lucky in love and all that jazz.

31 valentines i've spent so far. just shy of, anyway.
beautiful plans tomorrow for margaritas and music, and smiling and surprises.
to think back on loves gone lost i ponder what they taught me.
he, that love never really dies, it can only travel south.
and that love alone is not enough, distance does matter,
and our greater wishes for each other's happiness is
the tragic finale of what once was.
the almond eyes were so sad of the other one...
he reminds me of the risk of love,
and the guilt that can consume
when things go awry.
that many long years are not necessarily safeguards to matters of the heart.
her anxiety could spin the calmest person into calamity.
and create such an intense tug of war with the losing side of fate.
his blue eyes raged at me
they showed me the underbelly of love.
the pain and the fear that can exist there.
four loves lost.
many more have caught my eye along the way, and a few tugged at my heart.
and now i look deeply into the face of my boo and even my eyes that have seen so much
cannot stop gazing...
i never thought i'd stop the party. i never thought i'd be this girl again.
only it's different this time.
it's so strange to feel so happy, and not because it's my duty or my vow,
but because i love the moments we spend together, and in my most irritated moment with him, not imagining wanting him anywhere but at my side, annoying me.
it's experiencing jealousy for the first time in the most intriguing way.
it's not showing my boobs in shirts like i have my whole life,
and not having issue with it.
it's inside jokes, and using soft voices, and gentle touch, and wrestling without fear...
it's real communication, it's comradery, it's feeling partnered. it's having a past, and a future.
it's. really nice. (:

that shit cray.

the unexamined life is not worth living...

sober. 

it's easier than some may realize to fall into a pattern of living that is somewhat problematic. 

it has been a long time since i have put my thoughts to the page. daily blogging was the norm for me for many years, and was an outlet to my thinking. online debate fueled the questions and answers that haunted my thoughts. the near immediate gratification of a school assignment returned with glowing reviews helped keep myself confident that my thought processes were intact and followed some sort of order. 

somewhere along the way the questions got bigger than the answers. somewhere along the way i discovered that my map was off. the world wasn't flat, the sun did not revolve around me anymore. 

suddenly it had all changed. or i had. 

like feet suddenly squished into shoes a bit too small, i realized my 'prince charming' too, no longer fit. everything from my gender identity to my hopes and my dreams. what once had brought me indifference now brought me rage. causes and ideas i once could not understand now became issues of identity for me. 

and to say goodbye to myself meant to say goodbye to everything. but grad school. that had to continue. it was the last scrap of me. and i did it. sloppily, imperfectly, with so many tears and a few mistakes along the way. i took out of the experience some of my best friends, and ultimately my boyfriend now, too. 

the transition from party girl to girlfriend has been it's own journey, too. the death of one life leads to the birthing of a new life. and whatever you can bring along on that process ultimately becomes all that matters. the shreds of loyalty and of love are the authentic bits that flavor the dreadful reality of what makes this lived experience 'worth it.' 

if i may be so crass.

they say you can't teach an old dog new tricks. but perhaps old dogs choose not to play the game anymore. 

attaining a masters degree during a pretty horrid recession and being unable to find work is pretty ironic. having finally gotten a job, and finally been able to purchase some usable but not quite necessary hot pink glittery pieces of furniture, i feel that i am finally pulling out of poverty mentality. 

and my scars are fading away and my skin has regained some glow, and my eyes have lost the despair. on most days. on the whole, i consider myself quite content. this is much to rejoice over, but also invokes some fear. to trust again, is to risk. to be alone is a guaranteed lifestyle. there may be surprises, but a hard persona has the same reaction to any stimuli and no matter what anybody does to you, if you don't give a fuck, they can't make you.

but love is risky. 

but then again, so is living authentically, and i think love is the byproduct or side effect of an authentic life. and authenticity can be found mingled within the use of substances, but i do not think can maintain a healthy growth there. 

finding myself sober at the end of nearly every day, and having some white wine fill some of my weekends has been a nice change. it's like i'm growing up. 

