Posts
so begins the holidays. november holds both my parents birthdays, my husband's birthday, unpacking from move 10, getting my cast off, driving again, approaching the end of semester 3 of grad school, and moving along in life.
or not?
i don't know what 'successful' means anymore.
the religious will give you one answer; the people in NA a different answer; the "educated," something else; philosophers will merely mock asking a question without bothering to define your terms.
and what is success to me? tagging along after this she-bitch Authenticity and attempting to continually move onward and forward even when every piece of me hates who i am.
i feel like a disempowered woman, like a flower ripped from the ground, still alive, but wilting, and not a root in sight. i could go into a good samaritan story here, but i'll refrain.
i've been what i call sober for over two months. i say this sipping on a divine mixed drink that grant concocted. sober to me means not drunk more often than not, and not blacking out. it feels pretty nice. alcohol can be a very destructive drug.
so can i.
quitting is for pussies.
next monday is the last day of two of my classes: family therapy and ethics in psych. i have a fairly intense 30-plus page pre-comp due come new year (rough draft turned in the 16th), but aside from that i'm essentially done.
next semester is the 'easy' semester, with classes from the more chill, more human teachers, and just the final, heinous comp to worry about. but each day comes full of its own worries...
my worries lately have been larger than smaller. i feel like statistically i will make it through my program, if i can get funding for one more semester. i feel like i will go through graduation with a smirk on my face and a little pride in my belly, and end up smashed and singing karaoke come nights' end. i feel like i will have a place to live (i hope) for the rest of my days' regardless of how humble... i hope that my ankle will return to previous functioning, that i will lift weights again, and feel healthy again. i don't foresee any DUIs or drug charges in my future.
i am a little concerned about second year placement, but must trust that i will be okay. worst case scenerio, i will need a second job, but i won't be in school at all anymore, and i can easily work two jobs if necessary.
i'm a bit concerned about my tendency to idealize people,and then to detach when i feel rejection. call me borderline if you must, but i have refrained this long from cutting so fuck you! nah, trauma begets certain personality tendencies, and i show some of my colors when i feel threatened, or unappreciated, or disposable.
i've been pretty disposable over the years.
which gets me to the place i am most comfortable, yet tormented: alone.
that i managed eight years of marriage is pretty impressive considering the loner blood in my veins. and as holidays, cold nights, and a future with no guarantees alludes me, the ghosts of my past haunt me.
i am a quasimodo, detached, but longing, kind-hearted, but distant, hopeful, but full of doubt. i walk through crowds feeling different, but chill in the group, content. it's a strange conundrum i find myself in.
after giving myself the gift of a most abusive relationship following my marriage, it makes sense that i avoided any emotional connection, sans vic.
i poured myself into friendships, into my bar, into friends, and for the most part have felt satisfied with the outcome. i feel disconnected from my cohort for the most part, from my professors, from my family, and i have yet to even consider grieving my old job.
and now i live with two new roommates, downtown no less, in my own room, in my own bed. i'm no longer, "a 29-year-old, alcoholic, who sleeps in a loft bed above someone else."
a breath away from 30, no addictions to speak of, highly educated, witty, street smart, unbreakable...
suicidal more often than not, but with no plan, and no intent. no mania, no hallucinations, no delusions, no religion, not even any politics right now.
maybe this is why i feel stripped from myself? i barely write, i barely read, i don't work out. if i had no connection to music right now i'd be completely void of myself.
been thinking about relationships lately, if that will be the path for me. i do walk a lonely road, and i do know how to be a pretty amazing little wife. or lover, or girl on the side, or secret, or friend with benefits, or whatever i've been.
and i don't know what i want to be anymore.
i can tell you at this moment i anticipate a certain death alone, misunderstood, crotchety most days, with moments of kindness, looking into the eyes of nonblood relatives if i'm lucky enough to have health insurance as sweet death takes me.
i'd rather get nice clean morphine than have to hustle black tar heroin as an old ass bitch. lol.
or i'll find that certain somebody, and have a polyamorous bisexual life.
or i'll find someone particularly amazing and go back to monogamy.
when you are me, anything is possible. but any possibility includes cancer and certain death, dying alone surrounded by cats, or something in-between.
at this point, i think i've got at least one more relationship in me. and i just might get knocked up in the next 10 years, although i think i'd sooner adopt a kid.
if i have kids.
is 30 too late to ask these questions?
a better question- am i attempting to make plans again? HA!
"and the tears that i cried for that woman, are gonna flood you big river, and i'm gonna sit right here until i die!"
well, at least today is the last day of november. i get to look forward to christmas alone and turning 30 alone.
awesome.
i'd rather be by my damn self than with people who fake the funk though.
it's almost LOTR season!
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Sunday, October 17, 2010
freud argued that there are no accidents.
but what the fuck does that mean? a quote from freud about secrets that i love:
He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of every pore.
cheaters gotta cheat, and haters gotta hate. the bible says your sin will find you out. some people believe in fate, some people believe in karma. some people believe in reinforcement, in people utilizing repertoires based on their learning history. and i say, whatever.
what is worse in the psychological spectrum? some might argue psychosis. a divorce from reality such that one's very own thoughts are suspect. belief systems held dearly become delusions, and real live phenomena become hallucinations, when one cannot even believe their very eyes.
some might argue the highs and lows of bipolar. ecstasy becomes irritability, becomes a crash so low into something that some might also consider the worst possible thing.
depression, bloody depression. anhedonia becomes the standard, as joy takes leave. gone are the vibrant colors, the taste of food, and walking to class feels more exhausting than the 15 mile hikes once loved...
some might say, fuck you emo ass bitches. poverty is the most heinous psychological ail... what does poverty have to to with mental health? maslow's hierarchy of needs, people. i'm sure a person can be mentally fit so to speak and living in poverty, but if that's true then good on them...
then there is the joy of addiction. up, down, in between, anything to cover this pain, to dull this throbbing brainstorm...
maybe anxiety is the mistress. chasing dragons of to-do lists, perfectionism, calorie-counting, empowered, perfect living. organic, drinking enough water, practicing yoga, and being everything i was once, and everything i could be...
and for what? and with who?
what creates pain, what is the worst pain, what is the good life, what makes any of it worth it? this was the question i posited to my counselor around this time last year at sjsu.
the same answer remains: WE CANNOT KNOW.
it is what it is, people are what they are, i am who i am, and that's it.
i'm nine days into my double-spiral fractured ankle. i've never broken a bone before and decided i might as well crack my ankle twice if i was going for it. physical pain is whatever to me. although i did cry when they had me straighten my heel and push my knee over my toes to put the cast on 24 hours after the break. that was some bullshit.
psychological pain is whatever, too. don't get me wrong, i'm a giant pussy, and if i am not distracted by a crowd, booze, or both, i am generally unhappy. i may be in a biased frame of mind right now, i have many moments of passionate joy, but feeling helpless and dependent is getting to me.
stairs suck, pity sucks, sarcasm can suck, and i fucking suck. but i'm trying.
i'm looking forward to a new living arrangement for a year. i have no idea where i'll be in 12 months. i never do.
getting hurt brings perspective. and i love my friends, and i would be lost without their help and compassion. but it's hard to not feel very alone.
i miss victor...
i hope i can do it. i hope someday i can get out of the break and surf the waves again... i can handle wiping out, trust me, i can. but this incessant keeping my head barely above water is exhausting me, and hardening me.
jesus christ, this is why i didn't want to keep living alone. my beautiful grant just got home and will distract me now with alcohol and movies. i just might turn into a giant homebody soon, people...
once i have a home.
