Monthly Archives: April 2015

Need a new box

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In my head I tend to classify how much I can ask from people. There are some people I can ask a lot from and some people… not so much. There are some people who can provide physical support but no emotional support and there are some people who can provide emotional support via the computer but they really can’t take being in a room with me.

I’ve learned how to have space in my life for people having the kind of relationship with me they can handle having. I’m trying to not beat myself up over these limits that other people have. The limits aren’t about me. Life is complicated for everyone and I’m kind of like a hurricane in motion sometimes. I know that I overwhelm people. I’m much better at containing it than I used to be.

I need a new box for relationships. I touched on this yesterday and then didn’t follow up on it, not really. Community members. It’s not the same as acquaintance and it sure isn’t friend.

For a while I was good, emotionally, at partitioning the home school group people. I’m not there to make friends for me. I’m there so my kids can grow up around people.

I haven’t been good at it for a while. I culled a few people and tried to shove them into the friend bucket and I’m afraid I shot myself in the foot.

I expected things I had no right to expect. That’s going to hurt me over and over and over. Of course the group exists to perpetuate itself at the expense of individual members. Duh. That’s how systems work. I shouldn’t have believed that I… was anything other than a cog in the system. Cogs aren’t protected. Cogs are replaceable.

There has to be space for community members. I can’t ask them for anything. But they have stood near me for years and that means they think they know me. Mostly… not so much. They don’t want to know me. If they get to know me, if I try to befriend them… it will end in them not talking to me any more.

This is not my first rodeo.

I’m going to keep burning whatever bridges I burn with writing. It keeps me from cutting. I talk to Noah about the stuff I really can’t write about.

I’m not as alone as I feel. Things have improved. Things are better. I need to stop expecting people to care about me and be ok with nodding from the far side of the park.

That’s what people want.

More definitions

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I’ve been thinking a lot about the difference between family, chosen family, friends, acquaintances, and community members.

A lot of my interpersonal difficulties happen because I am seeking surrogate family replacements and attempting to shoehorn people into such a role when they are really not agreeing. I’ve got transference issues up the wazoo.

I have noticed over the past few years a weird phenomena in the bdsm community. I’ve been hanging out there since I was 18. Some of the folks I knew there I haven’t talked to much since I started teaching–really most of the community. I rarely touch base there any more. I don’t have the baby sitting to go hang out there and it just isn’t a big priority.

Anyway, a weird phenomena, folks are really happy to see me even if the last time we saw one another… we didn’t get along that well. People don’t remember the friction and the difficulty of putting up with me if I go away for a while.

I thought all of those people were gone from my life and that they hated me and I should consider myself dead to them. I’m kind of self-centered like that. (I’ve been reading a workbook on helping teenagers deal with trauma recovery because a friend is taking a graduate school course and she shared. It’s hilarious how textbook I am, still.)

I’m not really as mad at the people in the group as I think I am. I’m mad at my parents. I’m mad at my family and I’m having transference and projecting issues all over the place. I mean… I am upset. This situation is sucking for me, but it’s a lot of things sucking at once. It’s not this thing. Not really.

See, here I go with the mollifying, please don’t hate me for having big feelings shit.

Building resilience “how to” tip: avoid seeing crises as insurmountable problems. (From the above link.)

But but…

It’s all or nothing. How I feel right now is how I have felt for all time. What the fuck dude? You mean THIS ISN’T THE END?!?!

Fuck you and all that.

Well, I’m going to run away from home for a while. I’m not being avoidant. I’m being adventurous! (Ha. It’s all in the spin.)

Then I’ll come back. And we’ll see how scorched the bridges are.

I get really fucking mad. And I rant like fuck in my blog. But I don’t really talk about it in real life (other than with Noah, that poor guy) so either my big feelings are ok or they aren’t.

I’m definitely an opt-in experience. I am not a mandatory part of life. I’m easy to avoid. I make it as easy as I possibly can.

Holy shit I’m having big feelings. So many feelings. Oh god.

Such an asshole

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In an effort to try and feel less obsessed with my own shittiness I’m spending time on my support forum. It isn’t that they are all nice to me (holy shit they aren’t) and it isn’t that they are all on my side (holy shit they aren’t) but… they understand why I’m flipping out how I’m flipping out. And they flip out in the same ways. So we can nod sagely at one another as we hit low points.

At any moment in time on the site there are people who are up and down the ladder from you in terms of functionality and symptoms. It’s like a trout to the face. “Here mofo–let me give you some perspective.”