(don't worry, i still get sloppy and cray cray on occasion, just much fewer and farther between.)

i have a lot to do. i need to keep paying off the student loan i have, i have some personal debt to pay off from school, and rebuild my credit. i got to figure out what i need to do for my taxes. i need to hound my ex to push through the paperwork for my divorce. i need to keep reinforcing my puppy to poop outside (1 accident in three days at my house, and 1 at boo's!) i got to get back in the gym and sweat out all this bullshit and toxicity that i built up over the last few years. 

i have to pay it forward to my ankle i broke. to my face that i swelled, to my skin that i wrecked, to my psyche that i damaged, to my heart that was broke. i have yoga classes to master again, bags to kick, wrists to wrap, and ink to be tatted into me. 

i have so much more life, real life, to live. 

it feels overwhelming to know i have so far to go still to be a therapist, but i'm confident that i'll get there. for now i am miss holly again and i am learning much and finding challenges. it's interesting being much higher educated than your boss, and your bosses boss. i'm not the type to stress much off these things but it is pretty weird. 

i have many friends that i need to see more often again. it's hard when the heart meets another. it's magnetic. it's exactly what it should be. 

to be psychologically naked with another person is in my estimation, the highest form of intimacy. and trust may be the sexiest feature of a relationship. 

to see in imperfection, beauty. in annoyance, candor. in fear, still hope. 

to not know but to move forward, and to feel the pull of the vortex, and cling like hell to all that can be grabbed- feeling the pull beyond your control. 

it is only after we land, dizzy still with freedom, that we see what has landed with us, we see the faces and the eyes that look at us are filled with warmth and comfort, not with envy and deceit. 

one can weep for the life left behind. one can wish for that place of before, that no place like home. or one can find a home in a new place, with new friends, with new love. one can find that taking off the too tight slippers frees toes to wiggle, and hold firm now on dry ground with dreams up to the skies. 

one can do these things. one can find herself. one can create herself. one can make herself, yet again, once more.

zygotes are people. corporations are people. the poor are parasites... que?

i cannot say that i grew up in poverty. i cannot say that i grew up in wealth.

we enjoyed the occasional vacation. if i was sick i had medical coverage. i did not receive much preventative care, quality education, or receive proper nutritious care, but those issues i believe occurred not within the context of finances.

 i was taught that hard work meant getting ahead. i am familiar with the family on my moms' side. all immigrating from the middle east not many generations ago- all managing to move into homes, start businesses and do well- achieve the 'american dream.' in my family these benefits were clothed in a religious understanding as well, and right behavior and beliefs mixed with hard work and dedication guaranteed a ife without financial worry or toil.

 i've been working since i was 11. i baby-sat and with the money i earned bought a new comforter for my bed, a small TV, and other items for my room. I worked as a tanning salon bed cleaner at 15. i worked as a cashier at safeway at 18. i worked for a temp company when i was 19.

that's when i began community college, because i realized that education mattered, and something i personally valued, in a way that my family didn't quite understand. i took a job at round table pizza and worked through my general education units, having to take extra time to start in 'bonehead' math because i didn't learn so much from my primary education.

 i worked five years parttime as a preschool teacher from the age of 21 on. i racked up additional ECE units by doing so, figuring i didn't need them in the long term, but they were helping me pay the bills with my then-husband as we tried to establish a life together as a young couple in their 20s.

i transferred to a CA state school and took a job as an afterschool childcare provider out of an elementary school. dual incomes made life fairly comfortable for us, and we enjoyed health coverage, the occasional vacation, new clothes with changing seasons, and the privilege of buying gifts for our loved ones.

we had the privilege of paying our bills.

when i transitioned on to grad school i realized that my marriage wasn't working, and with my meager income, and my cat i sought a more authentic path.

 one of my favorite quotes regarding choices: my honest opinion and my friendly advice is this do it or do not do it you will regret both.
-Soren kierkegaard

 i have found that i can never regret the decisions i have made. i cannot. to cling to something for the desire of safety while knowing that you heart has grown cold enough to seek warmth elsewhere- it is not right! i am many things, but i am not that person.

 and now i sit on a stiff bed, my health coverage will end by the new year. the $100 odd cash i have is all that i have coming to me, other than a check from the temporary nanny job i had through october. that check will not help me enough to cover rent, cable, or my phone.

 i can't count how many resumes i have sent out, the pain that i feel in competing for jobs not using the master of science i have earned, but the 15 ECE units that i accrued in community college, or the knowledge that my friends who have lost everything to drugs in the past are now fairing better than me.

yes, that's a runon sentence but who the fuck cares about education?