He that has eyes to see and ears to hear may convince himself that no mortal can keep a secret. If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips; betrayal oozes out of every pore.
cheaters gotta cheat, and haters gotta hate. the bible says your sin will find you out. some people believe in fate, some people believe in karma. some people believe in reinforcement, in people utilizing repertoires based on their learning history. and i say, whatever.
what is worse in the psychological spectrum? some might argue psychosis. a divorce from reality such that one's very own thoughts are suspect. belief systems held dearly become delusions, and real live phenomena become hallucinations, when one cannot even believe their very eyes.
some might argue the highs and lows of bipolar. ecstasy becomes irritability, becomes a crash so low into something that some might also consider the worst possible thing.
depression, bloody depression. anhedonia becomes the standard, as joy takes leave. gone are the vibrant colors, the taste of food, and walking to class feels more exhausting than the 15 mile hikes once loved...
some might say, fuck you emo ass bitches. poverty is the most heinous psychological ail... what does poverty have to to with mental health? maslow's hierarchy of needs, people. i'm sure a person can be mentally fit so to speak and living in poverty, but if that's true then good on them...
then there is the joy of addiction. up, down, in between, anything to cover this pain, to dull this throbbing brainstorm...
maybe anxiety is the mistress. chasing dragons of to-do lists, perfectionism, calorie-counting, empowered, perfect living. organic, drinking enough water, practicing yoga, and being everything i was once, and everything i could be...
and for what? and with who?
what creates pain, what is the worst pain, what is the good life, what makes any of it worth it? this was the question i posited to my counselor around this time last year at sjsu.
the same answer remains: WE CANNOT KNOW.
it is what it is, people are what they are, i am who i am, and that's it.
i'm nine days into my double-spiral fractured ankle. i've never broken a bone before and decided i might as well crack my ankle twice if i was going for it. physical pain is whatever to me. although i did cry when they had me straighten my heel and push my knee over my toes to put the cast on 24 hours after the break. that was some bullshit.
psychological pain is whatever, too. don't get me wrong, i'm a giant pussy, and if i am not distracted by a crowd, booze, or both, i am generally unhappy. i may be in a biased frame of mind right now, i have many moments of passionate joy, but feeling helpless and dependent is getting to me.
stairs suck, pity sucks, sarcasm can suck, and i fucking suck. but i'm trying.
i'm looking forward to a new living arrangement for a year. i have no idea where i'll be in 12 months. i never do.
getting hurt brings perspective. and i love my friends, and i would be lost without their help and compassion. but it's hard to not feel very alone.
i miss victor...
i hope i can do it. i hope someday i can get out of the break and surf the waves again... i can handle wiping out, trust me, i can. but this incessant keeping my head barely above water is exhausting me, and hardening me.
jesus christ, this is why i didn't want to keep living alone. my beautiful grant just got home and will distract me now with alcohol and movies. i just might turn into a giant homebody soon, people...
once i have a home.
Saturday, September 18, 2010
you said forever...
reading over past work is interesting. so is catching up with an old friend. so is seeing someone you have seen sporadically, but intensely over many years. i did all the above in the past 24 hours. on thursday we had our suicide training, which was provided by an amazing man who organizes and operates the local suicide hotline here in the bay. it was fantastic.
whilest perusing and trolling my own myspace blog page, i came across some of my old work that was quite intense. nearly two winters ago, i was in what would have been the second semester of my grad program. instead, i was working afternoons at my former place of employment, and working out in the gym ~ 3 hours a day. i'd come home, and get high and write just incredibly articulate, tormented blogs articulating the struggles i was facing. in reading that material now, i find myself taken back to former times, when maslow's top needs were my upmost concern.
now, i live a life barely engaging any form of "actualization." rather, my basic needs barely met, i numb myself with alcohol. my pothead days seem to be beyond me, and i even gave up cigarettes. a new goal, then is to get a handle on this drinking business.
1 corinthians 13:
11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 12Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
dulling reality with weed is one thing. getting your buzz on- even on the daily is one thing. blacking out, and waking up with only questions and no answers- is some bullshit!
a stark difference in my life right now compared to then is the lack of me cooking, and the lack of me going to the gym. i feel so unhealthy right now. two years ago i had my yoga on, and was getting really flexible. as i flirt with stability for the first time in approximately 3 or 4 years i begin to think about goals.
it's sinking in that i will be 30 in a few short months. and that victor will be 29 on the 28th. what an old man!
were i my own client doing ACT, i would start focusing on the values piece. i would also use motivational interviewing to get her to make a goal to "not black out." and to "get healthy." and to "work out regularly." with these three goals established, the inevitable examination of her substance abuse issues would need to be brought to the forefront. a behavioral therapist would be pretty stoked that while one goal is to decrease alcohol which is clearly related to a lack of better coping mechanisms, another goal is to work out. working out is a fantastic coping strategy, and an antidepressant, and anxiolytic in and of itself. and even more- working out, being fit, being a weight lifter, runner, etc. are all pieces of this particular client's old sense of identity- of which she feels lacking. having developed three clear goals, i would then utilize behavioral activation to get her on her feet, and moving in the 'direction of her values' per ACT. some daily affirmations never hurt anybody, either. once she has some clear stabilizing mechanisms, perhaps we can begin to address the trauma...
anyway, i love my new nerdy ass tattoo. and i'm welcoming fall. it got cold this morning, it was fantastic. it's going to be a strange transition with grant moving in, and amanda moving out. but transitions are my middle name.
and now, a recipe because it's been a minute.
