer's office etc... THEN, when I wasn't running around in the Runner car doing errands, I had mountains of paperwork to file. My lunch was usually taken in the car on my way to or from somewhere. One day I spent 2 hours at the damn DMV because of Old Man Title Clerk and then had to go back that same day because of the mistake he made. He also sent me 30 minutes out of town on an errand to the WRONG PLACE. So, to say I was "idle" is clearly a gross understatement.
I fucking HATE office politics. I don't know why people can't just come to work, do their damn jobs and go home. It seems like every time I get a job I actually like it turns to shit because of this. Am I cursed or what?

Also, yesterday, I had to go to my dad's apartment because he said he wanted me to take this stray cat he had sort of adopted to the Humane Society. Evidently, the cat (non-neutered male) had gotten into a fight with either a cat or a dog and had gotten pretty messed up. When I saw him, I thought one of his back legs was broken and he had open sores on his neck. Going back a bit, this cat had pretty much always had open sores on his neck. They would start to heal and then somehow get opened up again. I told my dad to put some antibiotic ointment on it, but his hands shake so much that he really couldn't do it. He refused to get the cat any vet care. His excuse was that he thought the cat was going to die anyway. I couldn't believe that he took the cat in but refused it any medical help. He just sat in his recliner and watched the cat deteriorate day-by-day. I tried to take it to the Humane Society, but they wouldn't even let me inside the building. One of the gardeners when inside and came out with a little piece of paper with some numbers on it that he said were other organizations that could help me. I called every number and no one answered their phones. I left voicemails, but I knew that the cat needed immediate medical attention. So, I called the Animal Services center, knowing that if they couldn't/wouldn't help him that they would put him to sleep. When I got there, they made me sign some paperwork that I later realized was for me to surrender him to them. A man took him back to the vet and then a different man came back and gave me back my cat carrier and then was just going to walk away. I stopped him and asked him what the vet said. He told me that the vet thought the cat either had Feline HIV (FIV) or Feline Leukemia and that they couldn't afford to let it spread though their kennels so they were going to put him down. I didn't think that was very fair to the cat, but since I had already surrendered him, there was nothing I could do about it. I cried and cried and cried. I gave myself a fever being so upset. I got a call back later on that day from one of the other organizations I had called and the lady I spoke with told me that FIV and Leukemia were treatable in cats and that they usually lived a long time with that treatment. That started a new wave of crying. I felt so bad for letting them kill that cat. I realize that it might have been the humane thing to do considering that my dad wouldn't have taken the cat back even if he had gotten healthy and considering his health he would have been very hard to place in a home, but I still felt like a monster for doing that. I spent all afternoon in my room yesterday and I turned my phone off. Eventually, I called my dad back and told him what had happened. I also told him never to ask me to do that again. It might seem silly to be so upset over a cat, especially one that wasn't mine, but I can't help it.

I guess bad things happen in threes just like that old saying.

Secret Sunday

2009-03-29T11:15:00.000-04:00

I don't have a husband. I had a boyfriend, but you get the picture.

Function 7

2009-02-26T21:00:00.000-05:00

My newest fractal. (Clicky clicky for a larger image!)

Secret Sunday

2009-02-23T10:22:00.000-05:00

Wordless Wednesday (or There's Not Enough Eye Bleach In The World)

2009-02-18T09:01:00.000-05:00

The Fat Voices

2009-02-17T00:59:00.006-05:00

(Written a few nights ago.)
I looked at the scale I stood on in R’s bathroom last night and realized that I was reading it wrong. I should never have gotten on it. I know better than to do that to myself. It said that I was somewhere around 230 lbs. I didn’t stand on it long enough to count those tiny lines all scales have if they aren’t digital. It bothered me seeing that. What I realize now is that what bothers me more is that it took a few minutes for me to come out of my fat-denial to read the damn thing. At first, I even read it wrong. It was like my eyes saw the number on the scale, but my brain couldn’t comprehend it. I thought it said 200 lbs when I first looked at it. Like I said, I should never have gotten on that stupid thing. The scale is, and always has been, my enemy.

All last night I struggled with my voices, all of which can be crueler than anyone else has ever been to me, telling me that I was a fat bitch(you would think they would be more creative by now, right?). It was disconcerting and uncomfortable. I haven’t had to deal with them for a few months. I guess the whole experience was a trigger. I actually felt heavier last night after I stepped off the scale even though I know it was only in my mind.

I spent most of last night, after I got home from R’s, on my computer. First of all, because it kept my mind busy enough that the voices couldn’t creep in and set up house. Secondly, it gave me the opportunity to look on the internet for some weight-loss strategies. I Googled “how to lose 100 pounds” and read through several different people’s opinions on the best ways to lost that much weight. I decided to go with the low-carb option. I’ve done it before and had some success with it. The major problem with low-carb is that, though it works well, I tend to gain weight really fast if I go off of it for any length of time (How do you think I got to be in the state I’m in now?). So, once I get to where I want to be, body-wise (not weight-wise), I’m going to have to be vigilant about watching my carb intake. I’m really not trying to be obsessive and I don’t think I’ve reached that point quite yet, but here’s what I finally realized last night: If I don’t get going now and really try to control my weight, eventually I’ll be one of those people who never get out of the house and can’t wipe their own asses because of all the fat. Good God that is a scary thought. Scary enough to motivate me, I guess.

I don’t intend to just diet. I intend to start walking in my neighborhood with my mp3 player to keep my company. I don’t have the money for a gym and I loathe them besides. So, it will have to be walking. I also recently purchased a used Dance, Dance Revolution game for my Xbox 360, which is like a video game but you play it with your feet. It gets me moving and it’s challenging sometimes. What I like is that I control the pace of it. I get to pick the songs that strike my fancy. I know that the walking, especially, is going to cause me some considerable pain for awhile. My right hip (mostly the right) gets to hurting when I walk too much, but this has to be done and there is no way around it. Some things just have to be borne, I suppose. I should probably just go ahead and stock up on Advil.

Maybe this time I’ll succeed where so many times before I failed. Food is not the enemy, although it seems that way most times. It is my attitude toward food that has to change and the way I think of myself must change. When you get down to the nitty gritty, I suppose the problem is not really with my body. The problem is with my head; more specifically, what’s in my head. My thoughts of myself are damaging 80% of the time and destructive thoughts are right behind that. They’ve always been that way.

One of the weight loss tips I read about was to tell people you are trying to lose weight. So, I'm telling people. Here's hoping.

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes

2009-02-10T11:23:00.000-05:00

Rasputina~Gingerbread Coffin

Drain s.t.h.~Crack The Liar's Smile

Evanescence~Sweet Sacrifice

Secret Sunday

2009-02-08T11:02:00.000-05:00

Miss Perfect And Her Tea Party

2009-02-05T22:03:00.003-05:00

I feel like I've been floating through my life for the past year or so and only lately has it occurred to me that I don't like floating. I guess it served it's purpose for the time. I'm so awesomely good at dissociation that I disconnected myself from my life. I've been feeling like I'm dissatisfied and that I should be doing something besides merely existing. What does that mean anyway? To exist? I feel like I've sloughed off something dead and in it's place is something angry, anxious and ready to move. I haven't been on any psych meds for at least 6 months so, I guess we'll see whether or not I can function outside the Nexus of dissociation I had created for myself.

Awhile back I had discussed with Beautiful Dreamer about the possiblity of me having mulitple personalities. I'm still not sure that I don't. I asked her if she had ever heard of someone being one personality for a long period of time (say six months or a year) and then transitioning to another for a long period since it seems like that's what happens to me. She suggested that I might be transitioning a lot more than I realized. That I may not notice it if I had been doing it since I was a small child. (I channeled Miss Perfect today and cleaned house like a fiend. I actually thought about putting on my fifties style dress and heels and then baking a huge cake. I actually felt like I was outside of time. It was a little weird to say the least.)

I've had a boyfriend (that term seems a bit sophmoric for me since I'm 38, but there you go) for the last 7 months or so, which is also weird. It's weird because we kinda-sorta dated before about 10 years ago. I've never re-dated anyone before. It was disastrous, at least for me, before and I'm not so sure it won't be the same now. I see some changes in him, but in some ways he's still exactly the same. I guess that's to be expected. After all, we never really change that much. We just become more clearly ourselves, in my opinion. Anyway, I'm having trust issues. I haven't told him, but he may have figured that out on his own. I am reluctant to go into specific details of what's been going on because whatever he is, he does deserve his privacy. And whatever he is, I love him. I learn a lot about relationship things from reading Adventures In Stepford's blog.

I guess that's all for today. I really just natter on, don't I?

The Truth Or Something Beautiful?

2009-02-04T22:00:00.000-05:00

I filched this quote from Adventures In Stepford's blog. I think it fits my life right now pretty well.

“Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;... In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.”
-Soren Kierkegaard

Secret Sunday

2009-01-25T21:51:00.001-05:00

I Love Jesus But....

2009-01-20T10:34:00.000-05:00

Secret Sunday

2009-01-04T23:10:00.000-05:00

Full Metal Christmas

2008-12-19T10:15:00.000-05:00

Secret Suday

2008-12-14T12:06:00.000-05:00

Secret Sunday

2008-09-29T22:14:00.000-04:00

Secret Sunday

2008-09-21T10:18:00.000-04:00

Wordless Wednesday

2008-09-17T14:28:00.000-04:00

Ever Physically Feel Five Years Old?

2008-09-11T16:52:00.001-04:00

I have therapy in an hour or so and I kind of want to go and kind of don't want to go. Last week, was my first time with a new therapist and I had to rehash all of that bad shit that happened to me in my life. I didn't even get to all of it and it took me up until yesterday to finally start feeling good again. I don't want that to happen again this week. So, I'm scared.

She asked me to define some goals for therapy so that we could have something to work towards. I can't come up with anything other than: I don't want to keep feeling like shit. I did tell her last week that I wanted to become better at conflict resolution. When I get angry, I respond like a hurt child most of the time instead of an adult. I don't think I'm the only one with that problem. I think it's pretty common. As a matter of fact, I lashed out at someone last week who totally didn't deserve it and was really only trying to be kind to me. That makes me feel bad.

I get in these places sometimes where I can't see for the shit right in front of me and I can't hear anything for the voices talking, whispering and screaming in my brain. I actually went several days last week really wanting to self injure and one night where I was seriously considering suicide, but I did none of those things. The voices can get pretty bad sometimes and they say the most horrible things.

One night last week, I was laying in bed watching a movie (Pan's Labyrinth) and I had the sensation of my body getting smaller and smaller until when I looked out at my hands and arms, they looked like a little girl's. I felt about 4 or 5 years old in my body, but in my head I was still the same and wondering why my body had just shrunk 35 years. I didn't have too much time to wonder about it though, because the meds I take at night kicked in right about then and I was off to dreamless sleep.

That's another thing: I really don't like to dream. They're always pretty weird and fucked up. I mean, some of them are weird-funny, but most of them aren't. Most of the time when I dream, I wake up either crying or pissed or both (or had been crying in my sleep). This is why I need very, very good coffee in the mornings. Not that it makes much sense in the rational world, but for me, good coffee chases away the boogie man/men/women (whatever). So, now I have an excuse for being a coffee snob/freak.

At least my new therapist doesn't refer to me in the plural and she can hear me without my having to repeat myself umpteen times and she can actually see me. I suppose I should be grateful for that at least.

The more I think about going to therapy, the more anxious I get and the more I don't want to go. It shouldn't be this way, should it?

Nearly Wordless Wednesday

2008-09-10T11:24:00.000-04:00

Luvey Duvey But Please No Smoochie-Poo

2008-08-31T00:14:00.000-04:00

Alicia Keys~ If I Ain't Got You

Cyndi Lauper~Fearless

Jewel (when she was really cool circa 1997)~Near You Always

Iona~I Will Give My Love An Apple

Fears And A Trip With Jesus

2008-08-25T14:25:00.000-04:00

Two things:

My Postsecret choice from yesterday:

and this cool video I found of a band I love that never really made it big, although they should have. The music is set to scenes from Akira, which is like my favorite anime movie of all time.

Trip With Jesus

For Shame On Me

2008-08-18T19:11:00.000-04:00

I haven't been keeping up with the Sunday Post Secret posts lately. I'm disappointed in myself because I love Post Secret. I guess it kind of shows how much I'm not really taking care of myself.

Remnants Of PTSD

2008-07-21T19:25:00.002-04:00

I was reading Male Survivor's blog a minute ago and he had posted about Post Rape Syndrome and Post Traumatic Syndrome. It got me to thinking just what part of those I still have left from the last rape in '96 and the incest my grandfather inflicted on me. I've been feeling remarkably healthy mentally lately and was thinking I might have let go of some of that. Let's see:

Here's what he posted:

Rape Trauma Syndrome & PTSD from queendom.com

PTSD is one of the anxiety disorders. Symptoms of PTSD develop in people who have experienced an event that is outside the range of usual human suffering and that would be extremely stressful for nearly anybody. Such an event would impose "a serious harm or threat to one's life or physical integrity, a serious threat to one's children, spouse, or other close relatives or friends." PTSD may develop after seeing sudden destruction of the patient's home or the entire community, or witnessing someone's being killed or injured. (DSM-IV, 1994).

The traumatic events that can trigger PTSD may be classified into several categories. First, the person may experience naturally occurring disaster, such as earthquakes, floods or volcano eruptions. Second, the disorder may be precipitated by tragic accidents, such as air crash, very serious car accident. Third, the stressor can be one of category of manmade catastrophes which may be exemplified by wars, concentration camps and torture. The rape trauma syndrome is a special case of PTSD. in which the rape victim suffers from symptoms caused by the experience of sexual assault (DSM-IV, 1994).