Perspective helps me a lot.

At any moment in time there are people who are homeless because they are like me only slightly less controlled. Not severely less controlled… it’s a slight difference. I’m not a LOT better than them at controlling my issues. Just some. Privilege helps a lot. Without Noah’s support I wouldn’t be doing as well as I am. I’m reminded of that a lot.

Even if I don’t have all the support I want… even if I don’t have all the support I “need” in some existential way… I’m doing a lot better than I could be. Be grateful for that. My problems these days are quite tractable in the scheme of things.

I am very lucky. My problems cause me to feel emotionally like a trapped child…. but that doesn’t mean I am one. Instead I’m a very blessed adult. I have friends. I have support. I even have a family. Even if I don’t feel like I do. Even if I feel like a disposable piece of shit… I’m not.

Thank you for the boost.

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My friend sent me an email. Apparently my Bonus Kid is having an easier time following along with parental direction after spending time with me. The papa says I should put together a seminar or a dvd. Ha.

Thank you for telling me that I don’t do everything wrong.

I feel like a fucking ping-pong ball emotionally.

Slow week. Thank goodness.

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We see friends on Friday. We don’t see friends till then. I think this is very good. I think this is very important.

There gets to be a point where my skin is so thin that if someone breathes too hard I bruise. I’m there. It’s emotional as well as physical. My body hurts so much. My belly has been hurting for days. I am having an “IBS attack”. Horrid cramping and diarrhea and pain. That happened all weekend at the con. I had some big fucking feelings.

Watching how people act is very important. I act like a wounded animal. As a result I’m kind of unpredictable. That means I’m the problem. I understand. I’m used to that.

I’ll stay home and keep my issues to myself.

Your fucking problem you stupid bitch. Just shut up. Shut the fuck up you stupid fucking cunt.

It’s not one thing. It’s everything. I am so upset. But! At least these days my very upset is mostly limited to writing bitchy things on the internet. Really…. this isn’t even that bitchy.

I’m not saying in detail all the mean things I’m thinking. I’m suppressing them. Don’t ever fucking say I don’t have tact, motherfucker.

This right here, this is tact.

Meeting bronies was fun. I won’t be going back to that convention.

I HAVE ABOUT 389,287,927 MEAN THINGS I WANT TO SAY TO PEOPLE RIGHT NOW.

The bad thing is the list of people I want to say them to is only a few thousand names long which means I have a high density of mean things I want to say to just a few people.

But I won’t. Because I’m a grown up now. That shit has consequences. I haven’t matured, I’ve just developed a super ego.

I think it is very weird that I am so worried about consequences from people who already have given the only consequence they have to give: revocation of their regard.

I am not worthy of support or defense. My problems are mine. And if I’m too nasty because defending myself is kind of hard then I will be ostracized because I’m the problem. Not the people hitting me; Me. Not the people defending the people who hit me. I’m the problem.

Do I want such people to like me anyway? What would I have to believe about myself in order to act in a way that they would support? I would have to agree with the premise that if I am kicked in the throat I deserve it and I should apologize for it happening and I should offer to try to stay away from people in group situations because I’m the problem.

Uhm, no. That would not be good mental health.

Group cohesion over the physical safety of group members can bite my ass.

If I lose friends over having that opinion… they were never my friend. They are just somebody that I used to know.

I feel like a tremendous asshole partially because this little drama is happening off-stage for most of the group. I haven’t even talked to many people about it. I didn’t ever tell the group organizer. This is me having made a mistake about the level of support I might expect from one person. And I’m looking at running from the whole group over effectively two families. The one with the kicker and the one who told me to promise that I won’t be a problem any more.

Why do I turn that into “the group”? Why do I do that? I’m having conflict. I haven’t tried to work it out verbally since my one failed attempt. I have not really given an opening for any kind of backpedaling or attempt at any other kind of resolution.

Err, doesn’t really seem “wise” to do so.

I’m having a big problem with the fact that I simultaneously don’t feel like a victim (it was a kid fucking up–not a deliberate assault from an adult… it’s just not psychologically the same thing) and I feel like I’m being victim-blamed.

There’s a lot of transference going on, clearly. This is becoming the “situation du’jour” for me to project my abandonment issues and reenact stupid shit from my family. “They always pick the abuser.” I’ve put a noticeable amount of time into this specific set of relationships. More than I’ve put into the vast majority of people I know.