1 can cheap vegetarian refried beans
4 eggs
1/2 can corn
splooge of oil
a few cubes cut off of amanda's garlic cheese
heat up the oil, crack the eggs (one of mine was twins, it was crazy), get them mostly cooked, dump the beans on top. make sure the eggs get cooked all the way. dump corn on top. add cubes of cheese. put onto a plate.
add (optional)
splooge of light sour cream
several dashes of tapatia
= delicious vegetarian plus protein goodness.
fuck, i need to get my truck so it can get fixed already. but nobody is here. hmmm
i'm really looking forward to my dirty thirties.
i'm gonna be uploading old blogs as i can. i'm afraid i might have lost several years of blogs, along with most of my college work with my big comp. (command central for those who might remember.) i hope not. i lost all my community college work that my brother deleted on my old home computer.
everything ends, and at some point all is lost. selah. wtf, who cares!
xo
whilest perusing and trolling my own myspace blog page, i came across some of my old work that was quite intense. nearly two winters ago, i was in what would have been the second semester of my grad program. instead, i was working afternoons at my former place of employment, and working out in the gym ~ 3 hours a day. i'd come home, and get high and write just incredibly articulate, tormented blogs articulating the struggles i was facing. in reading that material now, i find myself taken back to former times, when maslow's top needs were my upmost concern.
now, i live a life barely engaging any form of "actualization." rather, my basic needs barely met, i numb myself with alcohol. my pothead days seem to be beyond me, and i even gave up cigarettes. a new goal, then is to get a handle on this drinking business.
1 corinthians 13:
11When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me. 12Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
dulling reality with weed is one thing. getting your buzz on- even on the daily is one thing. blacking out, and waking up with only questions and no answers- is some bullshit!
a stark difference in my life right now compared to then is the lack of me cooking, and the lack of me going to the gym. i feel so unhealthy right now. two years ago i had my yoga on, and was getting really flexible. as i flirt with stability for the first time in approximately 3 or 4 years i begin to think about goals.
it's sinking in that i will be 30 in a few short months. and that victor will be 29 on the 28th. what an old man!
were i my own client doing ACT, i would start focusing on the values piece. i would also use motivational interviewing to get her to make a goal to "not black out." and to "get healthy." and to "work out regularly." with these three goals established, the inevitable examination of her substance abuse issues would need to be brought to the forefront. a behavioral therapist would be pretty stoked that while one goal is to decrease alcohol which is clearly related to a lack of better coping mechanisms, another goal is to work out. working out is a fantastic coping strategy, and an antidepressant, and anxiolytic in and of itself. and even more- working out, being fit, being a weight lifter, runner, etc. are all pieces of this particular client's old sense of identity- of which she feels lacking. having developed three clear goals, i would then utilize behavioral activation to get her on her feet, and moving in the 'direction of her values' per ACT. some daily affirmations never hurt anybody, either. once she has some clear stabilizing mechanisms, perhaps we can begin to address the trauma...
anyway, i love my new nerdy ass tattoo. and i'm welcoming fall. it got cold this morning, it was fantastic. it's going to be a strange transition with grant moving in, and amanda moving out. but transitions are my middle name.
and now, a recipe because it's been a minute.
1 can cheap vegetarian refried beans
4 eggs
1/2 can corn
splooge of oil
a few cubes cut off of amanda's garlic cheese
heat up the oil, crack the eggs (one of mine was twins, it was crazy), get them mostly cooked, dump the beans on top. make sure the eggs get cooked all the way. dump corn on top. add cubes of cheese. put onto a plate.
add (optional)
splooge of light sour cream
several dashes of tapatia
= delicious vegetarian plus protein goodness.
fuck, i need to get my truck so it can get fixed already. but nobody is here. hmmm
i'm really looking forward to my dirty thirties.
i'm gonna be uploading old blogs as i can. i'm afraid i might have lost several years of blogs, along with most of my college work with my big comp. (command central for those who might remember.) i hope not. i lost all my community college work that my brother deleted on my old home computer.
everything ends, and at some point all is lost. selah. wtf, who cares!
xo
drunken lament
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Current mood: high
Category: Writing and Poetry
suicide poem (wrote it the day of my stigmata tats)
i just want to die,
i just want the pain to end.
i just want to NOT be helpless.
i just want to be okay.
happiness is not for me.
hope is not for me.
can you imagine walking through target aimlessly
to find yourself
crying through the aisles and
finding yourself
in front of the boxcutters
wondering if you have the courage
today?
thought not.
wrote this today
schoolyard screams
the pitter patter of
growing feet
raven hair explodes
from her head as
she chases
the boy
and it's perfectly natural
eyes meet across a table
and smiles connect
as she takes her in
she chases
the girl
and it's perfectly natural
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/whewthatgirl
Current mood: high
Category: Writing and Poetry
suicide poem (wrote it the day of my stigmata tats)
i just want to die,
i just want the pain to end.
i just want to NOT be helpless.
i just want to be okay.
happiness is not for me.
hope is not for me.
can you imagine walking through target aimlessly
to find yourself
crying through the aisles and
finding yourself
in front of the boxcutters
wondering if you have the courage
today?
thought not.
wrote this today
schoolyard screams
the pitter patter of
growing feet
raven hair explodes
from her head as
she chases
the boy
and it's perfectly natural
eyes meet across a table
and smiles connect
as she takes her in
she chases
the girl
and it's perfectly natural
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/whewthatgirl
the fight in me is all gone
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
9:24 am
the fight in me is all gone
Current mood: angsty
Category: Life
to separate or not to separate.
that is the question.
it haunts me everywhere i go and never, ever leaves.
it's so hard when you get married so young and are taught that marriage has nothing to do with feelings, that love is just a choice. that marriage is a "covenant" and to break it makes you a failure, and a douche.
my identity has taken such a hard hit over the last few years. i dropped a significant portion of weight, i dropped my religion, i gave up my "good girl" thing, i pursued drugs and experience, i stopped trying to impress anyone or be anything i'm not.
as i find myself somewhere in the "bi" range, i wonder how i could go from being bi pre-summer and then nearly a year later coming to the same conclusion. how could i have suffered so much for a piece of information that i seemingly already knew?
luckily yesterday in my first philosophy class since junior college days, we discussed the dialectic method. (this is going to be delicious.) in any given premise there are the seeds of it's contradiction.
in my case, the claim, "i am lesbian" contained bits that screamed "i'm not a lesbian." so if you get A and not A and combine the two, you get B. a product of the two. clearly, in my case, i went from A to maybe Z with it, but the end product of A2 is not the same sexual identity that i held last year, regardless of the label.
what does any of this have to do with separation?
i don't know what i want. i feel stuck between two lives, and that i'm not giving either life the full attention. i enjoy spending time with my husband, but when it comes to time for intimacy, i have to "check out." i don't think this is ideal. and why is it the case?
is it because i feel pulled in different directions and my heart is a monogous one? (could it be?) could it be that the uncertainty of where i will be sleeping in a few months becomes all too present in my mind so it is too much? possibly. could it be that i have officially fallen 'out of love' and no matter how much i respect, adore, and fucking dig this man that i just will never fantasize about him the way he does me. *wipes tear.*
and if that is the case, will separation bring it back? why can't i will it back? i wonder if it could have been different if i didn't have sexual dysfunction for so many years of our marriage. i wonder if it had been different if we'd not become like roommates so young in life. i wonder if it would be different if i'd been able to get more experience before getting married.
i don't know. i feel like i am a very sexual person, trapped in a situation where i cannot be... or i could be, but the appropriate place to express it doesn't fit... and i want it to, but when it comes down to it, i don't. mentally yes, physically no...
and being bi only complicates things more in this case than being gay does.
so, yeah. i don't know what to do. we are discussing me moving out in may to have some mental space, and i think it's the best decision most likely.
but the thought of not sleeping in the arms of a person who i trust heart and soul breaks my heart. he truly is my FAMILY. and i feel the strongest love for him. but then i feel like he could be so much happier with someone who felt for him, not only that type of love, but a love on fire. then i wonder if all relationships don't fizzle to some extent.
then i wonder if i'm just doing all this because i went fucking nuts last year. then i wonder if i'll ever be able to have a relationship with anyone, man or woman. then i wonder if i will forever regret letting my husband go if i do. then i wonder if i will forever regret not letting my husband go if i don't.
i tried flipping a coin, but it didn't satisfy me.
i don't know how to do this!