The symptoms are similar for all types of PTSD. Obviously, not all patients who suffer from PTSD experience all the symptoms. Also, the symptoms vary slightly according to the precipitating trauma. The DSM-IV (1994) states these symptoms:

1. recurrent, persistent and distressing reexperiencing of the trauma through distressing recollections, dreams, sudden acting and feeling as if the event was reoccurring (reliving the trauma, illusions, hallucinations, flashbacks);
2. persistent avoidance of stimuli that remind of the trauma, for example, the patient avoids thoughts and feelings associated with the trauma, or he/she may avoid situations and activities that arouse the traumatic recollections;
3. psychogenic amnesia;
4. numbing of general responsiveness (that was not present before the trauma occurred), for example, the patients show markedly diminished interest in significant activities; they may feel detachment or estrangement from others; their range of affect may be restricted or they may have sense of a foreshortened future;
5. persistent symptoms of increased arousal, which involve irritability and outburst of anger, troubled concentrating, hypervigilance, exaggerated startle response; they show physiological reaction to events or situations that symbolize or resemble the trauma;
6. the disturbance causes significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important area of functioning;
7. patient has to experience symptoms for at least one month before PTSD may be diagnosed.

1. Okay, yesterday while I was doing my laundry, I had my Zune mp3 player going and I heard a song by Otep that was talking about incest. That caused me to go into a cold sweat and get super nauseous. My heart rate increased and I could feel my face muscles tighten imperceptibly. If I hadn't happened to hear that song, though, I would not have been thinking about my grandfather and what he did. I guess that happens to everyone if they have a strong reminder of their abuse no matter how long ago it happened. I don't really know how often that happens. I don't know if it happens enough anymore to be labeled "persistent".

2. I do actively avoid things that remind me of my grandfather and the rape in '96. I did drive to that house one day a couple of years ago and I took pictures of it. He probably doesn't live there anymore, but it was sort of a victory for me nonetheless. I also have driven by the two houses where my grandparents lived and where the abuse took place and have taken pictures of them. It makes me cry and relive those experiences (I don't remember much of what happened with my grandfather but I remember nearly everything about the last rape). So, I generally avoid those places. My aunt's house reminds me so much of my grandparent's place that it scares me. I don't go there anymore at all. So, I guess you could say that I am "persistent" in my avoidance of specific stimuli that would trigger those memories. I really didn't know that was considered a part of PTSD. I just thought it was a smart thing to do since I really wanted to get on with my life and not be stuck in those memories. This is one of my coping mechanisms.

3. Psychogenic Amnesia-this I have big time concerning the things that happened with my grandfather. Those memories are triggered by smells or being at my aunt's house. Sometimes I have nightmares about it and they are very specific, but they traumatize me so much that I don't remember them for very long. After one of those, the only thing on my mind is to comfort myself from that fright. So, I guess my brain just blanks it out or something. That's probably a learned coping mechanism from when Daddyboy was molesting me. I'm so very good at dissociating.

4. As for the numbing of general responsiveness and decreased interest in significant activities- I still have that somewhat although it's A LOT better. I finally got a job and I'm going every day and working hard at it (and succeeding!); I started showering more and just generally taking better care of myself (that could be better though); my house isn't a complete wreck anymore (it's still cluttered but at least it's clean and I clean the litter boxes). I went through a period of a couple of years where I just didn't want to go anywhere. That's getting better too. I feel like I'm more willing and able to socialize on a somewhat normal-for-me level. I still feel somewhat detatched from the herd, though. I think, though, that that is because I've always been sort of an individualist and wanted to buck the system. I pride myself on being different and so I think I've purposely created that distance between myself and some other people.

5. The increased arousal thing is something I still have trouble with: I don't like loud noises. I can't hear myself think if things get really loud and then I start to get anxious and feel like I'm being smothered. It makes me feel like I'm not in control and that, I think, is what scares me. I've been hypervigilant all my life. I don't ever remember not being that way. For example, I get scared if someone follows me in their car for what I consider to be too long. I'll start to take alternate routes to go home and even go out of my way several minutes if I think someone is following me. I have an exaggerated startle response. If someone comes up from behind me and gooses me in the ribs for fun I would probably right hook them. That all has to do with the fact that I don't like to be touched unless I give permission for another person to touch me: verbal or non-verbal. It's another control issue. I feel like I should have control over what is done to my body. Also, surprise loud noises startle me more than the average person. It takes me a long time to get over a loud bang, for instance. I have to consciously tell myself (in my head) that I'm ok and tell my heart to quit trying to beat its way out of my chest. So...yeah...exaggerated startle response. Check.

6. I'm just getting over having these things cause me a significant impairment in my work and social life. That's not to say that it won't happen again. It probably will, but for now at least, I'm functioning pretty well.

7. The last thing says that I have to experience these symptoms for a month before I could be diagnosed with PTSD. Well, I've been diagnosed with it already. I've had these symptoms since I was about 2 years old. My mom told me a couple of weeks ago that she could tell when I started acting differently as a toddler. She said one of the things that used to happen was that I would just stare out into space at nothing at all; as if I were in some sort of trance. She thought at first that I was staring at something specific, but then she would move me and my gaze would never change even though the vista had changed. This started happening when I was around 2 or 3. I'm guessing this is my baby brain's attempt to block out what Daddyboy was doing to me. I learned to live in my head a lot. Even by the time I was in Elementary School and Junior High, my teachers told my mother that I would just blank out like that for hours at a time. What's amazing to me is that she didn't suspect anything. What happened was that I was sent to the "special" class for children with learning difficulties. I didn't have a learning difficulty. I had a grandfather-fucking-me difficulty. How can you articulate something like that, though, when you are only a child? You just do what your parents tell you to no matter how much you hate it.

Thinking of David Today (It Was Just The Two-Year Anniversary Of His Death)

2008-07-16T16:59:00.001-04:00

This song reminds me of David so much. I miss him terribly. So much that I feel my heart break. I wish he were here and not rotting in his grave.

Sunday Secret

2008-07-13T13:42:00.001-04:00

Hope

2008-07-06T22:06:00.002-04:00

I haven't been inspired to write much lately. Tonight, though, I'm feeling kind of melancholy. I'm not really depressed, just a little down. I'm missing the Sold Out clan. I know they don't miss me, though. That's what hurts me a little. The pain is not as bad as it used to be, so I guess I'm still in the process of letting go of them. It's about time. It's been 13 years since we all separated. I'm finding that I have a habit of holding on really tightly to people that I love. I'm having to learn to let go of those people because nothing ever stays the same. Every one changes. Feelings change; circumstances change. Besides, even though every one wants to be loved sometime in their lives, they should be able to feel free enough in that love to be able to go and do their own thing and come back if they want to or to not come back. It's hard for me, though, because I never really felt loved so when I feel that someone loves me, I hold them in my heart forever. Sometimes, the type of love I have changes (again the changing), but I've found something out about myself: once I decide that I love someone, I will always love them in some way. There are some people that I love (like the Sold Out crew) that I've decided to keep out of my life because it's just better for me. I have to love them from a long distance away. I could easily put myself in sort of a martyr situation here (and I've done that before), but I'm trying really hard not to now.

I know I keep going on about the Sold Out people, but this is something that has been so hard for me: to accept the fact that they once loved me and now don't. Maybe they feel like I do about them. Maybe they feel like they are better off without me in their lives. Maybe they feel healthier. I don't recall being a drama queen with them or taking advantage of any of them, but that could be the case. Maybe it's just that we've all slipped away from each other and don't really care enough to keep in contact with each other. I'd like to think that I'm not so lazy as to not even keep in touch with people I say that I love. But, I did try to keep with them for a long time when they were not trying to keep in touch with me. It was a totally one-sided relationship. It was me calling, going to see them and trying to get them to love me and them just receiving my love. Come to think of it, I'm kind of angry about that. Not so much as a few years ago, but I still have it in my heart. I'm still holding some unforgiveness towards them.

I was going to go to church today and see them, but when I really thought about it, I came to realize that that is just another attempt by me to try to get them to love me. It's me trying to control what they do and feel. I'm not going to do that. They all have my phone number and address. If anyone of them want to find me, it would be exceedingly easy.

I feel, otherwise, that I've moved into a new place in my life. I feel ready to explore things about myself that I would never have done before. I feel mainly positive even though I'm not on anti-depressants. I'm taking an anti-anxiety medicine called Hydroxizine, but that's all. I feel like I'm doing well with just that and I'm so glad. I hated taking all those meds. It made me feel even more crazy that I already felt. I know that everything is not always going to feel this way. I know that sometime in the future, I could fall into an even deeper pit of depression than I ever have, but I also know that it doesn't last forever. David's death taught me that. I thought I was going to die myself after he died. He wasn't my blood relative or my boyfriend or my husband, but a part of me died inside just the same. I finally feel like I'm coming back to life. I feel like I'm blooming and different blooms than ever before. It might not be a big thing; not a big bloom, but it's a bloom nonetheless. Hopefully, this positiveness will continue. I need it to continue at least for a little while. I feel like I need some time of good before I can handle the bad again. I need some more hope. I have a smidgen, I just need some smidgens more.

My Name Is Mudd

2008-06-26T19:17:00.002-04:00

I found out today that my student loans I had consolidated (a little over $41,000) have gone into default because I didn't know that they had been transferred from Sallie Mae to the Kentucky Higher Education Authority and even though I had already faxed in paperwork for an economic hardship deferrment. It turns out that the guy I talked to was just yanking my chain, because the Kentucky Higher Education Authority never got any such paperwork and when I read off the phone number to the lady I was talking to, she said that the area code for that fax number was in Pennsylvania.

I'm so upset, but I don't know whether to scream, cry, cut, eat, throw things or just get blind stinkin' drunk. I do have a new job making about 20K a year, but the $275 per month payments are going to really hurt me. I can barely afford to make it now. I'm going to have to get a second job or something. Christ...I don't know what to do.

I've also still got to deal with Sallie Mae for the rest of my loans (about $20,000) and they want $350 per month for those payments. At least that one isn't in default.

FUCK. ME. SIDEWAYS.

This has RUINED my whole day. I can do nothing but obsess about it. I was having such a good run at life there for awhile. I got this new job that I'm optimistic about and that I'm really good at; I know that I'm loved; my self-esteem has been up lately...Now, I feel like I've been slapped in the face. I feel like the universe yanked the rug out from under me.

I'm scared.

Bill of Rights for People Who Self Harm

2008-06-25T18:20:00.001-04:00

Bill of Rights for People Who Self-Harm

Preamble

An estimated one percent of Americans use physical self-harm as a way of coping with stress; the rate of self-injury in other industrial nations is probably similar. Still, self-injury remains a taboo subject, a behavior that is considered freakish or outlandish and is highly stigmatized by medical professionals and the lay public alike. Self-harm, also called self-injury, self-inflicted violence, or self-mutilation, can be defined as self-inflicted physical harm severe enough to cause tissue damage or leave visible marks that do not fade within a few hours. Acts done for purposes of suicide or for ritual, sexual, or ornamentation purposes are not considered self-injury. This document refers to what is commonly known as moderate or superficial self-injury, particularly repetitive SI; these guidelines do not hold for cases of major self-mutilation (i.e., castration, eye enucleation, or amputation).
Because of the stigma and lack of readily available information about self-harm, people who resort to this method of coping often receive treatment from physicians (particularly in emergency rooms) and mental-health professionals that can actually make their lives worse instead of better. Based on hundreds of negative experiences reported by people who self-harm, the following Bill of Rights is an attempt to provide information to medical and mental-health personnel. The goal of this project is to enable them to more clearly understand the emotions that underlie self-injury and to respond to self-injurious behavior in a way that protects the patient as well as the practitioner.

The Bill of Rights for Those who Self-Harm
The right to caring, humane medical treatment.
Self-injurers should receive the same level and quality of care that a person presenting with an identical but accidental injury would receive. Procedures should be done as gently as they would be for others. If stitches are required, local anesthesia should be used. Treatment of accidental injury and self-inflicted injury should be identical.

The right to participate fully in decisions about emergency psychiatric treatment (so long as no one's life is in immediate danger).
When a person presents at the emergency room with a self-inflicted injury, his or her opinion about the need for a psychological assessment should be considered. If the person is not in obvious distress and is not suicidal, he or she should not be subjected to an arduous psych evaluation. Doctors should be trained to assess suicidality/homicidality and should realize that although referral for outpatient follow-up may be advisable, hospitalization for self-injurious behavior alone is rarely warranted.

The right to body privacy.
Visual examinations to determine the extent and frequency of self-inflicted injury should be performed only when absolutely necessary and done in a way that maintains the patient's dignity. Many who SI have been abused; the humiliation of a strip-search is likely to increase the amount and intensity of future self-injury while making the person subject to the searches look for better ways to hide the marks.

The right to have the feelings behind the SI validated.
Self-injury doesn't occur in a vacuum. The person who self-injures usually does so in response to distressing feelings, and those feelings should be recognized and validated. Although the care provider might not understand why a particular situation is extremely upsetting, she or he can at least understand that it *is* distressing and respect the self-injurer's right to be upset about it.

The right to disclose to whom they choose only what they choose.
No care provider should disclose to others that injuries are self-inflicted without obtaining the permission of the person involved. Exceptions can be made in the case of team-based hospital treatment or other medical care providers when the information that the injuries were self-inflicted is essential knowledge for proper medical care. Patients should be notified when others are told about their SI and as always, gossiping about any patient is unprofessional.

The right to choose what coping mechanisms they will use.
No person should be forced to choose between self-injury and treatment. Outpatient therapists should never demand that clients sign a no-harm contract; instead, client and provider should develop a plan for dealing with self-injurious impulses and acts during the treatment. No client should feel they must lie about SI or be kicked out of outpatient therapy. Exceptions to this may be made in hospital or ER treatment, when a contract may be required by hospital legal policies.

