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.

<3