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/whewthatgirl/blog?page=5#ixzz0zuHd1NDW
9:24 am
the fight in me is all gone
Current mood: angsty
Category: Life
to separate or not to separate.
that is the question.
it haunts me everywhere i go and never, ever leaves.
it's so hard when you get married so young and are taught that marriage has nothing to do with feelings, that love is just a choice. that marriage is a "covenant" and to break it makes you a failure, and a douche.
my identity has taken such a hard hit over the last few years. i dropped a significant portion of weight, i dropped my religion, i gave up my "good girl" thing, i pursued drugs and experience, i stopped trying to impress anyone or be anything i'm not.
as i find myself somewhere in the "bi" range, i wonder how i could go from being bi pre-summer and then nearly a year later coming to the same conclusion. how could i have suffered so much for a piece of information that i seemingly already knew?
luckily yesterday in my first philosophy class since junior college days, we discussed the dialectic method. (this is going to be delicious.) in any given premise there are the seeds of it's contradiction.
in my case, the claim, "i am lesbian" contained bits that screamed "i'm not a lesbian." so if you get A and not A and combine the two, you get B. a product of the two. clearly, in my case, i went from A to maybe Z with it, but the end product of A2 is not the same sexual identity that i held last year, regardless of the label.
what does any of this have to do with separation?
i don't know what i want. i feel stuck between two lives, and that i'm not giving either life the full attention. i enjoy spending time with my husband, but when it comes to time for intimacy, i have to "check out." i don't think this is ideal. and why is it the case?
is it because i feel pulled in different directions and my heart is a monogous one? (could it be?) could it be that the uncertainty of where i will be sleeping in a few months becomes all too present in my mind so it is too much? possibly. could it be that i have officially fallen 'out of love' and no matter how much i respect, adore, and fucking dig this man that i just will never fantasize about him the way he does me. *wipes tear.*
and if that is the case, will separation bring it back? why can't i will it back? i wonder if it could have been different if i didn't have sexual dysfunction for so many years of our marriage. i wonder if it had been different if we'd not become like roommates so young in life. i wonder if it would be different if i'd been able to get more experience before getting married.
i don't know. i feel like i am a very sexual person, trapped in a situation where i cannot be... or i could be, but the appropriate place to express it doesn't fit... and i want it to, but when it comes down to it, i don't. mentally yes, physically no...
and being bi only complicates things more in this case than being gay does.
so, yeah. i don't know what to do. we are discussing me moving out in may to have some mental space, and i think it's the best decision most likely.
but the thought of not sleeping in the arms of a person who i trust heart and soul breaks my heart. he truly is my FAMILY. and i feel the strongest love for him. but then i feel like he could be so much happier with someone who felt for him, not only that type of love, but a love on fire. then i wonder if all relationships don't fizzle to some extent.
then i wonder if i'm just doing all this because i went fucking nuts last year. then i wonder if i'll ever be able to have a relationship with anyone, man or woman. then i wonder if i will forever regret letting my husband go if i do. then i wonder if i will forever regret not letting my husband go if i don't.
i tried flipping a coin, but it didn't satisfy me.
i don't know how to do this!
Read more: http://www.myspace.com/whewthatgirl/blog?page=5#ixzz0zuHd1NDW
Saturday, September 11, 2010
everything i needed to learn in life, came from my cat.
i refer to my cat jokingly as my "angel baby." sometimes i say he's an "old queen." dean has described his jealous stare after seeing us spooning as if he was looking at him "liked i owed him money." i have seen him walk around as if he owned the place within a few days of getting here. and as i type right now he is slowly walking around the parameter of the living room, like an old vet observing his environment. at any given moment, he knows where every cat and every person is in the apartment. he does his rounds, then hops back up into my bed and naps the day away until it's time to start more ruckus.
kitty was found by my next door neighbor at my parents house, a tiny feral thing who fit in the palm of my hand. he had little quill things stuck in all his fur and protested while i got them out. i had to feed him kitty milk because he was too tiny to eat. the first night he slept on my chest, then crawled down to my feet to pee on my legs, lol. he learned how to use the box quickly, though. and he's always been good about using it since, thank god.
me and ferd were planning our wedding, and when kitty showed up ferd was in vegas to DJ a fight. if he'd been home he would have said we couldn't keep him, but as he was not i made the decision to keep him. i was 20. rascal had died when i was nineteen, and i sobbed the night away with victor. it was a few weeks later that he and i broke up, and i remember telling my mom that even though i was heartbroken that we'd broken up, i was glad he was there to help me grieve my cat. i also said i'd never get another cat.
then kitty showed up, helpless, adorable, and a total brat. a completely different personality than fat, jovial rascal. an obese tabby who literally wore a smile on his face all the time, and spent most of his days underneath my comforter purring- even on hot days. RIP, baby. (i have his ashes on my bookcase, lol.) kitty wouldn't even let you pet him. he'd fall onto his back and grab your hand with all four claws, and start biting. a wild thing from day one- me and my husband were incessant in our domination of him. my husband spend over eight years picking him up against his will and hugging him which has created a very tolerant energy in him. (except for drunk cuban girls apparently, lol.)
what i love most about kitty is how he finds me every night to sleep with me, and if i'm not in bed he will sleep near me. if i'm on the couch, he will be on the recliner. and if someone bangs on the door, he will growl. kitty is the most loyal creature i've ever known. he has stood by me in the past few years like no one else. from watching my body shrink and my eyes bug out and my bones protrude. when no one else wanted me on their lap because my bones hurt them- he would lay on my ribs.
he was not happy when me and ferd started fighting, but he was with us. when i grieved the loss of my immortality, when i thought about how according to my faith, he would die and cease to exist merely because he lacked this construct of "a soul." his fur comforted me in knowing that i would merely cease to exist along with him.