The right to have care providers who do not allow their feelings about SI to distort the therapy.
Those who work with clients who self-injure should keep their own fear, revulsion, anger, and anxiety out of the therapeutic setting. This is crucial for basic medical care of self-inflicted wounds but holds for therapists as well. A person who is struggling with self-injury has enough baggage without taking on the prejudices and biases of their care providers.

The right to have the role SI has played as a coping mechanism validated.
No one should be shamed, admonished, or chastised for having self-injured. Self-injury works as a coping mechanism, sometimes for people who have no other way to cope. They may use SI as a last-ditch effort to avoid suicide. The self-injurer should be taught to honor the positive things that self-injury has done for him/her as well as to recognize that the negatives of SI far outweigh those positives and that it is possible to learn methods of coping that aren't as destructive and life-interfering.

The right not to be automatically considered a dangerous person simply because of self-inflicted injury.
No one should be put in restraints or locked in a treatment room in an emergency room solely because his or her injuries are self-inflicted. No one should ever be involuntarily committed simply because of SI; physicians should make the decision to commit based on the presence of psychosis, suicidality, or homicidality.

The right to have self-injury regarded as an attempt to communicate, not manipulate.
Most people who hurt themselves are trying to express things they can say in no other way. Although sometimes these attempts to communicate seem manipulative, treating them as manipulation only makes the situation worse. Providers should respect the communicative function of SI and assume it is not manipulative behavior until there is clear evidence to the contrary.

© 1998-2001 Deb Martinson. Reprint permission granted with proper credit to author.

I found this at the Random Thoughts of Self blog via Beautiful Dreamer's blog. She always has great article links! I think I might make this into a little laminated credit-card sized thing and give it to my friends who self injure so that they can take it to the hospital with them and give it to their doc.

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes

2008-06-24T12:59:00.000-04:00

It's around the anniversary of my friend/brother David's death 2 years ago. I still think about him and miss him every day. I don't know why I can't remember the exact date of his death. It was very painful for me since I had never had anyone I loved die before. I remember the pain I felt and I can say now that it has had it's positive effect on me. I'm a bit stronger now than I was before he died. Not much. Just a bit. A little bit is better than nothing. Yes?

These are for David.

Pink Floyd - Wish You Were Here

from David's favorite movie - V for Vendetta

Life Is Beautiful - David would have liked this song.

Sunday Secret

2008-06-23T07:14:00.000-04:00

I really used to do this when I worked at a 4-star hotel here in my hometown. Pretty funny that someone else did it too.

A Little Monday Morning Giggle

2008-06-16T07:08:00.000-04:00

Post Secret Sunday

2008-06-15T18:12:00.001-04:00

(clickity-click to get a bigger image)

I'm supposed to be celebrating my father today. I just can't. I do love him. There's just so much else wrapped up in the way I feel about him: anger, resentment, bitterness, rage, sadness, pity...

I wrote a few weeks ago on Beautiful Dreamer's Journal asking her: when do we stop expecting our parents to be something they're not? I have trouble with expecting dad to be what I think he should be, but he's not and never will be. I struggle with accepting him for who he is. I would bet money that he has the same problem with me.

Throughout my childhood and adolescent years, and even into my early adulthood, he's tried to persuade me to be a thing he could accept and be proud of. I have never been what he thought I should be. I think that's where the crux of our problem with each other is and is the foundation for everything else that has happened between us.

More on this later....

What Do You Get?

2008-06-06T06:21:00.000-04:00

Post Secret

2008-06-03T07:35:00.002-04:00

Secret Sunday

2008-05-25T17:07:00.000-04:00

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes-Videos de Fado

2008-05-20T16:40:00.000-04:00

Mariza~O Gente de Minha Terra

Ana Moura~ Fado de Pessoa

Happy Birthday To Me

2008-05-19T12:48:00.000-04:00

So, yesterday was my birthday. I'm 38 now. Funny how I don't feel any older. I just am. I've also begun lately to have these dreams again where I'm floating through people's houses I don't know. I know I'm not supposed to be there and the whole thing is exciting and terrible at the same time. I can remember having these same dreams as a child and wondered if I had slept-walked during the night and broken into other people's houses. Now, I think it's me taking a tour, so to speak, of the other parts of my personality (or personalities). When I was in therapy, all of my therapists discounted dreams as nothing more than the inane ramblings of the subconscious mind. I don't think so. I think some dreams can help you see into yourself and figure some things out. You just have to know which dreams to count as meaningful and which are not.

I've finally come out of my latest funk. The voices have calmed down quite a bit to where I can tell them to fuck off and they do. The biggest thing that helped me come out of it this time was that my best friend, Ashley, came over to help me clean my apartment. When I get really depressed, my apartment gets pretty bad. I don't wash the dishes, sweep, mop or anything. My apartment still isn't totally the way I want it, but at least the majority of it is clean and that makes me happy. I also got a Dyson Animal and Allergy vacuum for my birthday. That makes me happy too. Now, I can actually do something about all the cat hair that is all over my furniture and everything else in my apartment. I love my Dyson. It's heavy and hard to push and pull across the carpets I have, but it works like a dream. For me to be excited about anything regarding cleaning is a momentous occasion.

I've been turned on to a new kind of music that I love. It's called Fado. The only artists I've listened to so far are Mariza and Ana Moura. I'm totally in love with Fado. I'll be getting my hands on as much of it as possible.

It seems as though, for right now, fortune has chosen to smile on me. Although I don't yet have a job, I've been able to get new living room furniture thanks to my dad. My cats had ruined my other sofa due to their penchant for peeing on it. So, I couldn't sit on it and I wouldn't let anyone else sit on it. It was useless. I made the trip over to North Little Rock and found a store that had really nice furniture and a lot of it on sale. I got a mossy-green chaise lounge with a matching chair that you can put at the end of it or take off and move around; a neutral blue ottoman/coffee table and a blue/cream/tan/dark blue/white striped armless chair. I know it sounds like all that doesn't go together and that it would be atrocious to look at, but it's not. It looks great and I love it.

I'm also waiting, very impatiently, for an XBox 360 to arrive along with 3 or 4 games that I got for my birthday along with a little 13" Hello Kitty tv with dvd player. You could say that I pretty much got everything I wanted this birthday and more. It's hard not to sound materialistic here (I'm not really.). It's just that I've gone so long without having pretty things that don't smell like cat pee. I'm really excited to finally be able to sit in my living room and actually enjoy it.

Monday's Secret

2008-05-19T12:42:00.000-04:00

Secret Mother's Day

2008-05-12T21:39:00.001-04:00

The Greatest Silence

2008-05-07T22:36:00.000-04:00

The Greatest Silence:Rape In The Congo

If you haven't seen it. See it.

I blogged about this several years ago, but no one was really paying attention then. No one really cares about violence unless it affects them directly.

Shite Shite And More Shite

2008-05-03T16:13:00.002-04:00

I got this from Pippa. She's funny like that and I really needed to snort and cackle like the booger picking 5th grader I really am.

Shit Be Gone - The World's Coolest Toilet Paper
Shit Be Gone cleans up your unpleasantries like a champion among toilet paper. How funny would it be to have this sitting in your bathroom during a party, or when your Aunt Vivi stops by? Come on. This is awesome. This is pure fifth-grade-humor hilarity.

Shit Be Gone toilet paper is pillow soft and 100% recycled. Also, it's 2-ply, so it's tough enough to handle your messiest jobs without tearing or falling apart. This isn't a cheap gag toilet paper. This is the real thing. Actual quality. You could use this stuff every day.

Stock up on Shit Be Gone for your office supply cabinet! Watch your co-workers come rolling of of the bathroom, laughing so hard they can't even use it.

Here at Isdera Corp. we have Shit Be Gone in the executive bathrooms. Actually, this would be true if we had executive bathrooms, we just have two bathrooms. We have a ladies room and a filthy men's room. We use ShitBegone in both of them, although the men's room seems to use much more of it.

ShitBegone. Because it has to go somewhere.

500 2-ply sheets per roll.

This is real tp. You can order it here: ShitBeGone

This reminds me of a story I heard a few years ago (because everything reminds me of a story). A few years ago a product came out called WeedBeGone (betting that's where ShitBeGone got the idea). As it happened, around that time I was in a church service where the pastor was talking about the WeedBeGone product in his sermon. He was saying that if we only could look at the Devil the same way we do weeds then we could just tell him to "Be Gone!" in Jesus' name. A few weeks after that sermon, I was with my boyfriend at the time, Micheal, at a little get-together over at the house of a couple who were friends of his. They had a little boy who was around 4 years old. After dinner, the boy disappeared into the back yard and after he was gone awhile and everyone was looking for him, we heard from the back yard, "Fear Be Gone!" repeated over and over. We all went outside to see the 4-year-old standing right next to the fence of their neighbor's yard (who had a big dog that the boy was afraid of) pointing accusingly at their dog and yelling, "Fear Be Gone!" He said he learned it from listening to the pastor's sermon at church. I guess in the mind of a 4-year-old, the big dog next door is the Devil.

Wouldn't it just be really funny if someone took that principle to the bathroom? This is exactly what I thought of when I saw the ShitBeGone toilet paper. Having spent some time in the "name it claim it" churches, I wouldn't be surprised if someone tried to banish their shit in Jesus' name. I just want to see it on You Tube.

I Looked Up "Painless Suicide"

2008-05-02T21:14:00.003-04:00

I'm in a funk that I can't seem to shake. I don't want to leave my apartment, eat much, clean or anything else. I just sit here on the internet, watching tv or sleeping. It depresses me even more when I can get some perspective and move outside myself to see myself from outside (if that makes any sense).

I try so hard to support myself and to be independent, but when I get going it seems like I have these low points. It's hard to get motivated. I mean, I bought a sofa cover, chair cover and some decorative pillows for the living room the other day and that was good. It makes the living room look better. They already have to be washed, though, because of the cats sitting on them and shedding. It's things like that that make me feel so overwhelmed. I feel like no matter what I do it's not enough; it's not good enough.

I laid in bed this morning thinking about work and how good I felt the last time I went (the temporary job I have at FTD has been cutting hours because they've hired too many people). At the same time, though, it's like I don't even want to go. I think that my life is so empty and that it's going nowhere. I could go back to school, I want to, but I think that will also wind up bad; that I will start to fail my classes like I did before.

I know that mentally, emotionally and spiritually I've been pretty much stagnant since the rape in '96. I only fully realized that a couple of weeks ago. I don't know how to move forward. I don't know if it's a matter of letting go, forgiveness (mainly of myself) or what. Do I need to discipline myself and if I do how long will it last? Will I become so rigid like I was before? Is that even the right way to go? I am looking for a way out of this, but I don't see one. It's so frustrating. I can't stand the wanting to die every single day. I can't stand the way I feel-the despair. Even when I feel relatively good, it's still there waiting in the back of my mind. Like another person.

I don't know what to do. And it's not even like the wish to die is even wrought with tears anymore. It's more like I'm so calm about it and that's even scarier I think. I feel so empty and purposeless. I can only see a lifetime of this and I cannot live like this for the rest of my life. I can't bear it. I need a way to get out from under it and that fucking suicide voice is always there ready and willing to talk to me. I hate it.

I've been buying lots of little girl stuff lately. I think it's an effort to destress myself and to try to get the voices to be quiet. It doesn't really help, though. I feel ok for a few hours and then I'm right back to square one. I need something permanent.

Fuzzy Diet

2008-04-28T10:18:00.001-04:00

(clickety click for the bigger version)

Secret Sunday

2008-04-27T22:58:00.000-04:00

Hello Kitty Loves Me

2008-04-27T01:53:00.000-04:00

I've been in generally a good mood for the last week or so, except that sometimes I find myself losing my temper and wondering to myself when I became such a raging bitch. Everything irritates me lately and I seem to have no patience for anyone or anything. At the same time, though, when I'm quiet or trying to go to sleep (which is hard enough), I am overcome by negative emotions, negative self-talk, sadness, despair and a strong wish to die. It's almost like if I stop moving, my mind or my body, then that is just there waiting for me. I read on Beautiful Dreamer's Journal that she has this overwhelming wish to die sometimes too. She said that it is when she is grieving the loss of her original self before the abuse happened; before her original self died and the rest of her split into so many pieces like a shattered mirror. I never realized that a person could grieve for the loss of a part of themselves. I mean, it makes total sense now that I think about it. I'm surprised I never realized it before.

I think that when these feelings come on me suddenly that I'm grieving for the loss of my original little girl. I realize only now why I have so many little girl things; why when I go to a big store I find myself in the toy department wondering how I got there and why; why I buy little girl things and keep them all over my apartment. I still have all of my stuffed animals and dolls from when I was a little girl. I don't hide them. I keep them out in my room. They are part of what make my room a sanctuary from the rest of the world. I feel like when I'm there, I don't have to have my guard up. Now that I'm not living with Dad anymore, it's more like my whole apartment is my little girl sanctuary. It's not all that way, but parts of it are: like my Hello Kitty lunch box; oversized Hello Kitty pillow and my Hello Kitty area rug.

I remember being conflicted about wanting to be that little girl and at the same time wanting to be grown-up me. I wanted to reconcile them both. Now, I realize I don't have to reconcile them. I can be them both with no fear of repercussion. I have given myself permission to indulge my little girl; to give her the love and acceptance she never got but always craved; to treat her like the princess she always was and is.

It's a little freedom; a tiny insight, but it means a lot to me.

Hey Jude

2008-04-25T02:00:00.000-04:00

korean baby singing hey jude

Wordless Wednesday

2008-04-23T12:41:00.000-04:00

This is a portrait done by Artemisia Gentileschi of her own hand holding her artist's paintbrush. I think it's wonderful because of the detail and because hands are so hard to draw/paint.