I guess… I guess I lacked the perspective to understand that this amount of time is very little and very unimportant to people who have had lives very different from mine. Time dilation is a problem for me.

I’m not reacting to right now… only I am. This weekend was very frustrating. The kids… it was a boundaries testing weekend. Those happen. Children are supposed to do that. It is how childhood is supposed to work. I have stacks of books that tell me this will happen. It was a rough weekend.

And then the hotel staff threw away a bunch of the Easter eggs. Because some of them had unwrapped jelly beans in them. I tried to get individual wrapped things of jelly beans and they wouldn’t fucking fit in the eggs. Then when I asked if I could have back the bag of eggs that weren’t hidden or given to children… the person running the hunt said, “Next year buy toys for the eggs.”

I was not very polite. “I won’t be doing anything for you next year.” She looked… pissed off and angry. But then again this is a woman I’ve known since I was 19. We’ve never gotten along. If I had understood in the very beginning that it was that (insert name) I probably wouldn’t have donated eggs in the first place. It made the hunt somewhat unfortunate. Dramatically unfortunate. The person in charge wanted to just go around and have adults collect them to throw away.

I told the kids to run. They listened to me. Luckily we had some big kids so probably at least 100 were picked up.

Next year buy toys?! And you would expect them to be themed. Which means you think I should spend $500+ on toys for people I don’t know. Bitch you are dreaming.

Quite frankly, if I’m going to spend $500 on toys for kids I don’t know… I’m not giving them to the kids who are privileged enough to have parents who bring them to a My Little Pony convention. Yeah right.

(It’s not that I’m against donating $500 to worthy causes. A bunch of spoiled kids aren’t a worthy cause.)

Yes, I’m judgmental as fuck. I can live with that.

I’m partially pissed because I buy candy that *I* will eat. Which means there’s no HFCS, it’s organic sugar. Those assholes threw away a lot of money today.

IT’S ONE MORE THING.

It’s not a “big deal”. But I won’t be going back to that convention next year. I don’t think it is the fault of the convention but I didn’t have much fun. There was a lot going on.

I’m so glad we don’t have much scheduled coming up. The “group” camping trip will probably end up being us and three friends of mine. We will have fun. I am crossing my fingers that two families can go, but I’m not holding my breath.

Maybe that needs to be how I treat “friends” from this point forward. I’ll cross my fingers but I won’t hold my breath. I will allow myself to hope (because gosh I enjoy your company) but I won’t hurt myself with hoping.

I need to be prepared to have fun anyway. I need to make this trip work.

I can’t make everything work. There are relationships I can’t salvage because our basic needs and orientations are too different. There are people I can’t spend much time with because we are both aggressive and overly sensitive at the same time. There are people who just can’t handle being around how angry I am.

Even if I am currently feeling some anger at you, I’m aware that the anger I feel towards you is a speck of sand on the beach of my rage. You aren’t really what I’m angry because of. Ok, I didn’t like that thing that time… but that thing isn’t really why I’m angry.

I’m angry for existential reasons. I’m angry because my mom told me to find a way to just get along with my brother. My mom told me not to disrupt group harmony by getting hysterical over him beating me up and trying to rape me. Just don’t be a problem, Krissy.

I’m not angry because of you. But right now you are standing near me and I am very very angry.

I want to hurt myself really badly. I want an end of these angry voices in my head. I want to beat my head until the throb is so loud I can’t hear them any more.

Krissy is the problem. It has ever been thus. My friend said today that she knows the one way to stop this pain. She’s right. There is only one way.

Today this wave isn’t enough to crest over me. Today is not the day. This isn’t that much pain. I can handle this.

And, I’ll say it: I’m a lucky person. Noah really makes up for a lot of life problems. He is so incredibly kind to me. When I can’t say nothing nice… I’m still grateful for Noah.

Noah tells me it is ok to get mad. Noah talks about the psychological underpinnings of why people must have group loyalty and why that is such a problem for freaks like us. We are the people who have been historically shunned and stoned. (And not in that fun way.) Disruptors.

We are the problem from the point of view of the group. Complaining is the problem. Getting kicked in the throat is fine. Having difficulty breathing is fine. Having trouble swallowing food for days is fine. Complaining is not ok.

This is part of why I don’t do well in social groups. I go home and write about this shit. I’m an asshole.

