The last Saturday I lost my baby. Actually he dumped me. He treated me like I was potential stalker material. I understand why he dumped me. I just wish he had the balls to come clean with me and tell me what I did that finally cut the cord. That’s okay though. He was a lawn care worker, not anything big. Not that I have anything against guys who work with their hands. I’m just reminding myself that I don’t need him, he’s not better than me. I’m perpetually stuck in my early teenaged years when it comes to dealing with relationships. I’ve had a few yet they were so toxic/abnormal/unhealthy you pick an adjective and I’ve had one of those.
So this week was not good. It wasn’t hell. I’ve had weeks like that but I’ve been able to get through them. This week I mindfully dealt with my emotions and strove to keep going while taking mental breaks when I needed them. Take for instance Tuesday. A very gentle and nice guy came and visited me. Now that sounds nice right? He triggered my PTSD and all day Monday my anxiety made my body literally shiver as if I was cold. I knew him. I had a former SO who was similar to him. And he made my anxiety come out whenever he was unstable or had an episode. Tuesday I drove a friend around as planned up to Providence to her appointments. I stayed on track and tried not to talk too much about my visitor. Once I got home I smoked and ate a half tab of Xanax.
Thursday night was particularly bad. My anxiety climbed so high that I started having a panic attack. I asked my son to do something with me. He suggested a movie and I agreed because I had no clue what would help. I smoked on the way up. The green made my anxiety climb and climb. By the time we saw the movie I was close to a panic attack. During the movie though my anxiety sank and the panic attack subsided. Afterwards I drove us home and felt almost normal. I didn’t feel like I was a total failure as I had been feeling since Saturday. Yet in the morning I awoke with anxiety again.
Today (Friday,) I spent sleeping late once I got home. I took Lorazipam and it put me out for an hour or two. I had planned on seeing two guys but one didn’t work out and the other never contacted me. Nevermind, I was happy to spend a day at home without having to entertain anyone. Tonight I go to bed very soon. I hope for some cleansing sleep without waking to horrible emotions.
Throughout this week I’ve been questioning whether or not I can be a Mommy Domme if I have such emotional issues…
Die Antwoord – I Fink U Freeky
Don’t tell me to forgive. You can shove it in your ying yang. Go diddle your happy can. No one gets a pardon until I understand what happened.
Where do people get off pushing that hap-slappy crap on others? Be the bigger person. You’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for you. I didn’t find peace until I accepted that life hands us a sh!t cake and we get to eat it and smile. F^ck you. Go ahead sucker. Keep telling yourself that you are all better because you’ve put it on the back shelf and denied it or ignored it or whatever.
One thing I learned is it’s easier to swallow later if you move away sooner. Living in the filth and being faced by it daily soaks into my skin a poison rub. How do you exorcise the toxins in your system when you’re swimming in the sewage? When I say I’m trying to understand I’m told that there’s no need to understand just leave it in the past and everything will be okay.
Is it style? Is it resistance? Is it faith? Is it a higher plane? Is it maturity? Or is it just because I’m crazy? Lately I’m trying to slough others and their opinions off. That’s been a hard realization to come by when I’ve listened and believed in everyone else’s POV and believed my own meant nothing. I always had to change. I have strived to calm the chaos in my head.
I’m like an old jalopy: starts and stalls. Not pretty, in fact quite skanky. I show all my miles. I’ve got to go.
I want to tell all the people to bug off. I’m not sure if they’re really looking at me and talking behind my back. I see and hear what they say and I can tell that they are disgusted with me by their attitudes. I want to throw bricks at them. I want to get away from here. If I have to put up with those kinds of cr@p attitudes then I’d rather do it where I know people don’t know me. I don’t want to be the inside outsider. I want to just be the straight up outsider.
Pixies – Debaser
“Hajime!” he yells, begin in Japanese. A man that’s been dead at least 10 years now.
In the background a light and airy 1920’s dance tune, “Doh, doh, dee doh!” with that annoyingly bubbly woman’s giggle wafts through the air as if on a tinny radio. I can imagine him in a raccoon coat to his ankles as his jaunty little bowler, a light grey houndstooth check is cocked above his eyebrows. They sing on and it floats as if the radio drifts on the left side of my shoulder.
When I pass the living room door though to go into the dining room I swear I can hear Chuck Norris or maybe some unidentified salesperson droning on about their wonder product. That was back at 2am or thereabouts.
Am I hallucinating or having waking dreams?
The good thing is that the house is not dead silent like it usually is.