Tuesday Afternoon Tunes

2008-04-22T12:42:00.000-04:00

I figured I'd post these before I have to go to work.

Screamin' Cheetah Wheelies~Shake These Blues
They were (and are) one of my very favorite bands and their frontman was phenomenal. They used to play a lot at Juanita's when I worked there (back in 1996) and so I got to hang out with them a bit. They're fun.

Breedlove~Reach Out
Another Austin band that isn't together anymore and that used to play at Juanita's all the time. Freakin' love this band! The singer is amazing!

Living Sacrifice~Flatline
Finally, Living Sacrifice is from my hometown, Little Rock. I know them a little. Bruce, who is the singer, picked me up from a dentist appointment once after I'd had my wisdom teeth pulled. I think I drooled all over his truck seat! My favorite line in this song is "I refuse to be consumed by this parasite."

Hope y'all enjoy these. I love these bands!

Secret Sunday

2008-04-20T15:23:00.001-04:00

Big shocker there, right?

Poetry Thursday on Friday

2008-04-18T15:49:00.004-04:00

This is the third version of Sister. I've started submitting my poetry on Urbis and have gotten a lot of suggestions there that have helped me refine this poem and make it more clear. The original version is here. Any comments or critiques are welcome.

Sister

You crawled inside this empty chest
ten years ago.
You carved a hole within
like a grown-up fetus.

Vascillation sorrow
uncertainty.
I try to speak.
In that forced-closed-throat way
it’s as if my every word to you
were lies.
As if I didn’t know you.

Maybe I don’t.
Really.

I’m not crazy, sister.
You said paranoid.
Imaginations tricking me.
Sometimes I can’t see
Truly
those words of yours
for what
they really
are.
Here is the truth: I am not misconstruing you.

When you were here
in my heart,
in my love,
curled in my belly,
I couldn’t wait for you to speak.
Nearly unbearable that waiting
That looking up for your other muddy shoe to drop.
(Say what you mean. Just speak.)

I hate your silence.
Your punishment for my letting you set up shop in my head.
I loved you as a sister should.

I used to always reach for you.
As if by merely touching you,
like a bleeding woman finally feeling
the hem of Jesus’ robe under her fingers,
I would be healed.
Knowing you were really
there
calming pesky fears of mine
latent and pregnant
now budding
now flowering
a red-blood fruition
of Abandonment.

That gaping hole
bloody in my belly
you made
when you burst from me,
like an Alien in a movie,
leaves me dead-feeling.
Corpse-like.
The only remnants of me
bloody-trailing footprints
shuffling to the tune of a Thorazine drip.

I could hate you so easily.
I could be as bitter as green Persimmons.
Hard-launching words
cruel fast
from ancient catapults.
And they would cut you.
Sister.
To the bone-within-your-bone.

Does this culpa(bility)
torturous-repeat in your brain?
Its viney-creeping-crawl up your spine,
itself curly-que-ing’round
neurons,
axon terminals,
dendrites and
synaptic gaps?

Validation (of pain).
Closure (of love).
You keep from me.
Sisterlove you.
Still.

Go away.

Secret Sally And What Is Friend-Duty

2008-04-13T20:24:00.002-04:00

I used to have 3 best friends. Now, I have 2. I met Sally in '96 when I got a job cocktail waitressing at Juanita's. When I first met her all I could do was watch her because she was just so much larger than life: my life or any other life I'd seen. She was a beautiful, rock-n-roll, bubbly, friendly, laughing girl. I knew almost immediately that I wanted to be friends with her. (She told me years later that when she first met me she thought I was weird because all I did pretty much was watch her, which is true. I just couldn't believe she was so much...herself. Truthfully, I not only wanted to be her friend, I also wanted to be her.) We worked together at Juanita's for about a year and became really good friends.

Then, she left Juanita's to go work at another club, met a guy she really fell for and disappeared from our friendship like most girls do when they meet a guy and get serious. They dated for 5 years. We didn't really see each other very much during that time. I felt abandoned, but also I felt mostly that I was being selfish because everyone has relationships and when that relationship gets serious to the point of ring-giving, it becomes the main priority in a person's life and everything else just sort of falls away. On the other hand (3 hands?), I wondered why she couldn't be friends with me and have a fiance. After their 5 years of dating and after the ring had been given to her, the relationship ended and she came back to being my friend and I moved from being a stand-in/replacement for her boyfriend when he was off doing something else, being late, or standing her up. She apologized to me for disappearing for so long and I told her what I had felt while she was gone from my life. She was my only friend and when she was gone I had felt completely alone. She promised that she would never do that to me again. I promised that I would never resent her being in a relationship again.

We were best friends-sisters-until a 1 year 1/2 ago. She hasn't spoken to me since that Christmas. About 6-8 months before that, things started going super awry in my life. I stopped answering the phone every time she called; I made excuses not to hang out with her. I didn't mean to push her away. I was sliding into the most severe, the most crippling depression I've experienced in my life so far. I was actually in therapy at the time and on medication for depression and anxiety. My first therapist started me on rather a high dose of Klonopin (a medicine for anxiety) which, in my opinion, was the start of the problem. Klonopin is very addictive. I didn't know that. Klonopin also causes mood-swings. I didn't know that either. I should have looked it up, either in a book (which I have plenty of-psych major) or on the internet. That part was my fault. So, the longer I took Klonopin, the more my moods swung and the wider the swings were. Also, I started taking more and more of it because I didn't realize in the midst of my worsening depression and anxiety that it was the Klonopin that was, at least in part, responsible for the roller coaster emotions. Amidst all of this not only Sally, but also Tanya, thought that I was deliberately pushing her away. To their credit, they did try to get me out of the house. They did their friend-duty in that respect.

That July, my very good friend, David, died suddenly. I've never experienced anyone that close to me die. It's not like the more you experience death, the less shocking it becomes, but to experience it for the first time and especially in the midst of everything else going on in my life was the ultimate blow. I didn't know how to deal with his death, my depression, school...so...insert more Klonopin here. I started cutting on myself again and my eating disorders were way out of control. I started restricting and purging again. I couldn't control anything in my life. Then, came Christmas. Let me just say here that I hate the Holidays. I have yet to get over the last time I was raped in '96. Well, most of the time I don't think much about it, but at Christmas, which is when it happened, it's thrown in my face wherever I go. Add this to the pile of shit that my life had become that year and there's a cocktail that is strictly suicidal.

A little thing happened on Christmas Day. Sally didn't call me to tell me happy Christmas. Even though I hate Christmas, I still like to be called on that day. I know it's hypocrital and weird, but that's just the way it is and I can't help it. A few days later while I was in the big middle of a complete melt down, she called. All I could say was, "You could've called me on Christmas Day." Anything else I tried to say was unintelligible due to the amount of crying and hyperventillating. Sally and Tanya were together that night and said that they were coming over. I told them not to, but they did anyway: friend-duty again. They brought me presents and wanted me to go to Wal-Mart with them. (We used to have sort of a tradition on the weekends. We used to go "Walmartin'" on the weekends and have so much fun buying useless shit we didn't need. That's what they wanted to do that night.) I didn't feel like going because I had just spent the previous several hours crying my heart out. My eyes were swollen, I had vomited several times, I was exhausted and I told them so. They were disappointed, overly so, and left my house with concerned/disgusted looks on their faces. Neither one of them spoke to me after that. The only reason Tanya spoke to me again was that I went to her work place and confronted her.

Sally has Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and is Bipolar. Tanya is a Rapid-Cycling Bipolar and has problems with anxiety. I am not the only one here who has major psychiatric issues. After her 5-year relationship, Sally had one year where she was so depressed that she could barely leave her house. Her parents had to take care of her. She wanted neither Tanya or I to come see her. She was completely agoraphobic. She nearly lost her job. I never stopped loving her and never stopped trying help her during all of that: friend-duty. Tanya totally disappeared on everyone for about a year after her father died and then went on the road for 6 months after that with Lainie to follow some guy in a band she thought she was "in love" with. I never stopped being her friend through all of that. I was there for her. I went to her father's funeral just so I could be there for her. (Are they the only ones in this friendship-relationship allowed to go through shit and disappear on people? Why am I the one who was totally deserted when I took longer than they thought I should to get through my shit? I don't understand that.)

Tanya and I are friends again although I don't trust her quite the way I did before. I think that's understandable. Forgiveness? Absolutely. Forgetting? Never. I do, however, expect something similar in the future from her. I've said forever that no one can have a relationship, friend or otherwise without hurting the other person in some way. I have a long memory. I suppose it should be shorter. I just don't want to be caught off-guard again by her.

Here's how I feel now about Sally: I don't know why she won't speak to me. I had to find out through Tanya that she had moved to Oklahoma for a job. I also haven't really even tried to forgive her. I've just been holding this hurt in my heart like a tumor for the last year-and-a-half. I want closure; I need closure, but Sally won't allow me that because she won't speak to me and it pisses me off that she would withhold it from me.

Am I being the victim again? Have I taken responsibility for my part in the loss of friendship with Sally? I believe I have admitted my part. Everything in life comes down to choices and although I made the wrong choice in pushing both Sally and Tanya away at one time in my life, I can say that I was in a huge amount of emotional pain and I think that can be forgiven me. I'll work on trying to forgive Sally.

Brother Man

2008-04-06T17:04:00.001-04:00

The other night my friend/ex-boyfriend, Ryk, came over to hang out with me. I mentioned offhandedly that I've begun calling my cat (whose name is Brother) Brother Man. He said, "Watch out, he'll start trying to sell you drugs." I really expect him to start growing his afro out any day now.

Secret Sunday

2008-04-06T16:12:00.000-04:00

Secret Sunday

2008-03-30T12:51:00.000-04:00

Thursay Thirteen

2008-03-27T12:46:00.002-04:00

1. Ben and Jerry's, I've only recently discovered, makes this super addictive ice cream flavor (I guess they're all addictive!) called Oatmeal Cookie Chunk that is now my favorite. I had some the other night and I've been craving it ever since. It looks like that 5 pounds I lost is in danger of coming back with a vengeance.

2. I've started making wishlists at various websites, mostly for Hello Kitty stuff so far (because I'm a freak like that), so that I can remember and keep track of all the stuff I need and just want. I'm not materialistic by any means. Really I'm not. I guess what really happened yesterday, which was the day of the wishlist-making, I was really bored and this helped me pass the time. And...ahem...if anyone wanted to buy me any of that stuff...my birthday is coming up next month. Not that I'm asking or anything. *smile*

3. Here at my apartment I have to park my car on the street. There is not much space between the building in which I live and the street. There's a little strip of what one might label loosely a "yard", the sidewalk and then the street. In the back of my mind I'm always a little bit paranoid that some crazy person will come careening around the curve in the street where my car is parked and slam into it. Granted, everyone on this street, at least this area of this street, has to park on the street. No one has hit my car yet, but what has been happening lately is that big trucks or busses will come around the curve a bit close to the side of the street and the noise of those big 'ole rattling engines sets off my car alarm. It happened a week or so ago at about 3am. If I had not been awake, I would never have known and my alarm would have just continued to blare and not only would it have run my battery down, but awakened everyone else who lives in this building and probably some people next door and across the street. It annoys me and scares me. I don't want someone in my building filing a complaint against me. I have six cats here when I'm only supposed to have three. I don't want to get kicked out of my apartment again.

4. I still don't have a job. Despite the fact that I've sent out like 100 or so resumes to different places. I'm depressed and scared. I know my dad will pay my rent and other bills, but how long will he be able to continue that while paying his own rent and bills? It's not fair that he should have to shoulder that responsibility, but at the same time, I would be out on the street if he hadn't been doing it. I'm frustrated with the lack of communication from my potential employers, but I don't know what to do about it.

5. The girl across the hall from me moved out sometime last week. The other day, I happened to be going out of my apartment and noticed that the door was unlocked and because I'm a nosey bitch, I let myself in. Oh my god. That apartment is so much nicer than mine! It has a newer refrigerator, a newer stove and diswasher, newer cabinetry, a hanging decorative light fixture in the kitchen, the wood floors aren't as scarred, new fixtures in the bathroom, the paint job is not half-assed like mine is and the heating/cooling unit is not stuck up inside the utility closet like it is in my apartment. What the hell??! I would ask to transfer to that apartment if it weren't such a pain in the ass to move all my stuff. I still don't even have all my stuff unpacked here yet.

6. So, I bought a bunch of Hello Kitty stuff last night (On dad's cc. I did ask him before I did it.) and I'm so excited about it. I can't wait for it to get here! I love my Hello Kitty. It's my secret embarrassing addiction. Kind of like the people who secretly watch American Idol, but are too embarrassed to admit it. On the one hand I feel too old to be into all this Hello Kitty stuff, but on the other hand I feel like it helps me to connect with the childhood I never had.

7. I'm thinking seriously about cleaing house today. I haven't really done anything since last week when I had a marathon 6-hour house cleaning event. Lainie had just moved out and there was a lot of stuff sitting in the kitchen that I hadn't unpacked, as well as all of my book collection just sitting in boxes in the hallway. Plus, the kitchen floor was filthy. Lainie's cat's had peed everywhere and she never did clean it, she just let it dry. So, I finally tackled that. Thank God, the kitchen floor is tile and didn't absorb the cat pee smell. The kitchen looks great now. There's only one more box of stuff for the kitchen that I have to unpack. Then, I can start tackling my room. Who knows when that will be, though.