 i can't even cook for my fucking grandparents for cash. lol.

 the third family i am looking to nanny for will let me know if i am going to get the position by the end of the week, or next week. i truly feel like i just need a tiny bit of footing so that i can lift myself out.

bootstraps alone aren't strong enough to pull me out of this. i have worked hard every day of my life. i have not taken handouts, i have never done things the easy way, or not been willing to sweat. since i graduated, i have done manual office labor, and folded little kid underwear and tolerated bullshit to get a little cash to buy food for me and my puppy.

 i know how to live off $20 groceries for a week, and ride a bike to pretty much wherever. but i can't manufacture rent, and i don't know what else i can do.

 yeah, i'm the fucking 99%, and it blows.

 i know i'm not the only one struggling, but it gets scary scraping by and now knowing when or if things will ever change. i don't want to always be a cynic. i don't want to hate students or regret my education. i just want to use what i was trained to do in a way that can provide me with enough money to live on. and right now, i don't even want that. i just want to get a steady job in childcare, because i feel like that's all i can do right now. and competing to be a nanny is really depressing.

 i got my teeth done on monday, and they scheduled me for a followup in three months. i agreed to it, but know inside i will most likely not keep the appointment. my insurance will be gone by then, and unless things change my healthcare will go back to being 'careful' and hope that eventually things will go my way enough that my basic necessities can be covered, and my drive to work rewarded enough to let me get by.

seasons change, i write...

sometimes i do not understand people. or, maybe i understand people too well and become so flabbergasted with strange behavior that i find myself in a tizzy- dizzy with the freedom of allowing other people to matter to me.

the decision to rejoin community has not been an easy one for me. i believe i have expanded more energy trying to push people away more often than not than to reel them in. as i was becoming friends with my current people, there were as many drunken attempts to ditch them, betray them, or tell them, 'fuck you,''i hope you die,' 'you don't know what it's like to have a sexual identity crisis,' etc.

and then i surprised myself. i let them in. and now, a few years in i find the same people that i struggled with then, still here now. it is teaching me something.

conditional love is all that i know. falling was never celebrated or understood, walking properly was. rigid perfection was the norm, and that is what i have always reverted to, aspired to, and ultimately, what i end up doing. whether that means scheduling, working out, top grades, health food, honesty in relationships, pet ownership... i try so goddamn hard.

conditionality is a top-down experience historically. from the top, from god, and right on down to us.

now that i am what, three years out of that jazz, it is interesting to analyze the difference between me then and now. there are very particular aspects of my personality that will forever be shaped by the way that my religious philosophy and religious upbringing influenced my development. and that's ok. i am far beyond the space of 'demonizing' christianity. it is flawed, interesting, inspiring in some ways, detestable in other ways.

just like people. just like friends. family. relationships. and if i chucked religion out for it's complications, am used to conditionality as a norm- what's a girl to do when set up against the imperfections of others?

religious philosophy, and conditionality aside, let's talk about hard knock life, being disowned, leaving your husband, your entire community, your family, and finally, the last people that you cared about and trusted, and the boy who held your heart.

when you say goodbye again and again, or not at all, but people are ripped from you, you cannot help but develop a type of 'breakaway skin,' and a breakaway heart. add with that working with school age kids and learning to say goodbye to them when moves or sixth-grade rolled around. and becoming a therapist, which teaches the art of incredibly close connection to another human being, and then a solemn goodbye, forever.

i know how to amputate people from my heart.

and yet, the desire for connection is strong. i am cursed with such emotionality that the connections are so deep, i am so drawn to authenticity that the bonds are so real. and i am driven to connect. in knowing myself so fully of late, it is hard not to want to mesh that with other people.

and other people don't know themselves, or are in their own dizzy with freedom walk that hobbles in one direction, stumbles in mine, then falls in another.

and i look upon all this and reach behind me for my retreat button, to get back to Safe, to Know Where I Stand... where the reigns belong to me, and i am not at the whim of another...

what do you do when you begin to feel so old, so worn out, so thin, like bilbo's butter scraped over too much bread? isolation is always an option. striving to perfection, sleep...

lately i find myself wondering if there could be such a thing as a coma vacation. a cousin of suicidal ideation, no doubt, but better than it's been.