I sometimes see a white woman slinking in at the corner of my right handed vision. It’s better than the black things that creep past the doorways. I nearly jerked the juicer off the table when I partially saw one of the cats under the table and he nudged my thigh. I see a lot of things these days. I’m either driving myself crazy or I’m getting close to seeing déjà vus.
My Mother once told me when I asked her that she believed that I could see déjà vus. They were a “trick of the brain”. I don’t think they’re tricks. I think they’re warnings or reassurances that I will not kill myself in the future. I wonder if any will come this time.
Not that I am doing this intentionally. My life is changing. I am coming to a place where something’s going to happen. This for me happens after a long period of apathy for life. I’ll tell you, when you watch so much television and avoid going out into the sunlight for more than a year, and you can barely walk because your back feels crooked and your skin peels when you spend a few hours on the beach while your brother attempts to catch some baby blues, you know you really fell into the hole again.
It makes me feel a bit relieved because alienating the people in my small family will somehow help me. And I have to keep an open mind because it doesn’t mean they’ll accept my decisions and actions. It just means that that particular decision will lead me to the next part of my life. And I have to be ready for more changes.
When I look back on this year, if I was asked what I think happened I’d honestly have to say that I f^cked it up and right well too. My ease of turning pure anger into total indifference has helped me to lower my anxiety. Not enough to cue the agoraphobia but you can’t have everything right?
I used to think I was the soul eater. I would have to wait to die to be emptied. I took on other people’s sins. I agonized and dwelled and brewed in the stench of the things people did and knew but refused to admit to. I couldn’t shut my mouth. I let all my transgressions hang out, uncolorful to me but vivd to others, shocking and striking. I am good at keeping secrets. Other people’s secrets. That’s what happens when you’re f^cked up literally, as a child. They have to condition someone to be in the mental state to accept those kinds of poisons from other people.
People are relieved when they tell you. They love you for listening and taking the burden off their backs. The problem with being a soul eater is that no one wants to be your friend. The sin. It shows. They see your face and it comes back to them. They feel dirty near you. And your own effluvium when it comes out is ugly, hideous even. They see you as debased. You’re like a voodoo doll now. Used and ugly and representative of the act which is ugly and needs to be hidden or tossed out.
That’s why I don’t think I’ll lose this weight. The universe is in confluence with fate and they both dictate that I must physically represent the toxins within. I’m like a living haunted house. All my stories are represented within.
This is the kind of thing I could never tell anyone in my family.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“It just seems that way to you. Tomorrow it will look differently.”
What do you expect from a family that lives in denial?
“Got me a movie
I want you to know
Slicing up eyeballs
I want you to know
Girlie so groovy
I want you to know
Don’t know about you
But I am un chien Andalusia
I am un chien Andalusia (x3)
Up to be
Be a debaser
Got me a movie
Ha ha ha hoa
Slicing up eyeballs
Ha ha ha hoa
Girlie so groovie
Ha ha ha hoa
Don’t know about you
But I am un chien Andalusia
I am un chien Andalusia (x3)
abuse, advice?, Anger, anxiety, bipolar, black sheep, Blame, Communication skills, crisis, cruel, Current Events, Current Problem, cut short, Dementia, Demon, Depression, Dirty, disaster, Downward Spiral, episode, Family, Family Stories, Father, fears, Food, help yourself, Homelessness, hypomania, incest, Inside POV, Mental disorder, mental illness, MI, MI Education, Mindfulness
The Band & Neil Young – Helpless
I went to the informational lecture for Bariatric Surgery. It was a big step for me. I hate myself and have since I was 3 and molested by the babysitter’s husband. Ugh, reading that is ugly. Makes me think I want your pity and I don’t. It happened and I couldn’t stop it. Whatever.
So they tell you about 3 ways of dealing with obesity through surgery. Tell you about the support that they’ll give you when you go to get it. A counselor, support groups, nutritionist all these people there to help you through making your stomach about the size of your fist from one that’s the size of I don’t know, the head of an elephant? At the end they pin this little gem on: “If you go and tell other people about what you’re planning you won’t get the surgery.” Charming, isn’t that? Guess what I did, thinking; “Okay this is the one time I’ll reach out and get help.” Yes I did.
So I decided that I would wait a while and let people ask me if I started it and tell everyone I decided not to do it. I have this little memo pad I’ve been recording my food intake since Easter. I have the elliptical that I STILL can’t get my fat @ss on. BUT I have gotten out of the recliner and gotten out to do more physical things around and outside of the house. The apple tree has been dropping pips and apples as has the pear tree. I spend every afternoon (well almost every afternoon,) picking them up with one of those old lady claws. I try to get out of the house and ino town to do something at least 5 times a week. I know it’s not enough but I’m building up enough strength so my body stops hurting.