8. I've started seriously doing the herbal supplementation thing again. I'm hoping that by doing it, I can be more healthy and have more energy. I got a big tub of my old stand-by, greens powder, which has well...everything in it that you could possibly ever want or need for your body. It does, however, taste just like it looks-like grass. It's kind of sweet at first, but after the first few sips it gets bitter. When I first started supplementing with this stuff it literally made me gag, but I've taken enough sour-face medicine in my life to put on my big-girl panties and drink it down. Now that I'm back with drinking it everyday (I mix it with juice now instead of water like I did before. It tastes a lot better that way.) I actually am starting to crave it. Weird, huh? Baby steps. I'm also taking Vitamin C (more immune support), Vitamin E (10000 I.U. daily for free radical protection and to shrink the fibrostic cysts in my breasts), Calcium (skin, hair, teeth, bones), CoQ10 (for my heart, also free radical protection), L-Carnitine (for my sugar cravings and to help my body convert fat to energy), and Chromium Picolinate (to help regulate my blood sugar levels). My next goal is to start back to excercising on a regular basis.

9. I am seriously going to have to get a new mattress set. I thought with the purchase of the mattress pad and mattress enhancer I got a few weeks ago that would fix the problem, but I'm still rolling into a hole in my mattress. It frustrates me into loud cursing. I'm sure it's funny to watch, but damn... What does a girl have to do just to get some sleep? If my cats hadn't peed on the damn mattress in the first place, I never would have had to dissemble the pillow top part, wash it and put it back in. That's when the hole appeared. I guess I'll try to get a new foam insert for the pillow top. That part is separate from the rest of the mattress. You can zip it off and take out the foam insert and padding. That's how I took it off to wash it. The unfortunate thing is that it's only a one-sided pillow top mattress. I can't flip it. I didn't think about that when I got it. I mean, why would I? Right? I'll be posting another wishlist for the mattress set I want along with a new bed frame. Mine is cracking and basically going to fall apart any day now. It was cheap.

10. The more I watch the news, the more I realize how much bullshit they feed us and how tv itself is becoming more and more a method of control. I still sit in front of it and veg out completely. What does that say about me?

11. I did a Karma Reading on Astrology.Com just for shits and giggles. It said basically that in my former life logic and reason were my guides, everything was black/white or useful/non-useful and that I am uncomfortable in this life with my emerging intuitive abilities. I am now convinced that I was a man in my former life.

12. I have way too much time on my hands at this point in my life. I need some focus. Some kind of purpose. I was thinking last night, not for the first time, that I haven't really had a definite purpose for my life in a long time. Well, there was college and that was good for awhile, but it seems like that's over, for now anyway. I've read somewhere that a person has to have a purpose in their life or they lose hope. That's where I feel like I am right now. I'm trying to keep my hopes up, but it's really hard. I'm not the kind of person that can just go to a job and have that be my life. I need something else. Something I care about. Something altruisic. When I was working with Sold Out Ministries all those years ago and running the battered women's shelter I had purpose. I sincerely believed that what I was doing was the right thing and that it was what I was put on this Earth to do. Then, it all ended and I was left in the lurch with nothing and no one. I've tried to reclaim that purpose many times since then, but it seems that the fire has just gone out. I don't know if it's because I've lost my faith or belief in myself or if that time and that specific purpose was just for that specific time and now that it's over it's just...over. It could be some of both. I still struggle with faith issues ever since the rape in '96. It literally knocked me flat and I really don't know how to get my faith back. I seem to be taking these ultra-tiny, ultra painfully slow baby steps when what I want to do is take leaps. I want my faith back. I want to feel the presence of God in my life every day like I used to. I suppose that's mostly up to me, isn't it? If I can just get up off my depressed ass and do it.

13. I didn't post my Post Secret Sunday pic this week so here is the one I picked out:

Frustrated

2008-03-15T14:15:00.002-05:00

Sad Boobs And Big-Girl Panties

2008-03-14T10:03:00.002-05:00

Why is it that nearly every women's clothing retailer doesn't cater at all to so-called "plus-size" women? Why is it that nearly all "plus-size" clothing is so ugly and unflattering that vomit on plaid would look better?

Yeah. I went shopping yesterday. I felt like I needed a few things to add to my wardrobe for future interviews and hopefully a future job. I also thought I needed some retail therapy. I thought wrong. I went first to Target. Mistake. Nothing fit and if it did fit it was so unbelievably horrid...I don't have the words. Plus, there was some construction (I'm assuming that's what it was.) going on in the back of the store. Every few minutes there would be this super loud noise like a drill (I felt like it was drilling into my skull.) and a bunch of yee-haw sounding guys yelling at each other about what they were "fixin'" to do. Did that up my anxiety level? Yeppers. Did that make it easier to get out my uber-fine-toothed comb to plow through all of the hideousness that is the plus-size section? Nope. Did that make it any easier for this depression addled, eating disorder prone woman to look at herself half naked in the dressing room mirror which was flooded with that icky flourescent light? Nope. Nope. Nope. Did I leave Target swearing that not only would I never darken their door again but also never eat again? Yep.

My mantra for yesterday: Food is bad.
Then I went and got ice cream.

I continued to torture myself after Target and went to Penney's hoping to find a bra that would fit me. Now, let's be clear here. I wear a 38-40 DDD. At Penney's, I found all of two (count 'em TWO) bras in my size in the whole lingerie area. Plus, I found a strapless number I thought I would try on just for shits and giggles. Nowadays, most clothing and whatnot have those little exploding ink thingies attatched to them to prevent people from walking out with them. Well, the strapless bra I tried to try on had one of those too. I tried (I kid you not.) for 15 minutes to get that damn bra on. I worked myself into a lather trying to do it. Finally, I just sat down on the little shelf in the dressing room they try to pass off as a place to rest. So, I tried the other ones. They were so tight, I thought my boobs were going to choke me. Don't get me wrong, I'm all for NOT having the "do your boobs hang low" look, but I don't want them all up in my neck either. I guess the insensitivity to people larger than average size extends all the way down to bras and panties. I had to get one though, because the bras that I have are not only too small but they make my boobs look sad. I can't have sad boobs. I'd rather have the pointy dangerous boobs. So, I got the boobs-in-my-neck bra.

So, to borrow a phrase from Girl, Dislocated, it was a big girl panty day yesterday (she says "put on your big girl panties and deal with it"). Aside from the fiasco that was shopping, I had several crying jags while driving around in my car and I brought some ice cream to one of my best friends while she was at work, but it turned out she was in a meeting and the ice cream melted before I could give it to her.
Yay.

Sometimes I Can See So Clearly

2008-03-11T12:25:00.002-05:00

And other times it's a crapshoot.

I had an astounding moment of clarity the other night right before I fell asleep. This is usually the time my mind is the clearest, although lately it hasn't been because of all the stress in my life. Anyway, I was able to make a mental list of things I'm thankful for despite the fact that my life sucks right now. Here are some of them:

I am thankful for my depression because it makes me relish even more the times when I'm not depressed.
I'm thankful for my anxiety because it makes me realize what life can be like without it.
I'm thankful for Lainie being here for three agonizing months, because when she finally leaves, I'll be more grateful for my time alone. I've also learned a little bit about emotional blackmail from her and I'm learning how to stand up for myself in the face of it.
I'm thankful for my parents and how awful they treated me because now I now what not to do with my kids if I ever have any.
I'm thankful for the times I cry because if I couldn't I really would go crazy.
I'm thankful for being jobless because it makes me more thankful for a job when I do have one and makes me act more sensibly with my money.
I'm thankful for being overweight because now I know what it feels like to be fat.
I'm thankful for my past drug and alcohol abuse because it helps me to live sober when I remember how pitiful I was.

I guess I missed making my "thankful list" in November. I think that's kind of corny anyway that people only take the time one day a year to be thankful for things they have (and don't have). That gets on my nerves, but maybe I'm being too judmental. That's part of the reason I hate the holidays. It's all the "let's all be thankful and remember God" just for that time of the year and at no other time. I think it's hypocritical.

I Hate Food.

2008-03-11T10:39:00.002-05:00

I decided yesterday to start trying to get information on recovering from my eating disorders. I'm working on recovering from my depression and personality disorders, so why not the eating disorders, too? I'm just in the reading phase right now. I haven't decided what exactly to do yet. But this is a good step.

I bought a book called Runaway Eating by Cynthia M. Bulik, Ph.D. and Nadine Taylor M.S., R.D.

There was a checklist of things to look at in the book to help people see their disordered eating. Here's what I checked:

Your weight has dropped to an abnormally low point or risen to an anormally high point.

You divide foods or behaviors into clear-cut "good" or "bad" categories.

You eat a lot of noncalorie foods such as diet soft drinks, coffee, mustard, gum, or spices to satisfy your appetite.

You often use food to reward yourself.

Eating makes you feel guilty.

Yur weight seems to go up and down, with dramatic fluctuations of 10 pounds or more.

You always seem to be on a diet.

You worry about your body not being small enough, thin enough, or good enough.

You compare yourself physically with others and feel inferior.

You feel in control when you're at a weight that is abnormally low for you.

You often eat when you're not hungry.

You completely avoid certain foods like sugar or bread because they are "fattening."

You can't get through an entire day without worrying about what you can or can't eat.

You don't like your body.

You feel that happiness will elude you until you lose weight.

You are preoccupied with weight, food, diets, and calories.

You eat in secret.

You alternate between severly restricting your eating and eating large quantities of food.

You've dieted on and off for most of your life.

You're very afraid of gaining weight and becoming fat.

You often eat until you're uncomfortably full.

You've had an out-of-control eating binge at least one time in the past year.

You eat to make yourself feel better emotionally, but it ends up making you feel guilty and depressed.

You become anxious around food.

At the end of this list, depending on how many a person has checked, it gives basic conclusions about the warning signs of developing or mild eating disorders. Mine said, "In addition to using the self-help strategies in this book, see a physician or a mental health professional for help." Duh.

WTF?

2008-03-09T09:58:00.001-05:00

I don't know what the hell is going on with my sidebar. I've been trying to fix it for a couple of hours and now I'm sick of looking at all the code. That's what I get for trying to put Adsense in a place where it's not so garish. I want to make some money off my blog (I'm even thinking about doing the PayPerPost thing again.),but I don't want my blog to look like one big commercial.

Tacky. To say the very least.

If anyone has any ideas about how I can get my sidebar back to where it's supposed to be I'd love to hear them.

Things I've done already:
1. Reduced the size of the picture on the left side.
2. Reduced the amount of padding for the main content so that it's moved farther over to the left to make up for the smaller picture.
3. Reduced the amount of padding for the header so that it is also moved farther over to the left.
4. Edited picture posts so that the pictures in them are smaller to avoid pushing the sidebar down.
5. Resized the width of the sidebar.

What have I not done that I need to do?

P.S. I didn't set my clock forward last night. I'm such a rebel. (yeah right)

Secret Sunday

2008-03-09T07:47:00.002-05:00

Shooter Kills 7 At Israeli Seminary And A Bomb In Times Square

2008-03-06T17:48:00.001-05:00

Gunman Kills 7 At Israeli Seminary

Coincidentally (or not) there was a bomb that exploded in Times Square early this morning.

I find these two events too coincidental not to relate them. Also, since the bombing, the peace talks bewtween Israel and Palestine have ceased. I nearly cried when I saw the story. I don't know why, I just have a special place in my heart for Israel and Palestine. They both have done unspeakable things to the other's people. I don't have much hope for seeing peace there in my lifetime, but I still get sad for all the people who have died and all of the violence that has happened there.

Thursday Thirteen

2008-03-06T08:24:00.001-05:00

1. I've been jobless for a week and a half and I'm going crazy with boredom.

2. I've sent out dozens of resumes online and have yet to hear back from anyone.

3. I'm registered with 3 local employment agencies and have not heard from them either.

4. I'm going to have to call my dad today and ask him to help me pay the rent this month and listen to him berate me for not trying hard enough to find a job and blame me for losing the one I had.

5. Lainie is still here. That has it's very own set of problems. She said she would be moved out by the end of next week, but I don't think that's going to happen. I think (I know) she's just blowing smoke up my ass.

6. I will have exactly no money once the rent is paid.

7. My depression/bipolar support group meets tonight. I suppose I'll go.

8. I find myself becoming more and more frustrated with my situation and blaming myself more and more for my depression and lack of job situation.

9. The first thing I thought of upon waking this morning was cutting.

10. I haven't been feeling very inspired to write lately. I suppose I could; it would just take too much energy that I don't have.

11. I feel boring as hell.

12. It snowed here on Tuesday. The first time this year. Nothing stuck on the streets, but it was really pretty on the houses, trees and grass.

13. I really need to get out of the house today. I feel like I'm going stir crazy.

Scribble Flame (Wordless Wednesday)

2008-03-05T01:00:00.003-05:00

I found some new software (freeware to be precise) with which to make my beloved fractals. I'm excited about it. The software I used to make this is called Apophysis. I put the link in my sidebar as well. It's not as detailed as Ultra Fractal and you can't do as many things with the designs, but they are based on different types of basic fractal forms: the flames. I have never seen these before, so I'm pretty excited about it. Now, if I can find a way to export one of these flames to my Ultra Fractal I'll be ecstatic. Here's the first flame fractal I made: (click to get a larger version of this)

I also found out just tonight from a website I found that you can make fractals into music. I'm going to have to try that out.

Last week, I finally made it down to Southern Reprographics and talked to Joe, who I used to go to church with and who does the digital art there, about getting my fractals rendered from disk to canvas. He said that would be no problem and that it would only cost me $8 per square foot of canvas. Of course I'll have to get the canvas stretched before I can sell it, but I think I'm making good progress. I'm also encouraged, which is something I haven't been in a long time.

Secret Sunday

2008-03-02T11:20:00.001-05:00

Post Secret

NO PSYCHOS ALLOWED!!!