I want to matter. But I don’t. And it makes me hard. And that makes it even harder for me to matter to people. And it’s all my fault. Because I was the problem. If I could have found a way to not be a problem then things could have been fine. I was serving the forces of group unity.

Now I’m not. I’m trying to act like I, as an individual, am important and that’s stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

My mom couldn’t treat me like an individual. My needs weren’t seen. My needs weren’t important.

The part of me that “should” learn how to deal with people in this situation is stuck. It still thinks that people who react in this manner have the power of life and love and death over me. It isn’t true any more. But my brain is stuck. My brain doesn’t know what it should know. My brain just knows… again.

I’m really happy that I’m going to stay home for a while and meet my own needs. I sure like my home. I like the people in it. Even though the kids… well… we had an adventure together. They have to test boundaries. Some days I handle it better than other days. I was cranky anyway. It sucks for them when I don’t have extra spoons. My belly hurt all weekend and that makes it harder to be patient.

When a kid refuses to use the toilet when you are in the bathroom and says, “No I must go back to the table” and then you go back to the table to drop the kid off and “I have to go pee” and… all weekend was like that. It’s not big stuff. It’s really trivial shit. But I had no spoons for it.

And the kids said their favorite part of the conference was buying the toys with their allowance. I said next time we are going to Target and saving me the cost of the conference.

The bronies were nice people. Folks at the convention went really far out of their way to be nice to random kids. I was highly impressed by the enthusiasm and affection all the cosplayers displayed. They truly love what they are doing and are happy to gab about it for hours. Given how much time Shanna spends talking about sewing stuff… it was a dream come true.

She’s almost 7. Joanne’s down the road won’t teach sewing till a kid hits 8. Good thing we get to blow half a year on a road trip while waiting to grow up. We have hand-sewing projects to keep us busy until then.

I have this problem. Where people want to be my friend-out-at-arms-length and I want them to be my bosom-companion and then I have expectations I shouldn’t have and then… I get upset when they aren’t met.

I create this situation. I just don’t know what to do about it. Transference, projection, abreaction, worth, self-esteem… oh my.

And through it all loops this chain of whispering voices, “Not worth the resources. Just die already. Just die already. Why the fuck aren’t you dead yet you fucking cunt?”

I would like to order a new brain, please. Can I have one delivered in Two Days with Prime?

So many thoughts. Can’t write.

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Social anxiety has caused this conference to be a pain fest. I’ve had nasty diarrhea. I feel horrible. My physical feelings seem to have a very clear social connection to me. I could outline many problems and situations but then I’d be punished more. I’m not up for more punishment this moment. Things are bad enough.

It is funny to me how every so often I learn things. Friends do ______; friends don’t do ____________.

I need to be more ok about just moving on from people who behave in ways that prove they are not my friends. Is it hard? Yes. But people who believe I don’t deserve help when I’m injured are not my friends and I’m hurting myself by knowing them. Many more things I can’t say right now.

I will be ok. I have a great family. I am very lucky. I do have friends. I have friends who will support me. Even if they don’t do it exactly how I want. Even if they are complicated too. I do have friends. Friends who want to support me.

I should focus more on them and less on the other kinds.

Theory tested

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I’m not ok with siblings beating on each other. I know that other parents have other approaches and I’m moderately ok about keeping my mouth shut about other policies. I’m not ok with it. I got beat on a lot. It fucked me up. Won’t happen during my watch.

But of course one of my bonus kids whacked a sibling in the face. Whoops. We had a conversation about how while clearly that was an accident–you apologize anyway. You get one sibling in this life. ONE. You are going to need to depend on your sibling at one point. When you hurt them on accident you apologize and try to do better.

And if you refuse and say, “No I don’t like them” that’s fine. You can sit in time out. I don’t really care how you feel about them right now. Your behavior was wrong and when your behavior is wrong you apologize. That’s how it goes. Yeah, it’ll suck if you get your back up. I can wait.

That whole “I can wait” is why I like home schooling and unschooling in particular. I can spring a teaching moment on them at any point.

I feel grateful that I am allowed to have my bonus kids and be an influence on them during their lifetime. Other than that fierce conversation there hasn’t been anything like a punishment. I did snap once “Everyone has to wait their turn. Stop crying about it.” Then… like a miracle… the kid. I mean, I did more “I can understand that you feel really sad and that’s hard… but if you cry about everything that happens to you then people don’t know to pay attention to you because you are hurt. Seriously, save your crying for big things or people learn to ignore you crying.” It’s more structured than just “stop crying”. It’s more “This isn’t worth crying about” because I think that kids have a hard time understanding those kinds of scales.