when i think back to the Me of last summer, early fall, i realize how much i have changed. it's unbelievable really. i find it fascinating to really look at the differences between change and stability in humans.

another conversation, for another day.

i am in a very uncertain place right now. i feel it every day. cynicism clouds my sense of hopefulness, as has been the standard for me. and yet, so high the climb, i can't turn back now.

i have learned again and again that keeping it real does not ensure that anybody else will. loving selflessly does not mean people will not spite you. idealistic hope does not guarantee anything.

as much as i try to ascribe meaning to my life, and to life in general, i still inside, feel lost.

nihilism is a hell of a drug.

and fuck drugs, anyway. my pets give me something enough to know that the tradition that says they have no souls and no real purpose other than to serve men even in their breath forms an argument more provocative than scripture. lol.

karl marx speaks of money, and life without it, sucks.

politics are failing.

globally, whole continents starve to death young, and others make it nearly to older age to die too young from eating too much.

we pollute. we rape. we murder. we lie.

all are guilty. but what the fuck is "sin?"

all who do bad also do good. and every person has the capacity to surprise you.

and i have too much time to analyze my thoughts that tick, tick, tick, in the timebomb of this brain. the treadmill holds much of my anger, the row machine, my grief.

and people are thoughtful and heartless.

here today and gone tomorrow.

please be gone tomorrow.

no, stay.

i guess all that matters is what time can tell...

meh, there's no such thing as time.

from myspace. i like it because i discuss losing a laptop. that one to viruses, not a pussy bitch. (:

what I got {51/50}'s BlogNew blog postthe start of a new semester; adventures in homelessness, and how i will never be the same. by Holly Beth (what I got {51/50}) on Myspace


Manage Blog
Feb 3, 2010
the start of a new semester; adventures in homelessness, and how i will never be the same.
Current mood:angsty
just as i came smashing into my first graduate semester; the same goes for semester two. i had way hoped that i'd be all settled in the room i decided to rent from the KGB, but as fate would have it, he turned out to be a creepy ass'd mother fucker. i got a storage facility filled with all my stuff. started my adventures in couch surfing. started drinking heavily. started smoking a lot of cigarettes. started getting depressed. by the end of the first week, it was feeling really heavy.

by a week and a half in i was officially on my own, and learning to hash it out on the mean streets. this is what you do when you are waiting until it's late to find a place to stay, or when you have to hustle guys who won't harm you, but will help you. when you have no where to go, but have to drink to not feel. this is what a five foot tall girl should do.

stop caring.
fuck them all, stop smiling. stop charming.
it doesn't matter.

go butch.
now is the time for beanies, a frown.
look men in the eye when they pass you on the street.
nod at them first.
small dogs are avoided if they appear crazy enough.

get your chain on.
wear a backpack.
swagger.
sing.

smoke.
not only does this show you don't care about cancer,
but a lit cigarette can be a weapon.

drink beer.
you can sip it slowly, and not get too drunk too fast.

know who you can trust and who you can't.
be ready to be alone or defend yourself at any point.

think about where your next shower will come from.
carry your cell phone charger with you at all times.

check your stuff, constantly.
keep your keys clipped to your backpack inside.
you wallet in your pocket.
phone in the front pocket.
lighter to the left.

listen to stevie ray sing about his best friend, and his life by the drop.
go see a play at state.
eat alone.
walk alone.
enjoy your company and know,
you have a shadow by your side, and that's fucking good enough.

go to places you know.
it will give you a sense of familiarity, almost a feeling of being home.
you have quickstop. cvs, the stag.
safeways are good places to use the restroom.
walk.
kills time, burns off those beer calories.

make out with a hot girl in the bathroom if you can.
particularly when it's with THAT girl. lol.

when the joy reaches you, look at the sky and smile.

know this is temporary.

appreciate every morning, because you survived another night.

know how to escape people's houses before they wake up,
and get a shower in at sjsu before school.
don't forget your hand towel and your bar of soap.

walk in the rain. that's what hoods are for.

eat once a day.
not like you have an appetite anyway.

don't freak out when you lose the last thing that made you connected to an old life: your computer.
chaos should be regarded as extremely good news!

appreciate your homies.
now you know who they are.

it took me three full days after i got to peterson's house to fully awaken from the nightmare of the last three weeks. i still haven't recovered. i'm addicted to showers, and to alcohol, and to cigarettes. but i'm moderating my drinking now.