when my parents told me i was going to hell, and that i deserved it- and when my husband refused to comfort me because i was gay- kitty let me wet him with my tears. when the day came that i left our apartment, and stepped into the dizzying anxiety of freedom, kitty came with me. i was texting victor, crying my eyes out, and flashing back to my last memory as a married woman- me, ferd, kitty, in an empty apartment, at the top of our stairs- on the floor, hugging kitty and crying. a family broken, never to be together again.
i remember kitty's face when i let him out at nika's. he met his first dog there. he slept with me on luke's bed. he started to miss me when i came home less and less, and spent more and more time at danny's. he became less happy with me as i saw him less and less. and then luke came home from the war, and my living situation with angelica fell through, and i found myself at danny's. kitty stayed with nika. and my poetry shifted from love and loss to a game of chase with a powdery dragon that cannot be caught, but only grieved. somewhere in that poetry book lies a poem about sparkling green eyes that cut me down to my quick, and gave me a reason to get the fuck out.
merry's family rescued me from that den of sin and torture. and as my bruises healed both psychologically and physically, i was able to bring kitty to a new place. he had never been outside, and now it was a necessity. i struggled to kick addiction of blow and of gingers, and my cat's coat thickened and his body hardened as he spent his time outside hiding under the deck. when i'd get home at night, (if i made it), he would come to me. and we'd hug in the night. my cat hates closed doors, and he hates closed windows.
victor spent the night with me at merry's house in her brother's bed. kitty was not terribly pleased, but they both tolerated each other. that was the first time vic met kitty. he and rascal had always gotten along. i started complaining about my stuff turning up missing at merry's at work and when peterson offered me housesitting, i snatched it. when i took my cat to my parents house to stay while i was gone i knew i would never go back.
i enjoyed her cats, but they were nothing on my old man. i tried to get jennie to help me find a new place to live, but her sister was in town and she didn't have the ability to help me. i needed her so much then. my birthday came, and we got into a huge fight which ended with me in my car alone, puking out of the back door, parked in front of my tattoo shop. that was the day i got my musical note tattoo.
i'd visit kitty at my parents. they spoiled him terribly, and gave me a reason to have to see them more, which i'm sure aided the relationship some. i went to the stag on a sunday by myself because jennie wanted to stay home, and was brainstorming options with debbie and dean. i found a place on craigs list that seemed possible, and called dude, who identified as "daniel" (warning sign #1), and within a few days i'd moved all my stuff in. emily and jennie helped move me in.
a few days later david helped sneak me out, as i was terrified that this crazy psycho was going to hurt me. i asked all my "brothers" to help, but all either flaked, refused, or stayed home from work after staying up late drinking and giving rides to prostitutes on the east side. (FML.) i remember something in my face changed the day that i put all my things into storage and realized that i had no place to live. i stayed with jennie for a weekish, but by the weekend i had realized we'd possibly never speak again.
the first time i ever blacked out was the first weekend i was homeless, at jorge's wedding. rick helped me as i puked, and i woke up in my car- alone, no wallet, no shoes, no keys, and no phone. i talked to chris later that day who said, "in AA we call that rock bottom."
then i developed my homeless identity, and the stag was home base. she was always there to let me pee, and brush my teeth, and change my clothes. she provided me with a place to meet people to either take me home safely, or to crash out in my car with me. my work was another safe place to stay. when i finally made it to housesitting again, i cried hysterically on the tile of the shower over a situation not of my making that needed to be grieved.
the first time amanda and i hung out was at petersons house. we listened to music on my boss's laptop and showed up at the stag super late. when my family stepped in and i moved into my aunts garage- amanda came home with me and was the first person to share my twin bed with me. kitty kept jumping on her face and she was pushing him off. i drank every day that i was homeless, and smoked quite a few cartons of marlboro reds. my aunts dog bit me, and i had to get my stuff out of storage with a severely damaged hand.
i met matt, and through him got back into contact with clover. it was amazing to see that crazy asshole again. :)
me and amanda spent more and more time together, and i started spending weekends there. then weeknights. when we were drunk she started talking about me moving in, and i was digging the idea of cheap rent and not living alone anymore. i thought kitty would be intimidated of the dog and the cats, but he came gangster as soon as he got here. scared the cats, chased the dog, bit amanda. lol.
he was here but i didn't really have a bed situation worked out, and things at work started going seriously south. i leaned on brian through that time, and he was a good friend to me who helped me deal with the bullshit. i knew it was going to not end well at work, and had a decision to make on whether to show up to show down with those bitches. then victor showed up and i realized he was going to be a gift to me again- just like when he helped me through the night losing rascal, he helped me through the night losing my job.
the first night i slept on my loft bed with kitty, the ceiling fan was on and hit him in the face. it was horrible. me and janiece turned the whole room around and swithed things up attempting to make it so he would be safe, but that room is too small, and the loft will always be close to the fan. we now have a no fan policy, lol. we set up a dresser with a nightstand on top of it, so kitty can get in and out of my bed. within a few weeks of the fan incident, kitty returned to bed with me.
over the summer i'd wake up with scratches on my arms from drunkenly grabbing my cat and throwing him into the loft, then climbing up next to him. he didn't scratch me willingly, but would jump into the bed and get me with his back claws. he was in my loft during a period of heinous experimentation, and those eyes bore into me in ways that i could not deny. never did that shit again, and i hope i never do.
kitty talks back when i yell at him, and he is the biggest snob i've ever known. he refuses to look into cameras, won't look at you when you talk to him, and will rarely come to me. when i call him a big strong boy he starts marking things around him, or scratching on his post. i can wake him up at any time by petting him and hugging him and he will purr. i've always admired that quality in him. he smells like comfort, and "home" whatever that construct means.
i met him a wild, untameable thing, and i worked with him to become a sweet spirited boy, but his wretched douchebaggery remains. he torments little girl cats, half his size, of whom his age is at least double. every day he ho checks those bitches, and pees in their litter box, sleeps in their areas, and stalks and attacks them from behind. when i yell at him he acts nonchalant as if he has done no wrong.
i had all the answers when i got him. i took him to the vet yearly, brushed him, and put flea stuff on him once a month. he was a housecat, and he moved with us out of my parents house and into our deodar apartment. ironically, the apartment i nannied at this summer. i got rid of my stang, and got my jimmy at that apartment. i lost weight, i conquered sexual dysfunction, i graduated college with high honors, i vacationed in hawaii, i got accepted into graduate school. he was with me through it all.
then i lost it all, smart went crazy, emotionally stable, but slightly anorexic and prone to anxiety turned to briefly psychotic, emotionally disturbed, identity unstable, suicidal, terrified, girl. we moved to the alameda, hoping a new place might offer new perspective. it was a beautiful apartment.
the night i held a knife to my wrists kitty was there.
i put it down, went to bed and hugged my cat. ferd was asleep on his side.