When you will get a turn to kill zombies in 8 minutes… not worth crying about the fact that you aren’t killing zombies this second. Come on, kid.

But those were the highest friction moments. Otherwise it has just been a non-stop gigglefest. We’ve played so many games and done so many things and laughed and talked. Most of the sobbing about waiting for a turn is resolved with a hug and “It’s hard waiting–isn’t it?” Then it stops. Acknowledgment of your feelings makes them easier to have.

Shanna taught the other three some Minecraft stuff (and got to feel like a rock star in the process). I taught them some Plants vs. Zombies because Shanna is in awe of my prowess. I find it hilarious.

We had a lot of fun. This morning both bonus kids woke up saying that they are happy they got to be here two nights. My kids are already whining about how we don’t want them to go.

I don’t fuck everything up. I just need environments in which I can be successful. Environments in which hitting is something that people do… that requires a strong suppressing response unless full consent has been attained. Then do whatever you want.

Apologies are required. They are not optional when you hurt someone. If you don’t mean it I will be an asshat and talk about their pain until I force you to feel some fucking empathy. “How would you feel if _____ happened to you? Yeah this is like that.” I’ll find a prompt that will make a little kid sound more sincere. Even if that prompt is “Dinner waits until you can find a tone of voice I like.”

I think that’s what parenting is. You help your kids become more functional people. I probably apologize more than I should. But it’s the only culture I feel comfortable passing on.

I’m having a great time. And today we go to BabsCon. And Noah is going to be with us all weekend because his job is going away. (Long story–it’s not a bad thing.) My Little Pony frenzy, here we come.

Come down like a box of hammers.

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I was thinking about the idea of “safe space”. I hang out in the lobbies of a lot of communities that are very focused on this idea. Places where people are safe. It means very different things to different people. I was thinking about what it would mean to me.

I believe that children need to hit. I believe it is part of the developmental process and …yeah it happens. I believe that the appropriate response is coming down like a box of hammers. On any given day my children get one chance for hitting someone. If they hit a second time we are going home right the fuck now and we will be having an unpleasant conversation the whole way home about how you do not have the right to hit people.

I believe that a safe space for me would involve people caring more when their children hit other people.

I don’t live in a world where that is true. Well, there are always people who over react. I don’t scream hysterically at my children for hitting. I don’t hit them. I don’t ground them for extensive periods of time. I don’t take away a bunch of privileges. I sure as hell don’t punish them once we get home–by then they bloody well forgot anyway.

I react in the moment. You get one chance per day. Not three fucking chances on hitting people. I don’t think so. Unless someone else hit you first, and then ok fine you can hit.

But quite frankly… my kids rarely hit back with anyone other than one another. They like fantasy violence quite a bit. They definitely egg on “fighting”. But they are very aware that if they hit a non-combatant mom is going to explode like a fire cracker. No. No. No.

You do not hit someone unless you have their consent. Did you ask them if they want to play a fighting game with words? No? Then what in the world makes you think it is ok to hit them?! IT IS NOT OK TO HIT SOMEONE WHO HAS NOT CONSENTED TO BEING HIT.

Lots of people will agree to play fighting games if you ask. It’s fine to ask.

But I don’t feel like other people have the consent fetish that I have. I need things negotiated and spelled out. Other people… not so much.

I’ve got to say, when my kids were habitually hitting the punishment did continue to the house. When it was happening almost every time we went somewhere we had groundings at home over it. It is a normal developmental stage.

The important part is how adults handle it. If adults act like it is fine… well. That’s a fucking lesson. If adults teach that you are allowed to hit as long as you don’t get caught… that’s a fucking lesson.

My kids don’t enjoy my blistering lectures. Do they “get” all of them? No. They don’t. I talk as if they were adults and they aren’t. They “get” a fraction of what I’m saying. But these conversations are cumulative. They will remember that from as far back as their memory goes their mother was absolutely consistent you do not hit someone who has not consented to being hit.

I understand that other people don’t think this is a message that should be consciously taught. Maybe they just never think of it as an option as opposed to making a decision. I don’t really know.

But it won’t work any other way in my house. I’ll drag you home from the park yelling at you about how you have no right to strike someone else. I won’t feel bad. I DON’T GET TO HIT YOU. YOU DON’T GET TO TURN AROUND AND HIT OTHER PEOPLE. WE DON’T PLAY THAT SHIT AROUND HERE.