i would have stopped a day sooner, but we had a crazy ass situation at work on monday when a fucking pit bull off the street came into the park and bit one of our kids. and me. (yup.) thank god i was wearing combat boots with a skirt. lol.

i pretty much rose to that challenge...

starting therapy again. thank god.

diggin my classes. got my first client. i'll meet her soon, no doubt.

so bloody much to do, though. it's ridiculous. and i'm so exhausted. i realized that once i had a moment to relax i have a shit load of grief to feel. spent the second night i was here on the tile sobbing for a good bit. made a call to my old hotline. hung up on the bitch for being a cunt. only me.

just started eating meals again. and tonight will be my second night in a row not getting drunk, and not smoking nearly as much. i will be able to quit again within the week, i'd imagine. today i got totally triggered during a lecture regarding childhood. this morning i lost it over the other thing. met with my teacher and took notes for a lecture i'll be giving. told her my story in brief. she was cool, and respected me by the end.

doesn't look like the living arrangement will be ideal. exactly why i've been saying tentatively, and as far as i know. never count unhatched chicks. EVER.

you are born alone and will die alone.

and unless someone is willing to die for you, don't cry for them.

i think i need a nap.

what if memory lane is more like memory interstate highway???

"HOW DOES IT FEEL TO BE A MASTER?!??!!!111"

pretty fuckin terrible when i really think about it, at least on one level. all that i have lived, breathed, loved, hated, needed, attempted to escape in the past three years has been this degree. it alluded me, it taunted me, it flirted with me, it cheated on me, it let me down... ultimately, i caught her, i made her submit, i fucking WON.

i told myself that for better or worse, no matter what, once i won i would be ok.

and now here i am, sitting again in a web of lies to myself that yet again, i have spun.

and whether it is true or not, i feel that the rest of my cohort now gets a chance to do what we all dreamed of -pausing- whether that means bike rides, or video games, or chasing boys or bottles.

and here i am again, in some t-shirt on a school bus doing work that "matters" but is not what i lost years of my life and all of my soul for. and i know it is to be expected and normal and that part of getting this degree is questioning it's validity, or even it's pragmatism in my day to day life.

i feel it now, haunting my steps, tormenting my thoughts.
this is all i will ever be.
i can never be more than what i've been.
i deserve to be low-income,
i do not deserve a career i have worked so hard for...

and i know it's not logical but i can't fucking exorcise the goddamned demons in my brain that never cease to SHUT THE FUCK UP.

if only my thoughts were bitches that i could intimidate...
if only my feelings could mean the same as hoes and tricks... heh.

alas, not my fate.

and that's okay, it really is. although i am a fun addition to the Game, i'm not meant to live in it. realizing this scares me and makes me feel that a whole image i have constructed for myself shatters and reveals a very tender, very vulnerable inner self.

but that is another journey, another exploration, yet to unfold.

no one could ever accuse me of handling transitions well, and this is yet another example. when i think of where i was even a year ago- i know i am in a much better place than i was then- but still.

perfectionism does not allow for pragmatism as the goals differ... one demands immediate standard fulfillment, one allots for one's context in a given time and space. and while for others i am willing to overlook even blatant and scary flaws, when it comes to me, i am more than willing to shove a log into my own eye to be blinded to your issues. it's who i am, and it's what i do, and this is to be expected from me...

and in fact, i do expect it from me so it's whatever.

"it's whatever" of course being a convenient way to absolve, or temporarily absolve my issues. which has worked, at least somewhat for many years.

i left in june 2009 and didn't look back. or if i did, it was hard to attend to what i might have seen due to all i did to obscure my own vision.

to fathom where i once was in this same body... more chilling than i can offer words to a page, just trust.

how much i have let people in, only to push them completely out baffles me as a person who only can appreciate and respect clinging with fierce loyalty to those who i cherish, if only a little bit...

but to be able to say goodbye forever to the one who rescued me, who stepped in when other stepped out? for him, the guilt may never die. and perhaps it never should.
'you're a terrible person" jen said in jest upon meeting him. his manners, his kind eyes, his generosity of spirit speak for themselves. his intentness to my words betrays the disconnect he attempts to speak to by no longer paying our storage after two years of $180 payments for nearly three years. she's joking, of course she is. and she is as compassionate as a cuban companion can be throughout the day as i lose my shit repeatedly after being confronted with my freeze-dried wedding bouquet, pictures of me- an innocent virgin 20-year-old bride with hopes to the skies.