i haven't taken him to the vet in years, i can't afford it. now we rough out life together, now nothing is guaranteed. now i have no answers, and he is fairly tame. now i am the wild thing that is overly aggressive, and am more likely to push people away than pull them in. and yet he does tame me, and my love for him is immense. i don't know where i would be without my beautiful, green-eyed boy. and he's always in a tux, just for me.
to becoming a crazy cat lady, who wears hats, and lives eccentric, authentic life.
kitty was found by my next door neighbor at my parents house, a tiny feral thing who fit in the palm of my hand. he had little quill things stuck in all his fur and protested while i got them out. i had to feed him kitty milk because he was too tiny to eat. the first night he slept on my chest, then crawled down to my feet to pee on my legs, lol. he learned how to use the box quickly, though. and he's always been good about using it since, thank god.
me and ferd were planning our wedding, and when kitty showed up ferd was in vegas to DJ a fight. if he'd been home he would have said we couldn't keep him, but as he was not i made the decision to keep him. i was 20. rascal had died when i was nineteen, and i sobbed the night away with victor. it was a few weeks later that he and i broke up, and i remember telling my mom that even though i was heartbroken that we'd broken up, i was glad he was there to help me grieve my cat. i also said i'd never get another cat.
then kitty showed up, helpless, adorable, and a total brat. a completely different personality than fat, jovial rascal. an obese tabby who literally wore a smile on his face all the time, and spent most of his days underneath my comforter purring- even on hot days. RIP, baby. (i have his ashes on my bookcase, lol.) kitty wouldn't even let you pet him. he'd fall onto his back and grab your hand with all four claws, and start biting. a wild thing from day one- me and my husband were incessant in our domination of him. my husband spend over eight years picking him up against his will and hugging him which has created a very tolerant energy in him. (except for drunk cuban girls apparently, lol.)
what i love most about kitty is how he finds me every night to sleep with me, and if i'm not in bed he will sleep near me. if i'm on the couch, he will be on the recliner. and if someone bangs on the door, he will growl. kitty is the most loyal creature i've ever known. he has stood by me in the past few years like no one else. from watching my body shrink and my eyes bug out and my bones protrude. when no one else wanted me on their lap because my bones hurt them- he would lay on my ribs.
he was not happy when me and ferd started fighting, but he was with us. when i grieved the loss of my immortality, when i thought about how according to my faith, he would die and cease to exist merely because he lacked this construct of "a soul." his fur comforted me in knowing that i would merely cease to exist along with him.
when my parents told me i was going to hell, and that i deserved it- and when my husband refused to comfort me because i was gay- kitty let me wet him with my tears. when the day came that i left our apartment, and stepped into the dizzying anxiety of freedom, kitty came with me. i was texting victor, crying my eyes out, and flashing back to my last memory as a married woman- me, ferd, kitty, in an empty apartment, at the top of our stairs- on the floor, hugging kitty and crying. a family broken, never to be together again.
i remember kitty's face when i let him out at nika's. he met his first dog there. he slept with me on luke's bed. he started to miss me when i came home less and less, and spent more and more time at danny's. he became less happy with me as i saw him less and less. and then luke came home from the war, and my living situation with angelica fell through, and i found myself at danny's. kitty stayed with nika. and my poetry shifted from love and loss to a game of chase with a powdery dragon that cannot be caught, but only grieved. somewhere in that poetry book lies a poem about sparkling green eyes that cut me down to my quick, and gave me a reason to get the fuck out.
merry's family rescued me from that den of sin and torture. and as my bruises healed both psychologically and physically, i was able to bring kitty to a new place. he had never been outside, and now it was a necessity. i struggled to kick addiction of blow and of gingers, and my cat's coat thickened and his body hardened as he spent his time outside hiding under the deck. when i'd get home at night, (if i made it), he would come to me. and we'd hug in the night. my cat hates closed doors, and he hates closed windows.
victor spent the night with me at merry's house in her brother's bed. kitty was not terribly pleased, but they both tolerated each other. that was the first time vic met kitty. he and rascal had always gotten along. i started complaining about my stuff turning up missing at merry's at work and when peterson offered me housesitting, i snatched it. when i took my cat to my parents house to stay while i was gone i knew i would never go back.
i enjoyed her cats, but they were nothing on my old man. i tried to get jennie to help me find a new place to live, but her sister was in town and she didn't have the ability to help me. i needed her so much then. my birthday came, and we got into a huge fight which ended with me in my car alone, puking out of the back door, parked in front of my tattoo shop. that was the day i got my musical note tattoo.
i'd visit kitty at my parents. they spoiled him terribly, and gave me a reason to have to see them more, which i'm sure aided the relationship some. i went to the stag on a sunday by myself because jennie wanted to stay home, and was brainstorming options with debbie and dean. i found a place on craigs list that seemed possible, and called dude, who identified as "daniel" (warning sign #1), and within a few days i'd moved all my stuff in. emily and jennie helped move me in.
a few days later david helped sneak me out, as i was terrified that this crazy psycho was going to hurt me. i asked all my "brothers" to help, but all either flaked, refused, or stayed home from work after staying up late drinking and giving rides to prostitutes on the east side. (FML.) i remember something in my face changed the day that i put all my things into storage and realized that i had no place to live. i stayed with jennie for a weekish, but by the weekend i had realized we'd possibly never speak again.
the first time i ever blacked out was the first weekend i was homeless, at jorge's wedding. rick helped me as i puked, and i woke up in my car- alone, no wallet, no shoes, no keys, and no phone. i talked to chris later that day who said, "in AA we call that rock bottom."
then i developed my homeless identity, and the stag was home base. she was always there to let me pee, and brush my teeth, and change my clothes. she provided me with a place to meet people to either take me home safely, or to crash out in my car with me. my work was another safe place to stay. when i finally made it to housesitting again, i cried hysterically on the tile of the shower over a situation not of my making that needed to be grieved.
the first time amanda and i hung out was at petersons house. we listened to music on my boss's laptop and showed up at the stag super late. when my family stepped in and i moved into my aunts garage- amanda came home with me and was the first person to share my twin bed with me. kitty kept jumping on her face and she was pushing him off. i drank every day that i was homeless, and smoked quite a few cartons of marlboro reds. my aunts dog bit me, and i had to get my stuff out of storage with a severely damaged hand.
i met matt, and through him got back into contact with clover. it was amazing to see that crazy asshole again. :)
me and amanda spent more and more time together, and i started spending weekends there. then weeknights. when we were drunk she started talking about me moving in, and i was digging the idea of cheap rent and not living alone anymore. i thought kitty would be intimidated of the dog and the cats, but he came gangster as soon as he got here. scared the cats, chased the dog, bit amanda. lol.
he was here but i didn't really have a bed situation worked out, and things at work started going seriously south. i leaned on brian through that time, and he was a good friend to me who helped me deal with the bullshit. i knew it was going to not end well at work, and had a decision to make on whether to show up to show down with those bitches. then victor showed up and i realized he was going to be a gift to me again- just like when he helped me through the night losing rascal, he helped me through the night losing my job.