Play fighting is different. That’s a game. Know how you know something is a game? You asked someone if they wanted to play before you got started.

But Shanna seriously has issues about getting in other peoples personal space bubbles. I suspect that is part of what causes kids to feel motivated to hit her. She gets right the fuck in their face and most people aren’t taught what to say. Maybe she’ll learn. I’m not sure how many more times she will need to be hit though. I couldn’t begin to count how many times she’s been punched. We talk about it a lot.

So much for home schooling meaning that my kids won’t be beat on. At least I’m there and I get to take them fucking home after the third hit of the day.

If my kids get one chance, why do I give other people two chances? Because one kid hit both my kids once and the other time… man those two have a long running sorta-feud. Given how many times Shanna has punched him… well. What did she do this time? And he does apologize. Usually even without prompting from an adult.

So how many chances do I give? I don’t know. I’m very tired of being hit. Very very very very very very very very very tired of being hit. And I am even more sick of my kids getting hit. And I notice that they are usually the ones who come crying because they got hit.

I’m not sure if they are bigger whiners or if they are actually hit that much more often than other kids.

I’d like to go a whole fucking year without being hit nonconsensually. I’ve never had a year like that. Not one.

I feel very triggered. I wasn’t “pushed out” of my biological family because I prosecuted my father. But I was told through actions that in order to be allowed to stay I would have to accept that everyone around me would rewrite history. “It didn’t really happen.” “He never did anything like that to anyone else.” “You are the problem. We were fine until you caused problems.”

I’m the problem. I should apologize. I should promise to not be a problem any more.

The only way I can promise that is if I die. I’ve never been anything but the problem.

Cue round of intense suicidal ideation. THIS IS A SHITTY TIME. I HAVE AWESOME KIDS IN THE HOUSE WHO ARE BEING NICE TO ME AND LOVING ON ME. WHY IN THE FUCK AM I IN THE YARD CRYING BECAUSE I FEEL UNLOVED AND WORTHLESS AND LIKE I SHOULD DIE.

Because I can’t not cry if I’m in the room with them right now. And Noah is here. It is being handled.

I’m not going to die over this. These people are so not worth it. If losing my mother isn’t going to do it… hell no. But turning the movie screen surround sound system off is hard. I have a lot of willpower to abstain from following through; stopping the thoughts is harder. I feel like I have run most of my life on sheer hate. I’m not dead yet because you will not win, motherfucker.

Which motherfucker, precisely? I don’t even know any more. Take your fucking pick. I’ve got a whole fucking card deck full of names.

Do something different. Yes, the crying and typing is an improvement over the cutting and the head banging, fine and dandy. (Though the arm pain means that this is maybe actually one of the most self-harming actions of my whole life. Cutting had far less chance of crippling me. Ok, banging my head could have caused a stroke. WHATEVER.)

I should fucking know by now. If you have a problem with people you have to shut the fuck up. People are not actually interested in “working through differences”. They want confirmation bias that they are right and you are wrong. I should never have bothered to talk to that fucking mother in the first place. I knew she wouldn’t give a shit about her kid hurting me. Why in the fuck was I so fucking stupid?

I am the problem. Clearly.

If I didn’t have a house full of kids, whoa. I’d make different life choices.

But if I didn’t have the kids I wouldn’t be dealing with these people anyway. So maybe it’s a wash.

Why don’t I just walk away? Why is this worth bothering to try for anyway? Mostly because I’ve kept my kids here for four years and I’ve told them to bond with people. Now I feel like a monster.

Everyone I tell them to bond with I eventually run off. I am a piece of shit. I suppose it will be a good thing that I have bonus kids here tonight. I will have something to do while I’m awake anyway. They always need a lot of help at night. They haven’t done that much sleeping outside their house. Lots of checking in, “Yes, you are still with Krissy and Noah and Shanna and Calli. Yes, you will see your parents again soon. Yes, we love you. Yes, they love you. It is time to sleep now so we can play tomorrow.” I can fucking smile on cue to be reassuring. I’ve worked hard.

I believe that children deserve to have an adult who wants to meet their emotional needs around. It doesn’t have to be a parent full time. It is healthier if it isn’t. Children need to learn that having needs is ok. Needing reassurance is ok. Needing to have help feeling safe is ok.