When my Mother made it clear in her passive aggressive way that she really wasn’t going to put my father into a nursing home and I was stuck dealing with him and his dementia I gave up. I stopped going out and doing things with my friends. I stopped looking for things to occupy my time and I started sleeping more. I decided that I should probably die. I couldn’t just out right kill myself though. Everybody would say it was because I wanted attention because that’s the kind of low down pathetic type of denial that my family lives in. Don’t get me wrong. In the “real” world they’re wonderful people. They just couldn’t give a rat’s @ss to take time out of their lives and read up on mental illness never mind actually asking me personally why I acted the way I did and how I am dealing with it. I mean they might learn something like more than one person in our family has mental illness. And god forbid anyone actually talk about what happened at the babysitter’s house. Personally I don’t think about it all that much or any of the other times I was molested by neighbors or people I knew. Still pretending it never happened has NEVER EVER healed the foundation of my tattered soul. I know that sounds dramatic but I am seriously f^cked up and would rather not be. I’ve worked hard alone to undo the years of twisted sh!t that have shaped me into a fearful, obese, closeted person when I could be out feeling free from these brain shackles. I really could use some help from someone that won’t drop small bombs and gaslight me or patronize me or sneer at me for the heavy load I bear. It seems every person I have met so far has to contribute something ignorant or f^cked up that helps set me back a step or two. I mean it’s not just people there are other things that set me back too.
It brings me down. Some days I feel like I’m 5. Nowhere to go. No one to ask for help from. Really nothing has ever really changed. People I seek help from give me the old party lines. The same crap my parents, all adults dropped on me to shut me up and doubt my own eyes. It took me many decades to realize that I can disregard most of the cr@p that falls from people’s lips like dung from a cow’s @ss. If only all that cr@p gave someone sustenance like manure actually does. Most of the poisonous ether that emits from people’s mouths shrinks brains. I was helpless against the family chorus, the world cast that chants bullsh!t that only comforts themselves so they don’t have to answer the questions they don’t want to think about, that would have saved me years and my self identity.
It took me this long to find that the magic word is “Whatever”.
On the good side. K and I are now talking. How long will this last? Whatever.
Aimee Mann – Wise up
Not pretty, I’m not, get it into your head. Even if you think you can relate to me I’m that ogre that the big boys laugh at.
You’ve seen me. You’ve sneered at me. I’m scary looking but on further inspection (or just vapors leaking out of me,) you’ve begun to suspect that strong looking scary person is pathetic. Maybe it’s the mask that people can sense, that I wear because of the fear that has warped my brain.
I used to think I was a prophet. i could see into people’s souls. The ugly lying part and as I grew older, the empty denial part. The parts that hurt other people. Mostly children though, adults already tempered by the pain and lies.
I’m lost because all the cursing: “I hate your f^ck!ng guts”, “I hope you die”, “I want you to go to H3ll”, make no difference. The prophet’s eyes are empty. The pain isn’t soothed by curses. They solve nothing and never cause enough pain. By the time curses come, the damage is done. The lessons are futile. Any change won’t make a difference. And the perpetrators will not change.
Because in the long run, as a point in the Universe, it doesn’t matter. No one does. And it doesn’t matter.
And I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone. I don’t have to care. I grew up in that alien bubble being constantly pushed away, told to grow up, knowing no touch except the touch of the power hungry users. Being warped to want any touch. Being taught that touch was dirty and my want damned me to alienation.
Twisted, twist me, twisting in the wind I float around go down in my mind and spin. It’s still happening.
Anger, anxiety, bipolar, Blame, cancer, Communication skills, crisis, cruel, Current Events, Current Problem, Demon, Depression, Dirty, disaster, Downward Spiral, episode, Family, fears, help yourself
Nine Inch Nails – Down In It
Sometimes dealing with an episode whether it be hypomanic or depressive is like falling through a jungle canopy. Layers of changing growth, messy exotic but familiar in it’s vegetative existence pass by and the horror of falling or rising is increased by speed and the fear that it may end immediately with an implosion or explosion. You can ask the creatures for help but they’ll only gibber or stare while you pass by. They have no clue what you’re asking for and you have no language to ask for the help you need.
I am sitting at the office window in the house. The sickening smell of many lilies engorges the house. Although a thunderstorm has cleared the recent heavy humidity I can’t sleep for the smell of these flowers flowing through the house like a thick fat tide. My Mother planted these flowers. She loved lilies even for their sickly sweet smell. She felt the same about hydrangeas but they did not survive long in the yard’s soil. The lilies, their smells are reminiscent of funerals and are a haunting reminder that Mom will not be back again to enjoy the fruits of her labors.