no idea that a decade later i'd be healing wounds that will one day be my speedy reminders of mistakes gone by, with PTSD features, prone to rage, isolation, and suicidal ideation when hormones, circumstance, and social support or lack thereof so has it...

she speaks to the unreasonable nature of turning one's back to a "sure thing." at least, that's what i imagine. who gives up financial security, loving support, committed loyalty, humorous companionship, unconditional love- for financial ruin, horrible feelings of abandonment, isolated terror, lack of family, and feelings of helplessness??? is it merely the masochist in me that has chosen this life?

when you're hungry it's easy to think about a fast food meal that you once ate and how yummy it was. you don't recall the heartburn, or the saturated fat... yet that's not a good metaphor, perhaps more like delicious apples, peaches, plums, cherries, any fruit with a pit and skin. all studies say my diet would benefit with their increase. and they taste so good, too. but when i eat them my throat itches, starts to close and it is so uncomfortable...

an unavoidable, unchosen allergy. that's all i can scrape together to explain how i could walk away from the last decade of my life.

and knowing, and hoping that one day his heart will yearn for much more than me. i'm proud of him for getting rid of our storage, even if it has brought me so much pain. it's not all about me. and sadness never killed anybody. right?

not that it matters, if i could nearly starve myself and lose everyone but but gwen and not die i will make it through a storage issue. but it's more than that.

it's coming to terms that that ALL HAPPENED. every single married year happened. every smile, every hug, every night, every mutual dream, every inside joke, every inside sound, every piece of what made the fabric of me and him- ALL OF IT HAPPENED. and there is not enough bong rips, bottles of booze, lines of blow, or puffs of shit that can undo it. it is true in any drug-induced state, and it is true sober as a sunday morning...

and really, we are both doing ok, in spite of it all. i remember when he would cry on the couch at night grieving the loss of our family- me, baby, and kitty. and i would pray to god to end my life because the pain and the guilt was more than i could bear- i know he's so much stronger for it. i hope that one day we can be friends again, but as it stands, seeing him wrecks me, but not in the way that a wife that misses her husband does... that was the problem all along.

if only there were an I'M SORRY good enough. if only i could be less loyal, less compassionate- the qualities that will benefit my career may cost me my sanity.

if indeed, i settle in a career. i hope that i do. it is terrifying to have gone this many years always knowing at least a new semester is ahead, new books, new assignments. and now, nothing but a big question mark, and a burden on my back.

after all i have been through it seems weird that this should feel so scary and so impossible, and yet here i am, terrified...

more honest than i have ever been in my relationships, more able to express my needs, display my overt sexuality, more comfortable in my (too thick in my opinion) skin, willing to fail, willing to apologize, hopeful for connection and family- apparently willing to take risks and even hang up my playa playa fo real hat- it's a lot to do when i'm this fucking sober.

but nights like this i look back on the live (s) i've lived and realize i certainly am a cat- and nine lives may not yet be enough for what i've got on this bitch.

sometimes i have to remind myself that whether my haters are external or internal, the response must be the same- haters gotta hate, it's they goddamn job. shows you doin something right. hate on. and for me, hope on.

please.

Bilbo was meant to find the ring, in which case you also were meant to have it. and isn't that an encouraging thought?

it is difficult not to find hope in fate. it is difficult still to not have some hope in fate. whether it is karma, whether it is some type of order amongst chaos. that the ultimate hinge of destiny is not squarely on the back of the individual. originally, i believed not in fate, but in the will of god. from birth, even before birth, i was knit together in my mother's womb by the very hands of god. predestined to stand and proclaim his glory...

that destiny led me to exactly where it was supposed to, and i lived the life of a "good christian wife" for more years than i can recall. they were beautiful years. real, authentic years. and lonely years, too. lacking community, feeling rejected when people would leave my parent's church. feeling alienated and isolated from all the "non-saved" people in my life. i'm so far removed from that language at this point it seems a foreign concept to differentiate the worth of a person based on a BELIEF SET. my arrogance was profound, though sympathetic. as "karma" would have it, i now bear that shame with people still willing to have me, and suffer the same judgment i used to project onto others by those most intimate to me, at least biologically.