I can feel safe here. If I can’t feel safe other places, well… if I weren’t such a fucking problem maybe I wouldn’t have so many problems.

I’ve never been able to find a way to not be a problem other than staying home. Or dying.

I want to run away so bad. I’ve lived here too long. I’ve used up my welcome. People are tired of my bullshit. I don’t blame them. I’m tired of it too. If I could run away from being inside my head I would. I want to turn the movie screens off and I can’t.

I keep coming back to swimming out into the ocean. That really does seem to be my first choice. If I go far enough it is pretty fucking sure. I didn’t do so well with over dosing. My body is so sensitive to medications these days I don’t think my body would permit an overdose. I couldn’t use a gun. I converted my garage so I can’t follow my dad. I’m really not a big enough asshole to use Tommy’s method. That was seriously traumatizing to the people involved in the rescue. That’s not fair you fucking asshole. If you are going to kill yourself, at least don’t make a bunch of fucking spectators watch you burn. Not cool. People don’t get over that. Hell, I didn’t even see it and I can’t get over it.

Swimming. Yes, swimming straight out into the Pacific Ocean sounds great.

I have kids! Can’t! Calli tells me all the god damn time that I have to die of very old age. I’ll try, baby.

I’m definitely having temporary problems right now. In ten years this won’t matter at all. Stop being so melodramatic. Err, I’m diagnosed with reasons why I react this way. Fuck you, negative-self-talk. I am fucking improving. I god damn held it together great today. I didn’t start crying till bedtime. That’s doing just fucking fine, ok?!

Whether something is good or bad depends on your point of view.

So sad.

Good & Bad

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For the past few days I’ve been thinking about something. Most things are neither good nor bad as part of their intrinsic “existence”. They are good or bad in the eyes of someone who is judging.

For example: my kids can’t sit still to save their fucking lives (literally) so they can’t move up to a booster seat from a car seat even though they are WAY big enough compared to the legal minimum. I could be really annoyed with them for being so immature. I could be frustrated that they won’t “grow up”. Or I could recognize that I live full time with ants in my pants and I can be glad that they are in an environment where they aren’t punished for the nature they have. I just keep them in car seats. (This goes through my head because I have to install four carseats in the van again. Sigh. I loathe installing carseats. I always break half my nails and have numb fingers for days. CAN’T WE MOVE INTO FUCKING BOOSTERS ALREADY?!?!?!!!!!!)

I sent a reference to a study to a friend. She was afraid I was trying to say something mean. It was a study that finds that how much time parents spend with their kids has little effect on outcome for life. Being a working parent is no worse than being a stay at home parent according to this study–specifically they found that socio-economic level is most of what decides how your kids will turn out. (Shocking, I know.) I sent this to a friend who works in a “See! You were right all along!” sort of way. She didn’t read it that way. I’m sorry it seemed hurtful. I meant it more like, “I’m totally wasting time obsessing over my kids. I should get a job.”

I more meant to poke fun at myself. But things are neither good nor bad in a vacuum. They are good or bad depending on how they are received.

I pick sensitive people to be friends with. That means there are times when we all feel thin skinned. I keep praying that I will get better at riding through these times.

Shanna asked me if she was stupid for loving the boy she’s had a crush on for years. I told her that if loving him brings both of them joy and happiness… it isn’t stupid even if you don’t love him forever. It is never stupid to enjoy the time you have with someone. Even if it isn’t forever.

I need to work on my perspective around the home school group. I fear that we are nearing our exit date. This feels so sad. I’m not going to be an asshole about doing anything dramatic before the trip. I just don’t know that I will try hard to rejoin the group when we come back. I really don’t know.

On one hand I’m having a hard time with this because I feel like a quitter and a bad person. My kids NEED FRIENDS. But… my kids have friends with or without this group. And really… they didn’t bond that much with anyone. Near as I can tell most of the group doesn’t like us very much. It is hard that we have put in the time to get established in the group. It’s been four years. If we have more problems than good times… why bother?

This is still going to be the school group I’ve been associated with the longest for my life. Maybe I’ve hit the limit of what I can handle. If my kids were going to preschool then regular school we wouldn’t get upset about graduating from one group of people to another. Why do I feel like such a quitter with this crowd?

I’m tired of driving 40+ minutes to sit at a freezing cold park. I’m the one with the problem so I’ll solve it by backing away.

Apparently I’m the one with most of the problems. I should promise to not be a problem any more.

Maybe I should just stay home.