the first night i slept on my loft bed with kitty, the ceiling fan was on and hit him in the face. it was horrible. me and janiece turned the whole room around and swithed things up attempting to make it so he would be safe, but that room is too small, and the loft will always be close to the fan. we now have a no fan policy, lol. we set up a dresser with a nightstand on top of it, so kitty can get in and out of my bed. within a few weeks of the fan incident, kitty returned to bed with me.
over the summer i'd wake up with scratches on my arms from drunkenly grabbing my cat and throwing him into the loft, then climbing up next to him. he didn't scratch me willingly, but would jump into the bed and get me with his back claws. he was in my loft during a period of heinous experimentation, and those eyes bore into me in ways that i could not deny. never did that shit again, and i hope i never do.
kitty talks back when i yell at him, and he is the biggest snob i've ever known. he refuses to look into cameras, won't look at you when you talk to him, and will rarely come to me. when i call him a big strong boy he starts marking things around him, or scratching on his post. i can wake him up at any time by petting him and hugging him and he will purr. i've always admired that quality in him. he smells like comfort, and "home" whatever that construct means.
i met him a wild, untameable thing, and i worked with him to become a sweet spirited boy, but his wretched douchebaggery remains. he torments little girl cats, half his size, of whom his age is at least double. every day he ho checks those bitches, and pees in their litter box, sleeps in their areas, and stalks and attacks them from behind. when i yell at him he acts nonchalant as if he has done no wrong.
i had all the answers when i got him. i took him to the vet yearly, brushed him, and put flea stuff on him once a month. he was a housecat, and he moved with us out of my parents house and into our deodar apartment. ironically, the apartment i nannied at this summer. i got rid of my stang, and got my jimmy at that apartment. i lost weight, i conquered sexual dysfunction, i graduated college with high honors, i vacationed in hawaii, i got accepted into graduate school. he was with me through it all.
then i lost it all, smart went crazy, emotionally stable, but slightly anorexic and prone to anxiety turned to briefly psychotic, emotionally disturbed, identity unstable, suicidal, terrified, girl. we moved to the alameda, hoping a new place might offer new perspective. it was a beautiful apartment.
the night i held a knife to my wrists kitty was there.
i put it down, went to bed and hugged my cat. ferd was asleep on his side.
i haven't taken him to the vet in years, i can't afford it. now we rough out life together, now nothing is guaranteed. now i have no answers, and he is fairly tame. now i am the wild thing that is overly aggressive, and am more likely to push people away than pull them in. and yet he does tame me, and my love for him is immense. i don't know where i would be without my beautiful, green-eyed boy. and he's always in a tux, just for me.
to becoming a crazy cat lady, who wears hats, and lives eccentric, authentic life.
Sunday, August 29, 2010
i know what it is to be in need and what it is to have plenty
wake up at noon
sweating in a shared room
keep costs low
try to keep my head high
pay cheap rent
try or die
tummy growls
dog barks
cats meow
what do i do now?
hold off eating til two or three
then use that $5 allotment to eat
hit the street
quarter of a quarter tank of gas
car don't die on me
how am i gonna get through this-
forty ounces to free
oh shit, it was supposed to be beer?
alcohol response curve
here, but not "here"
blacking out and passing out
alcohol- self-destruction
"What's the worst thing i did last night?"
gain some comprehention
'oh, she's just a retarded drunk'
bitch, i'll give you a lesson
or a lecture
on a philosopher
or a lover of wisdom
and people think they know me, or
understand the situation
think they realize the type
of dragon that i'm chasin
dirt under my nails
unpedicured feet
walking with a swag anyway
heels hit the street.
not a stranger to doubt,
born to be a cynic
started up at school again-
already got clients in the clinic.
haters gotta hate
it's they goddamned job
people talk shit-
take the mentality of the mob.
katt taught me to let go when feeling dogged.
shakes show up at 8
jaw tightens
thoughts race
mind sprints
chase the of the bottle,
add some soda to taste.
friends become enemies
and lines get crossed
talkin shit and next thing you know
another homie lost.
found some change in my pocket and
get another beer.
walls start spinning
how did i get here?
betrayel oozes out of pores and stares
me in my eyes
as i rehearse the types of words i'd scream in my replies.
it's hard to reawaken from a horrible dream
hard to accept the world is just a giant scheme.
hard to really really know they were what they seemed.
haters and hustlers
can be rich or poor
and i see my whole self
bruises, cuts, and sores
brain been beaten and
once a month i cry
tell the people i love the most
to fuck off and let me die.
everythings a test with me
pass or fail
i don't try to game my friends
just keep em out of jail.
monopolies and chemistry
sex, money, cash, hoes.
struggling to find myself
a bitch amongst bros.
been called crazy more than my goddamned name
wild mustang
impossible to tame
black widow mark
fairly warned
RIP to my marriage
got 8 years to mourn.
ph.Ds and ghetto queens
a foot in different worlds
and everyday i hesitate
cuz i'm just a girl.
everybody got an opinion
on appropriate behavior
some people hella trip
thinkin we need a savior.
some people move away but
i'm gonna stay here
strugglin and thrivin
singin, drinkin, drivin,
nail-biting,
knuckle cracking,
clenched teeth, can't sleep
hungry- no food to eat
looking at the fridge don't make food appear
checking my online bank account don't put any money there
flirt with self-destruction
heart beats slow
disappear without a care
faster than dude can check a ho!
"kid, you're killing yourself."
"well, duh, so?"
yeah- i know
life goes on even though
people swing and i duck
it's hard to be okay everyday
when you be broke as FUCK!
sweating in a shared room
keep costs low
try to keep my head high
pay cheap rent
try or die
tummy growls
dog barks
cats meow
what do i do now?
hold off eating til two or three
then use that $5 allotment to eat
hit the street
quarter of a quarter tank of gas
car don't die on me
how am i gonna get through this-
forty ounces to free
oh shit, it was supposed to be beer?
alcohol response curve
here, but not "here"
blacking out and passing out
alcohol- self-destruction
"What's the worst thing i did last night?"
gain some comprehention
'oh, she's just a retarded drunk'
bitch, i'll give you a lesson
or a lecture
on a philosopher
or a lover of wisdom
and people think they know me, or
understand the situation
think they realize the type
of dragon that i'm chasin
dirt under my nails
unpedicured feet
walking with a swag anyway
heels hit the street.
not a stranger to doubt,
born to be a cynic
started up at school again-
already got clients in the clinic.
haters gotta hate
it's they goddamned job
people talk shit-
take the mentality of the mob.
katt taught me to let go when feeling dogged.
shakes show up at 8
jaw tightens
thoughts race
mind sprints
chase the of the bottle,
add some soda to taste.