2008-02-28T00:13:00.002-05:00

All I ask for from people who are in my life is a little non-psyho-ness. It seems as though I am a magnet for it, however. The guy I mistakenly had sex with a couple of weeks ago is getting all psycho on me. He calls me and tries to tell me things he said that he never did. Like he'll try to convince me we had a full conversation about something when I know for damn sure that we didn't. Tonight he called me and insisted that he asked me out for coffee yesterday and I refused. I haven't talked to him (other than tonight) since Sunday. I don't know what he's trying to do and he's freaking me out a little. (I kind of feel like he's trying to pull a "crazy" on the crazy girl. That's not going to work. Hello.) He's being a manipulative SOB; I know that for sure. I never should have gotten involved with him in any way.

What I want to know is this: What is it about me that makes guys turn psycho? Or are they already that way and I'm too blind to see it? This is not the first time some guy has gotten all weird. What's the deal? Is it my fault?

On a happier note, I have two interviews tomorrow for positions that are about 10 and 11 dollars an hour. It's not great money, but it's not bad money either. It's enough for me to support myself and that's really all I need. I feel like I need some security so that I can start feeling safe. Right now, safe is not the word I would use for the way I feel. I feel very un-safe. Unstable.

I'm also going to show my artwork to the lady at the local shop tomorrow, so maybe I'll have something positive to report on that front. That's really my dream is to make my living with my creativity. In whatever form it happens to come.

Goin' to bed.

My Latest Creation. Muahhahaha!

2008-02-25T03:04:00.002-05:00

She is named (for now) 'Arms Of The Cold Sun'. I just finished her a few minutes ago.
(Click for a larger, more detailed view.)

Random Secret Sunday

2008-02-25T00:22:00.003-05:00

Friday I quit my job because I was tired of putting up with their damn drama AND THEY BOUNCED MY PAYCHECK AND REFUSED TO ADMIT IT. So, it looks like I'll be in court pretty soon if they don't give me back my money plus the fees the bank charged. I was so mad Friday that I felt like I was going to literally pass out.

Saturday I pulled a half-inch long glass splinter out of the side of my middle finger. I think there's still some glass in there, but it's too deep for me to get out.

Lainie is still here even after I've asked her to leave. Twice. I keep wondering what it will take to make her leave. I don't want to get all psycho on her. That would be badbadbad.

I'm going to have a nervous breakdown.

But someone whom I love loves me and that makes me supremely happy. Happy enough to nearly blot out all of the other bullshit that is going on in my life. I know it will all be there tomorrow, but for right now I'm happy and I'm not going to take it (or him) for granted.

Random? Yes. True? Yesss...:

TGIF (No, Really)

2008-02-22T11:22:00.005-05:00

"I'm not crazy,M'Lynn. I've just been in a very bad mood for forty years!"
~~Shirley Maclaine~Steel Magnolias

Fractal My Heart

2008-02-22T01:36:00.001-05:00

Not one of my latest works, but one of my best. (Clicky clicky and it will get you a bigger version of this.)

Not Crazy Enough

2008-02-21T14:46:00.000-05:00

So...I had somewhat of an emergency-type situation yesterday. Voices in my head...strong urge to self-harm...suicidal thoughts...overwhelming depression. I tried to take Kate's advice and have myself committed for a few days, but no one will take me because I have no insurance and because it wasn't determined that I was a significant enough threat to myself or others for the guys in the white jackets to come haul me away.

As of today, I've missed two days of work because of this. If I miss one more day I lose my job. My supervisor gave me a choice: I can either come back and not miss any more days until I'm eligible for sick time (which will not be for another couple of months) or she can let me go and label me as eligible for rehire. When I told her what was going on she got scared of me and now doesn't even want me to come back there. She's afraid that I'll sneak off somewhere and slice myself up or down some pills or something. I should never have told her anything. I'm fucked like I usually am.

I've been online all morning submitting resumes to various jobs, but this will happen again I guarantee it. It always does.

Tuesday Night Tunes

2008-02-20T01:19:00.003-05:00

My favorite band: Blue October

(HRSA stands for High Risk Self Abuse)

My favorite girl: Tori Amos

Blue October again, but this time set to a clip art slide show. Not mine.

My Vowels Exploded

2008-02-19T10:38:00.000-05:00

Frozen

2008-02-17T14:05:00.003-05:00

I had sex the day before yesterday with someone I've known for almost two weeks and I absolutely positively hated it. He keeps trying to push himself into my life. What makes me angry with myself is that I made a promise to myself several years ago that I would never have sex again when I didn't want to. I could have stopped. I could have just gotten up and left, but I didn't. I just closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else. That's what I used to do when my grandfather would fuck me and it's also what I did during the times I was raped. I'm so awesomely good at dissociating. I was super uncomfortable afterwards and I wanted to bolt so badly, but every time I tried to leave he would try to pull me back into some kind of conversation by saying, "Wait, I have something to tell you, " or something similar to that. I was so tired and not too long after the first time I tried to leave I started crying, but he either didn't mind or didn't care. I tried to hold back the tears and I tried to explain to him that I just wanted to be alone. Needless to say, he didn't understand that one bit. I sound like I'm playing the victim. I feel like I'm playing the victim. I hate myself right now. I was going to write something like, "He had to know I didn't want to and that was tantamount to rape", but he didn't rape me. I just let him do whatever because I was tired, feeling unloved and just didn't have the balls to say no. Actually, though, now that I think about it I did say no at one point. I don't know. It's all very confusing in my head. I feel like shit and I beat one of my cats early this morning so hard that she peed on herself. I feel like I'm going out of control. I'm a terrible, terrible person. I've been thinking about cutting a lot today. I'm sorry if everything in this post is so random. I really can't think well today.

Secret Sunday

2008-02-17T13:50:00.000-05:00

In Honor Of Valentine's Day...

2008-02-13T10:16:00.001-05:00

I was going to do Wordless Wednesday, but I don't feel like being "wordless" today.

(This one is my favorite.)

Anger Management

2008-02-11T10:19:00.000-05:00

I've figured out why I have to keep myself busy all the time: i.e. house cleaning, walking, grocery shopping, working all the time. It's because if I don't I have time to sit around and really think about and realize just how unhappy and angry I am. I don't like feeling unhappy and angry so I keep myself just busy enough to be to tired and literally too busy to think about it. I don't know if I'm running from my anger or if I'm just that scared to be angry.

I woke up frustrated as all hell this morning. Some of it was from the anger from last night. I don't know what the rest of it was. Maybe because it's Monday and I have to go back to work and talk to people who don't like me about why their cable isn't working. I'm not sure. I know that I really don't want to go in today, but what I want doesn't really matter, does it?

I happened to notice after I got up and started cleaning around my apartment (it's never ending around here what with my kitty posse) that my anger had dissipated somewhat and I didn't have such a strong urge to slice my arm open with the nearest sharp object. I get these disturbing images in my head when I'm like that. I can see myself cutting my skin; flaying myself open and enjoying it and then smearing blood all over the walls just to say, "Look at me!!! I'm in pain!!! I'm fucking angry as fuck!!!" I told one of my former psychiatrists about these visions and he told me it was an inner expression of unresolved anger. Doesn't take a genius to figure that one out Oh Doctor Of Mine. The only reason I told him was that it really was bothering me and I thought he should know what was going on in my head since he was my psychiatrist. I wasn't expecting to get an answer that any Intro Psych student could have given me. I thought to myself after the appointment that day, "Damn, I don't have my degree yet and I knew that. What a dumbass." That was my last appointment with him. I may be crazy, but I know that I don't need anyone to "fix" me. I'm not broken like a child's toy. I just have trouble dealing with myself sometimes and sometimes I need a person to listen to me and to give me refills on psych meds.

A Few Things...

2008-02-11T01:36:00.000-05:00

I AM SICK OF CATS THAT AREN'T MINE. I'M SICK OF CATS IN HEAT WHO KEEP ME UP ALL FUCKING NIGHT SO THAT I HAVE TO GO TO WORK ON ONLY A FEW HOURS SLEEP. I'M SICK OF FRIENDS WHO OUTSTAY THEIR WELCOME AND TALK DURING MOVIES JUST TO DRAW ATTENTION TO THEMSELVES. I'M SICK OF SELF-ABSORBED PEOPLE. I'M SICK OF PEOPLE WHO STAY WITH ME AND DON'T GIVE ME ANY MONEY TO HELP OUT. I'M SICK OF PEOPLE BLEEDING THEIR PERSONAL BULLSHIT ALL OVER ME AND THEN GOING OUT TO BE SELF-DESTRUCTIVE AGAIN ONLY TO THINK THEY CAN COME BACK AND BLEED ON ME AGAIN. I'M SICK OF SHARING MY PERSONAL SPACE WITH OTHER PEOPLE. I'M SICK OF BEING NICE WHEN I WANT TO BE A BITCH. I'M SICK OF HOLDING EVERYTHING IN BECAUSE I'M SUPPOSED TO BE NICE AND SUPPORTIVE AND ALL THAT BULLSHIT. I'M SICK OF LOVING PEOPLE WHO DON'T LOVE ME. I'M SICK OF BEING LIED TO. I'M SICK OF THINKING ABOUT SUICIDE EVERY FUCKING DAY. I'M SICK OF WANTING TO CUT ON MYSELF ALL THE GOD-DAMN TIME. I'M SICK OF LOOKING AT THIS FUCKING MESSY HOUSE. I'M SICK OF SMELLING CAT SHIT AND PISS. I'M SICK OF CLEANING THE COUCH CUSHIONS EVERY FUCKING WEEK. I'M SICK OF MY BED SMELLING LIKE CAT PISS AND HAVING TO CLEAN THE MATTRESS ALL THE DAMN TIME. I'M SICK OF BEING TOO EMBARRASSED TO HAVE SOMEONE COME INSIDE MY APARTMENT. I'M SICK OF BEING SCARED OF EVERYTHING. I'M SICK OF BEING FAT. I'M SICK OF ME.

Secret Sunday

2008-02-10T12:44:00.000-05:00

I haven't done this in awhile, even though it's one of my faves.

Post Secret

It just so happens that I went out the other night with a friend of mine and asked her offhandedly,"Do you think I should wear my fake pony tail?" She looked at me quite seriously and said, "Yeah, I think it takes at least five years off of your face." I bought that pony tail, you know, just for kicks because I like to dress up sometimes. I like the way it makes me look. I also know that my friend didn't mean anything by saying what she did. She complimented me in a round-a-bout way. On the one hand, I appreciate that, but on the other hand...when I got home later that night and took the synthetic, straightned pony tail off I felt like I had just taken my beauty off. I felt like my hair, which is short and super super curly, was not beautiful and that I was not beautiful.

Every where I look all I see are women who have straight, shiny hair. Mine is curly, coarse and has a tendency to be dull looking because of it's coarseness. Even though I get a lot of compliments on it, I think privately that those women who say they want hair just like mine would never go for it because it would make them feel too different; too set apart from the rest of the herd. Sometimes, it's not bad to be a small part of a whole and I understand that dynamic. Other times, though, it's best just to be one's own self curly hair and all.

When I was a little girl, my mother used to spend hours working on my hair. She even gave herself blisters working the hair dryer to try to get my hair straight. For her efforts what she got was just a bunch of fairly straight, extremely coarse (more so because of the hair dryer), very unruly and very very big hair. All of my childhood pictures look like I'm wearing a grown-up wig. When I got to be in my twenties, I stopped trying to straighten my hair everyday simply because I just got tired of fighting with it. Still though, sometimes I wish I could be just like the majority of women with what one of my girlfriends calls "white girl Pantene hair". I guess it would be easier. I don't know. Maybe not.

My insecurities are screaming at me today. Can you tell?

Please Excuse The Mess!!

2008-02-07T03:27:00.000-05:00

I've decided to revamp my blog and I'm having some trouble with the html for the background image to be the way I want it so I'm leaving it this way for now. I know it's uber-simple, but it's better than the way it would have looked if I had left the background image the way it was before. I shudder to think. So, ladies and gentlemen:

YOUR TAX DOLLARS AT WORK.

EDIT 2/08/08: I've been working on this for several hours and have finally gotten it, in the main, looking like I want. Although, the header is still a bit off center. I'm going to leave that for another day, though. For now, I hope no one's spacial centeredness is too offended.

P.S.

I Always Thought Not Being Average Was Something To Be Proud Of

2008-02-07T01:45:00.000-05:00

I've run into a couple of different walls in my apartment today. As weird as it sounds, I do it nearly every day and not with like....my elbow or some other part of my body that one would normally associate with bumping into walls and it's not like I'm super clumsy either. I run into walls with my breasts. You know that saying, "You know you're 'insert body part here' is (are) too big when...

I've been thinking about that ever since I got home and had to hold one or the other of my breasts while cursing in pain. At first I was cursing them as well. I really don't like breasts and I'm not trying to titilate here or be pornographic. I just don't like them. Mine, I mean. Then, I thought about the fact that my body takes up more than the average amount of space and then realized that I don't hate just my breasts. I hate the fact that my entire body takes up so much space. Also, does taking up space equal taking power? Am I afraid to be smaller because smaller means weaker? You know, I'm afraid of a lot of things, but I really never thought I might be afraid of being physically smaller. I always thought that was something I wanted. This is Psych 101, right? I know, deep thoughts for a gal with a Psych degree (and gosh darnit people like me...).

I know a woman who is so proud of her bigness and the simple fact that she does take up space and that she does eat. I aspire to have that mindset. I think maybe once I'm not so afraid of my own body, I might not be so afraid of the rest of the world. Sound like a good idea? If anyone has any suggestions for me on which way I could direct myself to start on the path of loving my non-average body, I would lovelovelove to hear them.

My best friend bought me a some Buddhist prayer beads that are made into a bracelet and I have started wearing them every day. Whenever I get stressed, insecure, or...whatever I chant silently with them in my hands. It helps. I don't think it's the beads, though. I think it's me choosing to change my perspective by focusing on what's really important in the moment. The beads are just a tool.