Maybe I’m just the problem.

The group doesn’t care about having institutional memory as to which kids have done what. I need to not care either. I have no power, influence, or status. Shut the fuck up you stupid bitch.

I …

I feel sad.

So I’ll say that today I took the trailer to the CHP station to get the VIN verified. On Friday I get to visit the DMV for registration and licensing and what-not. I’m excited. I get to run away from home soon. So I can forget that I’m not very wanted.

Tonight my bonus kids will come to visit. They stay till Friday. I’ll drop them off on our way to PonyCon (Officially named BabsCon but who knows what the hell that means). I’m so excited about seeing them. I haven’t been feeling very successful with kids lately other than them. I feel like I’m doing everything wrong because I’m bad. Because I deserve to be kicked. Because I am bad. Because I’m angry that I was told to promise not to be a problem any more. I don’t know how to stop feeling angry about this.

I’ll stop eventually. I’m just not there yet.

Next week a different set of kids is spending the night. We have never kept this pair before. I have more apprehension than with my bonus kids just because I’ve never been alone with these kids for long. They have very different rules in their family. (Not evaluating them as better or worse.) It’s going to be an exercise in “setting expectations”. I love those. I do better with kids than I do with adults.

With kids I’m good at saying, “Oh! I didn’t explain this right. That was my mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how to be successful.” With adults I’m all, “What the fuck is wrong with you? Why did you fuck up?” Which is… not so helpful. I’m such an asshole.

I feel very good at handing patience to people I perceive as younger than me and horrifyingly bad at doing it with people who are older. One trick to force me out of this pattern is to have someone older than me as my designated student. (I have taught writing classes to adults much older than me.) Then I know going in that I have the “power” in the exchange and I can be gracious.

Such an asshole.

We got our summer sandals yesterday so we can work on breaking them in before the trip.

The thing about not feeling wanted… I spend a fair bit of time feeling like Noah doesn’t want me around. If ever there was an irrational, unfounded feeling… this is it.

The problem lies in my ability to perceive. Part of the trouble is people are so spread out that everyone needs a lot of driving from me in order to facilitate relationships. That hurdle means I need to feel pulled like a magnet. If I don’t feel wanted like that… it gets harder and harder.

I called my friend on the phone every day for over a year. We had a hard communication issue. We are still friends. I love her so much. I don’t really call any more. I can’t. I’m not punishing her. I just… can’t. I start crying as soon as I pick up the phone because I don’t feel invited enough so I put it down without dialing. Which isn’t her fault and I don’t want her to do anything to try and change this. It just is. Instead we are emailing a bit more often and trying to arrange in person time. I can feel wanted enough for that. Once I get there her facial expression lets me know that she really wants me there. But a hurdle got put in front of the phone. And I don’t know how to get over it.

I do this with people and methods of communication. This is a constellation of problems I have over and over with a wide variety of people. This isn’t someone else’s fault. It just is.

Living with it is hard. Is my over sensitivity a good thing or a bad thing? It just is. Being this sensitive is part of what makes me me. It’s part of what makes me good at being empathetic in the ways I am. I wouldn’t give up that part of me for anything. It just means that I am hypersensitive to feeling like my presence is not making peoples lives better.

I want to make peoples lives better. I’m terribly afraid that mostly I make the world a worse place. I drain people of energy and resources and I’m really not worth it. I’m a needy motherfucker.

Someone I know was talking about how she has “no friends” but I know of her knowing a lot of people. Near as I can tell she meant, “I don’t have anyone I can call on a bad day for support”. Uhm, do you know what I do on my bad days? I talk to the internet. I don’t get a response the vast majority of the time. I don’t call anyone. I don’t have anyone in my life right now that I feel that comfortable with. I’ve had it at points for periods of time, but it comes and goes.

Mostly on bad days I isolate myself and cry and try to wait for it to end; I hope it ends fast.

Does that mean I have “no friends”? Well that seems mean to all of the people who give what they can.

My bad days are just too much. They are too bad. They are too frequent. It isn’t fair to burden people. My shrink tells me over and over that I just can’t expect to ever have that kind of support. Period.

So I stay home. And I cry. And I write. That’s how I get through bad days now.

Well, at least it is better than cutting myself as a reminder that everyone would be happier if I was dead. If I stopped being such a problem.

My feelings are all over the map. High and low at the same time. This is overwhelming and shitty.

Just run away. Just run away. Just run away.