friends become enemies
and lines get crossed
talkin shit and next thing you know
another homie lost.
found some change in my pocket and
get another beer.
walls start spinning
how did i get here?
betrayel oozes out of pores and stares
me in my eyes
as i rehearse the types of words i'd scream in my replies.
it's hard to reawaken from a horrible dream
hard to accept the world is just a giant scheme.
hard to really really know they were what they seemed.
haters and hustlers
can be rich or poor
and i see my whole self
bruises, cuts, and sores
brain been beaten and
once a month i cry
tell the people i love the most
to fuck off and let me die.
everythings a test with me
pass or fail
i don't try to game my friends
just keep em out of jail.
monopolies and chemistry
sex, money, cash, hoes.
struggling to find myself
a bitch amongst bros.
been called crazy more than my goddamned name
wild mustang
impossible to tame
black widow mark
fairly warned
RIP to my marriage
got 8 years to mourn.
ph.Ds and ghetto queens
a foot in different worlds
and everyday i hesitate
cuz i'm just a girl.
everybody got an opinion
on appropriate behavior
some people hella trip
thinkin we need a savior.
some people move away but
i'm gonna stay here
strugglin and thrivin
singin, drinkin, drivin,
nail-biting,
knuckle cracking,
clenched teeth, can't sleep
hungry- no food to eat
looking at the fridge don't make food appear
checking my online bank account don't put any money there
flirt with self-destruction
heart beats slow
disappear without a care
faster than dude can check a ho!
"kid, you're killing yourself."
"well, duh, so?"
yeah- i know
life goes on even though
people swing and i duck
it's hard to be okay everyday
when you be broke as FUCK!
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
100% on pharm quiz, and more.
when you have a chaotic life, people react to the chaos. some people experience pain and inflict it on others- i have been a person who struggles with this in the form of irritability associated with anxiety. whether contained to road rage, or the occasional screaming at my cat, usually i succeed in behaving appropriately. except when i don't. work is stressful for me, and i was irritable there, and that created an open for them to discuss my fall placement for next year.
this is what it means to "lean out." and, following conversations with my therapist this morning, and gwen last night, probably for the better. two people who have my best interest in mind and always have refer to my work environment as "toxic," which i might fight against were it for the feelings in my heart. every bit of that job, save my kids and a few bright souls, drain the life from me, and rip open wounds never healed.
it is the effervescent lemon being squeezed into my cuts and scabs. and for why? because of love. and a naive heart, a servant's heart ripped out and capitalized on. but that of course, is what capitalists' do. sit up atop their power and find profit on the tears of the weak. if those who suffer voice their pain, they will surely be blamed for it, and ultimately, if someone weaker, easier to control can replace that person, all the better.
and when i'm thriving, i'll remember. i'll wave goodbye and be grateful for what they taught me. they taught me how to love fully and completely, and how to fully suffer. they taught me to discriminate in the type of people i associate with, and mostly they taught me when to leave them all behind.
this is what it means to "lean out." and, following conversations with my therapist this morning, and gwen last night, probably for the better. two people who have my best interest in mind and always have refer to my work environment as "toxic," which i might fight against were it for the feelings in my heart. every bit of that job, save my kids and a few bright souls, drain the life from me, and rip open wounds never healed.
it is the effervescent lemon being squeezed into my cuts and scabs. and for why? because of love. and a naive heart, a servant's heart ripped out and capitalized on. but that of course, is what capitalists' do. sit up atop their power and find profit on the tears of the weak. if those who suffer voice their pain, they will surely be blamed for it, and ultimately, if someone weaker, easier to control can replace that person, all the better.
and when i'm thriving, i'll remember. i'll wave goodbye and be grateful for what they taught me. they taught me how to love fully and completely, and how to fully suffer. they taught me to discriminate in the type of people i associate with, and mostly they taught me when to leave them all behind.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
drug quiz, pharm...
last week i studied aided with wonderful boy smell. this week, my cat is taking a dump in the cat box. but of the two i know which i can trust. (not that that aids to non-avoidance behaviors.) where is my inhaler? i don't know if it is exactly asthma or what. i got pneumonia when i was 15 and my lungs act up ever since. my smoking habit does not help, i'd wager... anyway, worked that out, and coffee's on. i feel very avoidant about this quiz, and basically about this week for school. my wad feels blown, i don't even care if i go out, i just feel like staying home. i guess i do know what it's about.
and, noticing those thoughts and feelings, the quiz studying commences.
ABILIFY = aripiprazole
ZYPREXA = olanzapine
CLOZARIL = clozapine
SEROQUEL = quetiapine
RISPERDAL = risperidone
GEODON = ziprasidone
INVEGA = paliperidone
which concludes our atypical antipsychotics...
to the rest of the stack. which me luck.
and, noticing those thoughts and feelings, the quiz studying commences.
ABILIFY = aripiprazole
ZYPREXA = olanzapine
CLOZARIL = clozapine
SEROQUEL = quetiapine
RISPERDAL = risperidone
GEODON = ziprasidone
INVEGA = paliperidone
which concludes our atypical antipsychotics...
to the rest of the stack. which me luck.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
to blog or not to blog?
first, where's my hat? the former question i asked once upon an former life. my friend emarie said, blog if you feel you have something important to say. back then the things i felt needed to be said involved the state of how many souls were damned in the universe, and manipulative flirtations attempting to gain as many people as i could over to my side of the fence. all in good intentions, of course. i had every answer to every question, a comfort for every pain, save one. one big one. that whole, most everyone is going to hell thing.
now we fast forward a few years and here i am, damned. swimming willingly in a sea of sins, having waded through the numb of addiction, and now just experimenting with this whole concept of the "game." as a tortured realist reared in isolation, i am always quite excited to truly connect to another human being. and following a lifetime of separation, followed by eight years of marriage, my entrance to the real world stripped of the only values i'd ever known has been rather... interesting.
i think in music and lyrics, and i sing and i write and i am hard. and soft, and i struggle.
and now, it's time for flashcards. as i avoid a paper, i will hate myself for typing these words to this invisible audience, then i remember the prayers i sent to an empty heaven, toward a great void in the sky and i think, i really always did live for an audience of one.
night wIggy
now we fast forward a few years and here i am, damned. swimming willingly in a sea of sins, having waded through the numb of addiction, and now just experimenting with this whole concept of the "game." as a tortured realist reared in isolation, i am always quite excited to truly connect to another human being. and following a lifetime of separation, followed by eight years of marriage, my entrance to the real world stripped of the only values i'd ever known has been rather... interesting.
i think in music and lyrics, and i sing and i write and i am hard. and soft, and i struggle.
and now, it's time for flashcards. as i avoid a paper, i will hate myself for typing these words to this invisible audience, then i remember the prayers i sent to an empty heaven, toward a great void in the sky and i think, i really always did live for an audience of one.
night wIggy
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