it is what it is.

fate isolated me in childhood, and fate let me escape into books, stories, poems, and reflections. the written word was my best friend, and ever i awoke next to a few books, a notebook, pens, and possibly a cat or two. when emma was my best friend, our most powerful connections were through letters. the most romantic gift i ever gave victor was to read my poetry book from the time we started seeing each other, that he wrote in and gave back. his simple text: "writing is your strength." helped give me something to ground myself to as i struggled to write my comp.

reading, writing, and thinking 'fated' me to go from alternative high school to eventually putting myself in community college. i knew nothing about math, no understanding of science, no concept of what it meant to 'double-space' a paper, having no personal self-concept as myself as smart. i dove into philosophy classes with abandon, and wished that my itialian catholic professor would get saved and realize that dogmatism was clearly the wisest choice. who would rest in a questioning state? oh, to be nineteen again and have all the answers.

learning so many new ideas that were in no way congruent with my own was a constant struggle. i took a myers briggs and found out i was ENFJ. being able to differentiate myself from the way family is, and the way my husband was, created a space where i could allow myself to be me. i love putting other people first, in fact, i must! if any of you has let me do what i do for you, then you know what i'm talking about. in some ways my struggle with alcohol has been a good way to force me to let others take care of me... and others still to hurt me more, as 'fate' would have it.

'who am i' became a question i started wrestling with in my 20's. i was a good daughter, a good wife, and i started to become a good student. i was the perfect christian. never swore, never drank, virgin bride, no drugs, faithful to my husband, respectful... what was missing? i became more politically active. i started working out more and more. transferred to SJSU and became a full-time student. never got less than an A- at state for undergrad. graduated with honors. unhappy.

by then i was a vegetarian, agnostic, and unsure of my political stances and my sexuality. i poured over philosophy and science trying to find myself. and then i just stopped caring.

no family, no husband, some new friends who were rapidly less supportive of me when i was no longer crazy fun, but crazy scared. then the moving began. and nose bleeds, and bruises, and self-destruction. dark years. made it through my first year of grad school. somehow. fate brought me to last summer. fate brought me to the red stag, fate gave me an entire social network, ultimately a place to live last summer, and some of the most amazing people i have ever known. it's been interesting having people that i love so deeply know me as a short drunk wild thing with surprisingly sophisticated vocabulary tucked into expletives.

seemed an even exchange to give deuces to my old job, and all the douchebags associated and cling to my stag people. the TRIBE of last summer- me, jen, donna, kiko; sometimes billy, sometimes kim. all of us broke, all of us alcoholics, all of us awesome. it was hard times and great times. and now, nearly a year later- all still in my life, all still awesome. feels so good to have people that are dependable and unconditional in my life. seeing gwen recently reinforced that all the more. what if i am a person who deserves more than love contingent on circumstances and conditions... what if i should not be abandoned, hurt, and abused by the people i love?

by the end of the summer, i was on a fast track to self-destruction. fate brought me to meet the first years, and i tried to cover the marks on my arms. i've always felt out of place in my program, but it felt good to have made it to the second years, and hearing the first years was quite precious. everything seemed fairly promising. i made some better choices, but still hadn't mastered my alcohol habit, and when i found out i had to move again on a 30 day notice i fell back on a tried and true technique: binge drinking.

woke up the next morning with a swollen ankle. in my top bunk. i'll never know how the fuck i pulled that off. double spiral fracture. learned later that spiral fractures are a giveaway for child abuse when kids show up in the ER with them due to the difficulty to achieve one... lol. THAT SUCKED. so began a new era, and i was alone more often than not, unable to drive, but still having to perform all the duties associated with the second year of my grad program. only now with no support and open criticism from my professors. maybe they knew i was a fraud. maybe i was. maybe i'm not a fraud and they are assholes. maybe it's both, and.

in that time i picked up a dirtier habit, but learned to manage my drinking more. as fate would have it, i never got caught. made it through the 3rd semester. that one was really tough. got into a fight with the cohort's cunt and that one really floored me. it's interesting having a nemesis. fuck her. sick...