Also, does everyone spend an inordinate amount of time cleaning and just generally straightening up when they are at home? I know it sounds like silly question, but I feel like I spend all my free time doing just that. Sometimes I don't mind doing it everyday, but other times... I keep trying to tell myself that I just moved into this apartment 2 months ago and to give myself time to get every little thing unpacked and put in it's place, but I'm getting impatient with myself. I feel like I want to do everything in one go, which is of course, nonsense. I have far too much junk, books, knicknacks, dishes and other whatnots to be able to do that. (Patience grasshopper.) I guess what I'm trying to say is that I feel like my life centers around my job and my home. I suppose this is a similar experience for all women? I've just never been this domestic-goddess-y before. It's probably the age. Oy.

I've got to take my old ass to bed.

Furious and Frustrated Monday

2008-02-04T10:03:00.000-05:00

I woke up thinking (wishing) that time could be turned back so that I could be in my twenties again. I've missed out on so much. I wanted to have a baby. Now, it's too late for me. Plus, I'm not married. I don't even have a boyfriend or a prospect of one so even if I did want only a sperm donor that is out of the question. I've been so stupid with my life. I've made so many mistakes and let so many people walk all over me and that makes me angry with myself. Furious, actually.

I also remember thinking, like so many others have I'm sure when they start feeling their own mortality, that I only have this one life to live. After this there is nothing more. This thought should spur me on to make some radical changes in my life, shouldn't it? As of right now, though, I'm still just furious and frustrated.

While I was showering this morning, I remembered something that my mother said to me when I told her a few months ago about a short-term sexual encounter I had with a man I've known for nearly twenty years. I told her that I actually enjoyed myself and that for the first time in my life I didn't feel guilty about having sex. She said to me, "Where is the girl who was going to wait for marriage to have sex?" I remember this question irritated me at the time, but I think I just blew it off. But now as of this morning I'm thinking, "That girl disappeared the day you let your father fuck me." You know...whatever man. I don't think anymore that there is any such thing as "waiting for marriage". I've met a few folks who waited until they were married to have actual intercourse, but did everything else while they were waiting. Is that hypocrital or is it just me? That whole idea is just too archaic and patriarchal to be tolerated. I'm sick of playing to men's insecurities just because they want to be the one to "go where no man has gone before". Fuck that.
And my mom can go fuck herself for even having the nerve to ask me that stupid question.

I'm Hoping The Day Will Forget Me

2008-02-04T09:21:00.000-05:00

Animator vs. Animation

2008-01-31T22:13:00.000-05:00

Rob Bresny's Taurus

2008-01-29T13:13:00.000-05:00

Free Will Astrology

"In the human heart new passions are forever being born," said French writer Francois de La Rochefoucauld. "The overthrow of one almost always means the rise of another." I suppose that's true. We all have longings that come and go as we evolve. But I'd also like to propose an equally valid and contradictory truth: In every human heart there are a few passions that last a lifetime. They're with us from the moment we're born, and nothing can dilute their intensity. Our destiny revolves around them. These are the passions I hope you will define with precision and nurture with alacrity during the next eight weeks.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I hardly even know or remember what my enduring passions are. One used to be singing. I've been told I have a great voice. One used to be God. The Overarching One. I think I've lost my "fire" so to speak. (I hate that term "on fire for God". I'm not sure what it is about that particular phrase, but it grates me.) I love God, but I'm pretty sure I love myself more. I've done art and poetry as a way to express my emotions and let those inner demons out onto an unsuspecting and unbelieving world, but that has dimmed as well. Mostly my goals for everyday are just to:

Get out of bed (very difficult sometimes);

Survive (also very difficult sometimes);

and finally, to go back to bed.

It sounds like an empty life and it is. I've been thinking about changing it, though. I've got to find something that makes me happy, right? Or at least something that makes me feel alive.

The picture of the chalice is appropo because it symbolizes something growing inside; something coming into its fruition. That's how I feel. I feel pregnant with possibilities. Like I have yet to give birth to my passions. I guess I'm a late bloomer.

The More I Fight, The More Stuck I Am

2008-01-10T07:05:00.000-05:00

It's been over a year since I've used this blog. It's stupid, but I sort of (more than sort of) totally forgot my login info. I just worked it out yesterday. I used to have a Live Journal, but I've shut that down as of about a week or so ago because they have these lame adverts now if you have a free account.

So, I'm really frustrated right now. I just got a new job (today is the 3rd day) and I find myself thinking the same thing I've thought about every other job I've had: that it is totally bullshit and that I'll wind up hating it, quitting and then being depressed and unemployed again. As a matter of fact, I cried myself into quite a magnificent headache last night thinking about this among other things.

I am in a very depressed state. I yell at my cats and I know that they don't deserve it. I have no one else to talk to/yell at. That's not a valid excuse, I know. I slam doors and am just generally pissy all the time. I'm impatient with people when I talk to them. I don't know how much of this is apparent, because I'm too chicken shit to actually say something like, "Can you get on with this story?" or "I can't talk to you right now". I just wade through whatever someone is saying to me all the while thinking how pointless everything is while trying to act interested. That's horrible. I know it is and I've never been this way to this extent before. I hate it that I'm this way right now. Well, I generally hate pretty much everything about myself right now. I've been contemplating suicide on a daily basis several times a day, but I don't know if I would ever actually do it. I'm not trying to garner sympathy here or whatever. Just venting.

Lewis Imagines Hell

2007-08-12T00:16:00.000-04:00

"For humor involves a sense of proportion and a power of seeing yourself from the outside. Whatever else we attribute to beings who sinned through pride, we must not attribute this. Satan, said Chesterton, fell through force of gravity. We must picture Hell as a state where everyone is perpetually concerned about his own dignity and advancement, where everyone has a grievance, and where everyone lives the deadly serious passions of envy, self-importance and resentment."

"Bad angels, like bad men, are entirely practical. They have two motives. The first is fear of punishment; for as totalitarian countries have their camps for toruture, so my Hell contains deeper Hells, it's ' "houses of correction" '. Their second motive is a kind of hunger. I feign that devils can eat one another; and us. Even in human life we have seen the passion to dominate, almost to digest, one's fellow; to make his whole intellectual and emotional life merely an extension of one's own-to hate one's hatred and resent one's grievances and indulge one's egoism through him as well as through oneself. His own little store of passion must of course be suppressed to make room for ours. If he resists this suppression he is being very selfish.
On Earth, this desire is often called ' "love" '. In Hell I feign that they recognise it as hunger. But there the hunger is more ravenous, and a fuller satisfation is possible. There, I suggest, the stronger spirit-there are perhaps no bodies to impede the operation-can really and irrevocably suck the weaker into itself and permanently gorge its own being on the weaker's outraged individuality. It is (I feign) for this that devils desire human souls and the souls of one another. It is for this that Satan desires all his own followers and all the sons of Eve and all the host of Heaven. His dream is of the day when all shall be inside him and all that says ' "I" ' can say it only through him. This, I surmise, is the bloated-spider parody, the only imitaion he can understand, of that unfathomed bounty whereby God turns tools into servants and servants into sons, so that they may be at last reunited with Him in the perfect freedom of a love offered from the height of the utter individualities which he has liberated them to be."

from The Screwtape Letters-Preface~C.S. Lewis

God Respects Me When I Work, But He Loves Me When I Sing

2007-08-11T23:37:00.000-04:00

I have a framed picture of that sentence that was given to me by someone I truly, truly love and she knows how much I love to sing. She showed me how my singing can be cathartic and also a gift to God.

Right now, I am trying to get this sadness out of my heart.

On Coming Up For Air

2007-08-09T12:53:00.000-04:00

I thought I would post something today about what I'm reading in my little daily devotional book Beyond The Looking Glass: Daily Devotions for Overcoming Anorexia and Bulimia.

Phillipians 4: 11-13
I've learned to be content in whatever situation I'm in.
Phi 4:12 I know how to live in poverty or prosperity. No matter what the situation, I've learned the secret of how to live when I'm full or when I'm hungry, when I have too much or when I have too little.
Phi 4:13 I can do everything through Christ who strengthens me.

It seems like I can never be content in whatever situation I find myself. I go in and out of disordered eating still even after trying to recover from it for 17 years. I stopped drinking; I stopped using, but I can't really give myself credit for those things because if I do, I'm afraid that I'll get complacent and fall back into that hole. I can't give myself credit for the little things I accomplish either for the same reason. The funny thing is: I am complacent. I have this bad habit of being very lazy in almost every aspect of my life. It takes me forever to make any change because I don't like change. It's scary to me even though a change in some areas would be a good thing. It's hard to change bad habits.

I want to be not complacent, but learn to be content in whatever situation I happen to be. That sounds like I'm being reactive instead of proactive, I know. I don't think being content is necessarily just letting things happen. I think it's that I have to accept that God is going work everything out for my benefit (whether it be a good situation or a bad situation; both can work for my betterment) and to just accept what he has for me and learn to be content with it.

I've been having so much anxiety lately due to work (or lack of) situations and whatnot that nearly every day I feel, at some point during the day, that my heart is going to beat right out of my chest. It just comes on unexpectedly. Sometimes, I can just be sitting somewhere and it just comes over me when I'm not even thinking about my money situation. I should know by now, after all these years, that God will take care of me. Why do I have to keep re-learning the same lessons? Why can't I remember? Why can't I trust? I think one of the reasons is that my perception of God is colored by my perception of my parents. You are supposed to be able to trust your parents, but I was never able to fully trust mine. It's like my mistrust of the people who were supposed to take care of me stands between me and God because I see God as that one person who always takes care of me. I trust sometimes and then sometimes I don't. God is not mutable. This is something that I need to keep telling myself over and over again.

It's so much easier to keep repeating the negative things, isn't it? Because that's what I'm familiar with.

Victim

2007-07-30T11:27:00.000-04:00

I recently reconnected with an old friend of mine who I haven't seen in about 15 years. In the process of giving each other phone numbers and whatnot, I gave her this web address so that, if she wanted to, she could keep up with my goings on. Not that there's really much to keep up with, but you know...

Anyway, one of the times we were talking after that first time, she said she'd pulled up my blog and pointed out to me this post saying that from reading it she couldn't believe that I'd become one of "those women". Meaning a woman who incessantly complains about her problems and puts herself in the place of the victim time after time even though she should have learned her lessons long ago.

I just have this to say in my defense: I know that many of my posts on here are long and depressing and if a person doesn't know me (which is the case for nearly everyone who comes across this blog), they would probably think exactly what my friend did. I can say that I've changed a lot over the years. 15 years ago, I had a huge wall built around myself: a protective mechanism built from so many years of being hurt and abused as a child, teenager and adult. I've worked really hard to bring that wall down over the years because I felt like my heart was too hard and bitter. All the easier to break. It's the bitter ones that break the easiest in my experience.

Anyway, I am more vulnerable and open emotionally now, but I am also more able to love, which is so so important to me. What I have been thinking about since talking to my friend is that first I thought maybe I needed parts of that old wall to be rebuilt, because obviously I've been in a lot of pain and put myself in bad situations. In short, I've been a bit naive and too trusting. But now that I've been thinking more on this subject, I realize that I don't ever want that wall again, because once you start building it, it sort of keeps growing on its own until you've isolated yourself again. I don't want that again ever. What I'm more inclined to think now is that I need to improve my judgment skills of people and situations. I used to be so good at that. I lost it somewhere along the way. I don't know when and I don't know how. Maybe I just got lazy. Maybe I did play the victim. It's so much easier. If I'm the victim, then I don't have to take responsibility for what happens to me. It becomes everyone's fault but my own. I will say; however, that part of what was going on during and around the time of this post, was that I had not only been off one of my psychiatric medications for about six weeks, but also the dosage I was taking (before I ran out of it) was half of what I normally take. Now, I don't know if my Dr. changed the prescription dosage without telling me or if the pharmacy made a mistake. I kept the bottle, though, just in case anyone thought I was mental and couldn't read the directions on the bottle. Plus, there was the one-year anniversary of the death of my brother-in-Christ, David, whom I loved (love) so much even still. These three things converging with my month-long "thing" with "my friend" was just too much for me to take in. So, I nose-dived. I retreated back into what is familiar to me.

Now that I'm back on my medications (all of them), I'm feeling somewhat more levelized. Not so much of a paranoid psycho woman, although I do stand by what I said in the aforementioned post. I think he acted selfishly and hurtfully. Also though, I had no business sleeping with him considering my mental state. Even when I am myself, I freak out when the guy I want to be with doesn't want to be with just me. When he told me that he wasn't ready for a relationship, I should have just walked away, but like I said, I wasn't really in my right mind. (I did apologize for sending him a psycho-woman paranoid text message in the middle of the night.)

The one thing that was positive about that whole experience was that for the first time in my life, I had sex and enjoyed it. I can't explain it really, but that's a monumental step forward for me. Maybe after I think on it a bit I'll be able to explain the whole thing. Right now, though, it's more like an experience of "before this" and "after this".

Gag Order

2007-07-14T12:55:00.000-04:00

Nebraska judge bans the word rape from his courtroom.
By Dahlia Lithwick
Posted Wednesday, June 20, 2007, at 7:27 PM ET

Usually we leave it up to the linguists and philosophers to muse on the crazy relationship between words and their meanings. In the law, words—the important ones, at least—are defined narrowly, and judges, lawyers, and jurors are trusted to understand their meanings. It's precisely because language is so powerful in a courtroom that we treat it so reverently.