I have not reached the bottom (or top,) of this fall (or ascent.) I do see the trips. I do see the cruel hiccups in my behavior. The torture is knowing short of isolating myself I can’t change them. At times my trapped psyche whirls around within me and screams “Please stop! Stop now!” It has no effect on my automated pace through the days. At night I stay awake trying to soothe it as it lists my sins for the day. It screams and cries as I numbly do all that I can do to help it calm down. There is no connection and that tragedy distracts me from eating, sleeping, remembering the things I usually do that comes easily. I haven’t shopped in 4 weeks. My pantry is become slowly empty as is my freezer. What’s going to knock me out of this spiral of h3ll? Only time will tell. And then I will blank out making it impossible to plan for another inevitable episode. That’s why I write this blog. Can it help me help myself?
Faith No More – Last Cup of Sorrow
I don’t talk about it. Incest is one of those big taboos that “normal” people wouldn’t admit to. This blog is one of the reasons I write this kind of stuff though. I don’t share it with people I know. Except one and he doesn’t think of me in any kind of erotic, exotic way anyway so he’s less likely to judge.
Have patience with me. Typing this makes me nauseous. I don’t really know how to say it and it doesn’t help that my mind only remembers clips and bits. Admitting to it is worse than telling everything else f^ck3d up that’s happened in my life. I can’t even say which sibling it makes me that ill.
All these years I had to enforce that I was normal. I had to be. We were living with the enemy. My sib and I were not hillbilly scum like the babysitters’ were. Women with mustaches. Rooms that smelled like piss. Our house was not like that, neither was our family. We couldn’t let them claim our identities. I want to hold you by the shoulders and scream and shake you until you understand. But of course you can’t. We are not you. You are not us. And there was always more to the alienation than just the depression. I could never get a therapist because who specializes in all the sh!t I went through beginning with this horrid fact that determined the direction I followed.
All my childhood I was horny. That looks like a joke me writing it that way but I have no way of conveying it better as a cheap, aroused, inappropriate state of being knowing that sexual itch but not understanding it or even questioning it but just knowing it made me dirty. I masturbated in the bathroom at the age of 5 (and many times thereafter. It gave me a feeling of serenity.) I remember it. I masturbated to get to sleep. I masturbated in front of my Mother on the library floor. Her response: “Oh gee, you must be tired; time to go to bed.” My genitals burned most of my childhood. I thought I was just dirty. I stopped taking baths and showers. I didn’t comb my hair. My Mother was constantly disgusted with me. The kids called me greaseball. I was bullied. I was pathetic. I became a victim, a scapegoat, the butt of anybody’s joke. And I was invisible. That is when I knew I was worthless. My life wasn’t worth dog sh!t. My childhood was h3ll.
Everyone around me blamed me for sleeping too much. For hiding in my room, for not wanting to do anything. It was easy for my parents to think I was retarded. Most of my childhood I didn’t even live. I did what my parents insisted I do nothing more nothing less.
I would look at adult men, measuring them up and down. I can’t imagine how creepy I was. No wonder I was a loner my whole life. I wanted touch. Anything for someone to just touch me, make me feel like I wasn’t dirty. The touch would feel dirty though and I was caught in a twisted game of sickness.
Okay, I don’t think I can deal with this anymore. I think a split happened.
Public Image Ltd – Rise
It’s not that he’s a bore or obnoxious in that way. He’s anxiety ridden and he’s Republican and denial is something he lives by. I’m talking about my brother’s father in law. He can be pleasant but it doesn’t take much time before he’s radiating tension and pacing a room. I don’t hate him but his nervousness strikes out at me and shocks me with it’s asp sting.
It’s like my son. He gets that wild and intense look in his eyes and he starts to move around like he’s trapped. Both of them could benefit from Xanax. They stalk and then hide and drink fast and their eyes dart. It becomes like an invisible safari. But what are they hunting? Are they being hunted? What’s going on in their heads? Enablers walk by ignoring their fear; they’ve seen it before and to them it’s just their “quirk”. Overly sensitive people feel their agitation and it becomes a part of their environment. To hear another, an enabler say: “Don’t let it get to you,” is the statement of the oblivious ignoramus. I can’t listen to the dense people that are only captured in their own heads. I envy them though and want to not be able to empathize with people in distress.
I want to be selfish and senseless.
I don’t want to notice the ones that don’t match the wallpaper.