practice comp accomplished. cast off. panic attacks in my car about being able to get to the next semester. made it, with a "talking to." lines were drawn, and i decided to just shut my mouth and not give a fuck anymore. vicki gave me a voice, and a place to share my dissent. as my confidence grew based on my internship, and my relationship with my supervisors and my clients i started to remember what i knew all along. i'm a motherfucking ENFJ, bitches. this is my shit, this is my goddamn identity. i eat and breathe caring for other people, and it doesn't matter if i don't have the most developed coping skills all the time, i know that i am a good fucking therapist. and just because that bitch can sit still because she doesn't have a trauma history and a fucked up context does not make her better than me. FUCK HER.

fate took amanda to richmond. fate broke my ankle. fate put me at las plumas. fate broke my bad habits. fate brought me a handful of pills. fate made me look long and hard at that demon. seven days and three days later, i realized something. and now, eight weeks and six days later, i realize something more. there's worser tragedies than being unable to concentrate. despite what my professors say, no matter what the 'good students' think. in a few years i'll be in a ph.d program and if i see a girl near the front anxiously tapping her foot and using the bathroom once an hour and sometimes looking depersonalized, i will not assume she's an idiot, or disrespectful... not at all.

fate took those buddies out of my life, fate gave me a context to thicken less problematic self-narratives. fate started bringing me people who don't make me flinch as much- physically and psychologically. fate now asked me to question again whether or not i ought rely on alcohol when afraid, when bored, when sad... i would not describe myself as addicted to alcohol, i certainly was last summer. but having experienced the ACT workshop last week makes me have a higher goal of being able to sit with psychological discomfort without escaping it. i just want to be able to afford to work out again, and eat my hippie food again. it's all getting close, now.

the comp was a beast of burden. the entire process was heinous, the condition of my heart atrocious, and the level of personal crisis i was in at that time- dangerous for myself. i made good choices, called friends, stayed the weekend with kitty, put myself to sleep with pills. and somehow, the paper wrote itself, fatefully. my mind goes fuzzy when i'm suicidal so i can't remember much of that time, but it ended with a turned in completed project. and following that, a brush of temptation, and as fate would have it i avoided, texted a friend, ate food, and took a nap.

passed the test, and also realized the test will be ongoing, and may never "go away." took up smoking cigs again on the anniversary of my homelessness. quit a few weeks after comp was turned in. AND I PASSED!!! holy shit, i passed. all that stands between me and a master of science degree now is a paper and a posterboard project. haha. (:

and slowly, the grays are filled back in with colors. i have plants in my room, again. my cat sips water out of his filtered waterbowl and sleeps with me at night, again. my papers are in a giant stack, but they are organized in their way. laundry gets done more. my thoughts get to think more. music still soothes me. i feel myself healing... i find myself triggered more easily than i was before. i suppose this is because my mind must now see/remember/experience/grieve/rage what's happened. and i can run to the bathroom and have a panic attack in the stall and still think and cognitively believe, I AM MAKING THIS UP. IT WAS MY FAULT, TOO. and cold water compresses and complete derealization for a weekend do not necessarily convince me otherwise. or the draw of liquor everyday after that, or in a blacked out state crying to someone for an hour about the thing that didn't matter, doesn't count, and was my fault betrays me...

and mean text messages reduce me to feelings of shame and identification with parasites. it sucks how much internalized self-hate i still have. and fate would have it that i would have compassionate arms comfort me, and hear apologies to my hurt side where others would continue to berate and humiliate... to sit here now, sober and reflect. tears come, but don't fall. SUDs score of about 6. lol.

fate brought matt (boy who let me stay in his VW bus when i was homeless and danny ditched me at the bar after flirting with a girl in front of me) showed up the night before i defended my comp. to apologize for being a dick because i didn't sleep with him and he was butthurt. lol, i thought he was prince charming. it was interesting to see how far i've come. it was nice to see him. he drank a beer and vanished into the night. driving around with clean laundry in the back of my car, reminded me of angie's house when she did all my laundry during that time and i fell asleep in it at night, pulling jeans and shirts around me for warmth in the cold february nights.

picked up my grandma from the airport yesterday, we went to hooters. my grandma kicks fucking ass. she's nearly ninety, great spirit, great energy. i like to think i took after her. she's not afraid of death, but welcomes life. welcomes laughter. fate has now brought my parents to this establishment, so i will continue along my ramblings at a later time.

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