Yet a Nebraska district judge, Jeffre Cheuvront, suddenly finds himself in a war of words with attorneys on both sides of a sexual assault trial. More worrisome, he appears to be at war with language itself, and his paradoxical answer is to ban it: Last fall, Cheuvront granted a motion by defense attorneys barring the use of the words rape, sexual assault, victim, assailant, and sexual assault kit from the trial of Pamir Safi—accused of raping Tory Bowen in October 2004.

Safi's first trial resulted in a hung jury last November when jurors deadlocked 7-5. Responding to Cheuvront's initial language ban—which will be in force again when Safi is retried in July—prosecutors upped the ante last month by seeking to have words like sex and intercourse barred from the courtroom as well. The judge denied that motion, evidently on the theory that there would be no words left to describe the sex act at all. The result is that the defense and the prosecution are both left to use the same word—sex—to describe either forcible sexual assault, or benign consensual intercourse. As for the jurors, they'll just have to read the witnesses' eyebrows to sort out the difference.

Bowen met Safi at a Lincoln bar on Oct. 30, 2004. It is undisputed that they shared some drinks, and witnesses saw them leaving together. Bowen claims not to have left willingly and has no memory of the rest of that night. She claims to have woken up naked the next morning with Safi atop her, "having sexual intercourse with her." When she asked him to stop, he did.

Bowen testified for 13 hours at Safi's first trial last October, all without using the words rape or sexual assault. She claims, not unreasonably, that describing what happened to her as sex is almost an assault in itself. "This makes women sick, especially the women who have gone through this," Bowen told the Omaha World-Herald. "They know the difference between sex and rape."

Nebraska law offers judges broad discretion to ban evidence or language that present the danger of "unfair prejudice, confusion of the issues or misleading the jury." And it's not unheard-of for judges to keep certain words out of a courtroom. Words like victim have been increasingly kept out of trials, since they tend to imply that a crime was committed. And as Safi's lawyer, Clarence Mock, explains, the word rape is just as loaded. "It's a legal conclusion for a witness to say, 'I was raped' or 'sexually assaulted.' … That's for a jury to decide." His concern is that the word rape so inflames jurors that they decide a case emotionally and not rationally.

The real question for Judge Cheuvront, then, is whether embedded in the word sex is another "legal conclusion"—that the intercourse was consensual. And it's hard to conclude otherwise. Go ahead, use the word sex in a sentence. Asking a complaining witness to scrub the word rape or assault from her testimony is one thing. Asking that she imply that she agreed to what her alleged assailant was doing to her is something else entirely. To put it another way: If the complaining witness in a rape trial has to describe herself as having had "intercourse" with the defendant, should the complaining witness in a mugging be forced to testify that he was merely giving his attacker a loan?

The fact that judges are not rushing to ban similarly conclusory legal language from trial testimony—presumably one can still say murder or embezzlement on the stand—reflects not just the fraught nature of language but also the fraught nature of rape prosecutions. We as a society still somehow think rape is different—either because we assume the victims are especially fragile or because we assume they are particularly deceitful. Is the word rape truly more inflammatory to a jury than the word robbery? Yes, the question of the victim's consent surely makes a rape trial more complicated than some other kinds of criminal trials. But the fact that the evidence may be more equivocal hardly makes the underlying word more likely to incite blind juror outrage.

Wendy Murphy teaches at the New England School of Law and has spent years studying the relationship between language and the courts. She describes Judge Cheuvront's order as part of a growing trend on the part of the defense bar to scrub the language of trial courts, one that has "really blossomed after the Kobe Bryant trial." The big shifts she's noticing: Whereas defense attorneys once made motions to limit the use of the word victim in trials, there is an uptick in efforts to get rid of the word rape. Moreover, she points out, these strategies used to be directed toward prosecutors, but they are now being directed toward witnesses as well.

Do a Lexis search on the influence of inflammatory language on juror perceptions. Try to find some social science data on the effect of loaded courtroom words on conviction rates. Not much out there, notes Murphy. That's one of the things that makes the Nebraska case so maddening. If judges are going to take it upon themselves to issue blanket orders that would have witnesses testifying that black is white, one might hope that they are trying to remedy some well-documented evidentiary problem.

You needn't be a radical legal feminist to cringe at the idea of judges ordering rape complainants to obliterate from their testimony any language that signifies an assault. At worst, that judge is ordering her to lie. At best, he is asking her to play at being a human thesaurus: thinking up coded ways to describe to the jury what she believes to have happened. If Mock, Safi's attorney, is correct in stating that "trials are competing narratives of what happened," why should one side have a lock on the narrative language used? Can it really be that the cure for the problem of ambiguous courtroom language is to permit less of it?

And there's another problem underlying Cheuvront's order: Jurors will not be told of it. Not only is the "dangerous" language to be hidden from them, but the fact that it's been hidden will be concealed from them as well. They are not merely too emotional to hear the phrase rape kit. They are also evidently too emotional to know it's been hidden from them in the first place.

Professor Robert Weisberg teaches criminal law at Stanford Law School, and he acknowledges that judges in rape trials face a particularly complicated challenge when it comes to keeping prejudicial or conclusory language from a jury. He has no problem, for instance, with the fact that courts have gradually jettisoned the word victim for the less loaded complainant. The former proves too much. But he cautions that there is no value-neutral word for unwanted sex and that the word intercourse "understates what happens in a rape case." He warns that a blanket ban on the word rape may in fact be the worst solution. A jury instruction from the judge or gentle admonitions that witnesses watch their language throughout the trial is the better, more transparent fix. "That," says Weisberg, "is what judges get paid for."

If we've learned anything from the dreary wars over politically correct language in America, it's that purging ugly words from the lexicon hardly makes the ugly ideas they represent go away. Trials exist to ferret out facts, and papering over those ugly facts with pretty—or even "neutral"—words doesn't just do violence to abstractions like language and meaning. When it's done in a courtroom, the real victim—if I may still use that word—may well be the truth.

Norman Rockwell Is Bleeding

2007-07-14T11:16:00.000-04:00

This made me laugh so hard that I snorted!

Long Day~Long Life

2007-07-10T09:43:00.000-04:00

I swear to God yesterday was the longest, shittiest day of my life. Of course, I may be overexaggerating, but it was freakin' long. I've been so anxious for the last week or so and I really can't figure out why. I don't want to go to work at all. Just the thought of it makes my heart speed up like I'm going to start panicking and what's really odd is that my job isn't really hard. It's just that I work 6 days a week and I think that's what's getting to me. I'm always having to find ways to get more hours so that my paychecks will be decent and when I do get enough hours, I'm dog ass tired. Too tired to do anything else like clean house, play with my cats... It feels like all I do is work and sleep.

Yesterday was the culmination of my not having some of my meds for about a month or so, not to mention my body picking this particular day to throw me some period cramps that felt like a knife twisting in my belly. The night before, I didn't sleep hardly at all, so by the time morning came I was so frustrated and anxious that I didn't know what to do with myself. I would cry, stop, cry some more, beat my pillows in frustration and cry some more. I wound up feeling very numb and alternately very melancholy. I had a dr. appt. at 4p. yesterday afternoon for medication management and I finally got my prescriptions renewed for another 3 months, but waiting for the damn appt. was fucking hell. Then, when I got to the dr's office, he was running like half an hour late. So, since I got to my appt. about 15 minutes early, I wound up waiting on him for 45 minutes. Talk about being irritated and after my appt. I still had to go get my scripts filled. Granted, I was so grateful to have them finally, but with all my anxiety going on and the fact that I had one doosey of a migraine after my dr. appt., it was really really hard to drive and what not. After that, I had to go to the store to get those supplies that most everyone is embarrassed to name: pads and tampons (t.m.i. ?). Walking around in Kroger with the flourescent lights was unbelievably hard and surreal. I had to deposit my paycheck from last week in my bank before I could get what I needed. Thank God the bank had a branch in Kroger. I don't think I could've gone anywhere else. I was so out of it that I had to have the teller walk me through filling out my checking deposit slip.

I told y'all it was a shitty day.

Today, I am having to call in to work so that I can go get my car looked at. It needs to be serviced and it's making these weird shuddering sounds. I had to call in yesterday too. The restaurant was closed yesterday, but there was an event that I told my manager that I would work. The day after (or maybe that same day) that I told her I would work it, I was regretting it. I realized suddenly that I would be working a 7 day week and that I wouldn't have a day off 'till next Monday. Shit.

At this point, today, I really really don't want to go back to work. I'm feeling very frustrated, very boxed in, and slightly suicidal. I hate feeling this way. Having these thoughts of suicide because it feels like a cop out to me. It's like every time things get hard, I think suicidal thoughts. I'm too scared to do it, though, so all I do is torture myself with anxiety, which I also hate. I'm all wrapped up in myself again with this anxiety, frustration and depression. Now, I'm selfish; again something that I hate.

I'm probably going to wind up losing my job or at the very least, getting balled out by one or both of my managers. Considering they are bf/gf and they live together, I will probably get it from both of them.

Let's Just Say...

2007-06-27T08:02:00.000-04:00

Supposing I've had this friend for a long time. Since 1990. Supposing we've tried to date several times, but it didn't work out for one reason or another. Supposing we've slept together only three times over the 17 years that we've known each other and supposing that after the first two times he totally disappeared off the face of the earth and I was unbelievably hurt. Considering the first time we were together was only a few months after the last time I was raped and the second time was the night before New Year's Eve 2000; he said he'd be there with me for New Year's Eve, but like I said before....disappearage.

So, supposing that he invited me out to lunch a couple of weeks ago and supposing that the new girl I'm trying to be, I was and being that exuberant and spontaneous person, convinced him to take the afternoon off of work so we could go to his place and have a few rounds of marathon sex. Supposing that afterwards the mood of the room changed drastically from playfulsexy to serious and loving. Supposing he tells me over and over again that he loves me; that he's always loved me. And supposing I tell him the same thing. Muy romantico, no?

Ok, now, supposing a few days later he calls me up after work and desperately wants me to come over even though I've been working an event at the Library and smell like sweat and cafeteria food. Supposing he covers me with kisses and hugs the minute I walk in his door and he serves me pizza and wine and we sit for hours and talk and laugh. Of course, we had another few go-rounds of marathon sex, but supposing afterwards in the telling of the I-love-yous, he mentions that he's "not ready for a relationship" and that he's in the process of "finding himself" so he's not "a strong man" and that I "deserve someone better". So, I leave not really knowing what to feel.

Now, supposing I text him all day after the night I fell and nearly broke my foot wanting him to come see me. Supposing he never calls or texts me back all day and then tells me later that he had to mow his parents lawn and that that's why he wasn't available all day. Supposing I tell him that I'm angry and scared that he's disappearing on me again and then supposing he tells me again that he's not ready for a relationship and that he has a date the next night (Saturday).

Supposing Saturday I went to work as usual, even though it was hard as hell to get out of bed, and worked all day amidst coming-and-going crying spells. Supposing also that after I got off work that I couldn't even make it to my car without falling (literally) and crying hysterically. Supposing I couldn't drive home and had to sit in my car for half an hour before I could go anywhere. Also, suppose that when I got home I cried and screamed for another 2 or so hours and when that had run it's course, I tried to O.D. on prescription drugs, but was unsuccessful, but still want to keep doping myself up so that I won't have to think about how someone I've known for half my life has spent those years fucking me over (literally) even though I've been there for him during his darkest times over the course of the time we've known each other (like when he caught his former wife inflagrande cheating on him in their bed at at their house).

So now, what do I do?

Oh yeah, I nearly forgot to put this down: He told me that he wants to remain "friends" and that for my sake, we "shouldn't sleep together again", but he wants to take me to a movie this week.

Honestly, next to the Sally and Tanya thing, this is the worst betrayal I've ever experienced. I can't even function.

You Never Know The Importance Of Major Appliances

2007-06-25T23:41:00.000-04:00

This is the danger of not owning one's own washer/dryer: You could possibly be carrying big bags of clean laundry to your car and fall off the, amazingly high and amazingly invisible, curb; you could twist your ankle so hard that you think you've broken your foot, bang your head on your car and have your back feel like a sumo wrestler walked on it while wearing 7 inch stripper heels (that's a visual, yes?).

I went to the doc the day after it happened, had my foot x-rayed (by the way, I said that three times yesterday in the telling of the story as "x-rated" and that was before the pain meds) and had my back looked at and the knot on my head examined. The verdict is that I've strained my foot (right on the inside of the ankle and down toward the arch) really badly. My back is pretty fucked up. That's nothing new. There's nothing wrong with it that wasn't wrong with it before. So, it's not worse. It will just hurt worse for a good while. At least the knot on my head isn't where you can see it.

The Stone Hawk

2007-04-18T05:46:00.000-04:00

It's about time someone came up with a drug drug detox program that doesn't replace one addictive drug with another one. I've been looking at this website: Narconon Stone Hawk. They approach drug rehab from the point of view that another drug is not what the body needs when it's addicted. They believe that what the body needs when it's addicted to a drug is what the drug takes away from the body, like essential nutrients. Any drug a person takes in excess is going to rob the body of the things it needs to function at a healthy level. For instance, if a person is an alcoholic, they will have a deficiency of the complex of B vitamins. It's the alcohol that takes it right from the body, so when a person is detoxing from alcohol, it's the B vitamin deficiency that causes most of the problems.

Narconon Stone Hawk also provides Life Skills Courses and has an Aftercare Program for the people who choose to get help there. That's important because even if a person is no longer physically addicted to a drug, the mental addiction is probably still there. Coping skills have to be taught and implemented in order for a person to be able to face and overcome the mental onslaught that inevitably comes when they are released from treatment. That's also why it's important to have the Aftercare Program. If I were the person seeking treatment, I know it would make me more comfortable to know that I could get care after I was released from initial treatment.

This is the first drug treatment center that I could really get behind. I'm a strong proponent of vitamin supplementation and the healing power of food. I know from personal experience how much of a difference in health they make.