For him I don’t feel bad. He perpetrates his own disturbance. He’s the kind of voter that thinks mental illness is a choice. He probably thinks his anxiety is an energy the kind that got him through University as he skated the edge of fear and used it to push his way to the end. I’ve been there breeding that energy by fueling it with christmas trees and little whities. Later when I found out I was bipolar I used the antidepressants that kicked me into a hypomania to lose weight. I would have had something there if they didn’t drop me into a hellish depression that lasted for months. Maybe I’m jealous. Maybe I’m just disgusted with @holes who refuse to recognize that they’re dealing with MIs. Especially @holes who are specialty doctors.
Oh I’m going to h3ll for this one.
The Police – Canary in a Coalmine
Keeping a low profile. I know that semi isolating myself at home is a good way to lose friends and sink to the lowest part of the river. Really though, is it being lazy or is it just depression? I’ve tried very hard before to get myself out of the depression but it usually requires another person who is motivated in helping me by being involved with me and calling and checking up on me. People who recommend that as a support in someone’s life don’t realize how hard it is to find someone else with that kind of time and energy and interest. I’m not complaining. I’m just very tired. It’s the dragging part of depression that holds my head underwater so my thinking, vision and point of view are distorted. Starting any new year is usually 10 times the effort that it is for most anyone else.
The holidays don’t help. I hate to admit it but a schedule keeps me grounded and makes my life managable. Today I went to work but was not paid. I went because it is one place that I find solace and fellowship and a real community that I am comfortable with. And that is important to “recovery” (even though I think recovery is a bogus word to use for people with mental illnesses.) I don’t think I’m in recovery. I believe I am in maintenance. Maintenance allows for f^ck ups and adjustments and sickness periods and paradox exploring and paradigm breaking. Recovery assumes a return to society as it is made for normal people. Maintenance is a personal way of allowing for self knowledge and discarding the “normal” rules that seem to be what everyone wants everybody to adhere to but usually are the suppressing gags for people who haven’t had “normal” lives or thought processes. It’s not for me. Recovery.
I’ve spent most of my life caring so much about normal reality and trying to conform to it that I’ve wasted my talent and time. I have been successful in mostly masking that I am seriously abnormal compared to many people. I’m functional enough and have been observant enough to compare myself with normal people. I’ve become good at imitating normal behavior. And that’s why I look very lazy to most people. When the day is done I’m exhausted by the acting and second guessing and the mind reading and posing that goes into each day that I spend with people, strangers, acquaintances and loved ones alike.
The real kicker is that if everything were to all of a sudden turn around to advantage the dispossessed and I was part of the ruling class and I could relax I would probably have to go into the hospital for a long period of time. I am so used to dealing with life in this way that if I didn’t have to deal with life like this on a 24 hour basis I would not know what to do with myself and I would question reality and believe that I had lost touch with the “real” world.
I know when I joined OASIS I had a long period of hypomania which was a direct response to the atmosphere of the place and the people. I didn’t know how to act around people who weren’t conditioned to “normal”. My anxiety gave me energy and my brain turned on the charm. All the clever trivia came out as knowledge and I flitted from idea to person to task. I look industrious when I am actually ready to blow apart with fear and tension. Nervous energy exuded and was taken as friendliness and intellectual curiosity. I learned the wonderful trick of misdirection when I became an adult. If you want someone to not really pay close attention to you and you can hold yourself in and not let out nervous tics you can pose as someone who really gives a damn while at the same time save face by not letting someone get to know you well. You ask the other person questions about themselves. You listen well enough to get details so that the following questions let them know that you actually listened to them. You look into their eyes but only so long so that they don’t think you’re a potential stalker. And you give out soothing sounds that imitate the agreement and curiosity sounds most people make when they are empathically listening to a story that they understand and agree with. Also try to remember key details so that you might be able to associate them with the story they told you and the points they think are important. It helps in the future when it comes to networking and connections.
Most people I forget. Their faces, their stories, their ideas, whether or not they like me and whether or not I liked them unless my reaction or their reactions were vivid like painful colors or orgasmic tastes. People are really things in this world not to be taken seriously unless they do bodily damage or threaten my life or my loved ones. The people I love are not hoi polloi but souls that inhabit my head. They are the essences that guide me through life so I don’t pull the plug and disappear. Without them there is no reason to be here. Life is worthless anyway and there is no reason to senseless pain without some kind of payoff. I won’t be famous. I won’t be acknowledged. I won’t be making a difference here and I know this. I may be a vessel but I am not a guru. Nothing I say or do is unique no matter what the pithy expressions impart on your facebook wall.
And anyway I’m writing this because my son is going to see his father my ex and I am trying to get that toxic stench out of my mind.