I know I didn’t actually win here. I know that all of the folks who have been streaming in are still capable of getting here. If they are smart enough to figure out the work around. (I sincerely hope they are smart enough for that. If they aren’t I weep for the future of my country.) But it means I don’t have to see direct links from facebook, the troll site, or donotlink ever again.

That feels wonderful. Ahhhhh. I’m tired of watching those specific sites clime to hundreds of direct hits. Y’all don’t deserve a direct hit. You haven’t worked hard enough for it.

The best best best part is Noah said something like, “Well there are blockers…” and I jumped out of bed to look one up, download, and install it within a few minutes. By myself. Because I’m a competent motherfucker.

I am fully aware people can get here any way. Just not from those asshole locations.

I did discover that apparently in 2014 a sex worker shared one of my pro sex work posts on facebook. That was nice of her. Now she can’t direct link any more. Because of whoever the hell you are from yesterday.

There is always collateral damage, yeah?

Yesterday was rough. Noah told me that I don’t have grumpy days like that very often. I sure hope he wasn’t blowing sunshine up my skirt.

This is how bad I felt On the 80% bad days on the trip. I had a few days that felt worse but not many. It is physical, emotional, and spiritual. Pot does a lot for me and I have such mixed feelings about that.

When I have a few months of being a truly consistent daily user (it’s hard to manage that because if I’m going to drive in a day I don’t medicate till bed. So I have a lot of unmedicated days.) I get to this point of trying to talk myself into believing that the pot was a crutch and now I’ve learned the skills to manage my body and I’m ready to stop. Then I take two or threes off. My stomach hurts so bad I can barely eat. My head hurts all the time. I’m mean. I cry a lot. I am grumpier than fuck. It suuuuuuuuuuucks.

Then Noah looks at me sheepishly and says something about how maybe the medicine isn’t all bad?

It’s gotta be like living with a schizophrenic who likes to go off their meds. I get erratic and scary.

Sometimes I wonder if I actually have a higher than usual potential for violence. I’m not sure. As a species we are god damn scary. Given the life I’ve lead I don’t think I am particularly violent at this point. I need severe provocation. Like someone grabbing me and saying they won’t let go till they “give me what I want”. Under those circumstances I’m happy to pull all the stops. I’ll hurt you till *I* feel like stopping.

Folks are arguing with great vigor on the PTSD site about how it isn’t fair that people assume that those with PTSD will be violent. I’m all… not fair? But many of us are violent. So you’re saying to spare the feelings of the non-violent folks with PTSD we should pretend that no one with PTSD is violent? That means folks won’t be able to defend themselves against clear and present danger because they were told people with PTSD aren’t dangerous.

Guess what honey, everyone can be dangerous. PTSD isn’t really what makes us dangerous. Our core personalities do that. PTSD is a problem where we can’t always 100% accurately react to just what is happening in the room with us right now because our brains are stuck in a loop with something terrifying and horrifying and possibly life threatening. So we act out because we feel like animals caught in a trap. That can be violent.

Usually it isn’t. Usually people with PTSD are more likely to hurt themselves than others. So I get why the stigma feels scary and hard and unfair.

But there are people with PTSD who are violent and saying they aren’t is…

I can’t get behind that. I’m still standing here fucking up your plan. Sorry.

I am most inconvenient.

Noah and I kinda had it out last night. Being off meds means things that I can usually brush off… I just can’t. So we had some strong words. I think that is the closest to a fight we’ve had in a very long time. It wasn’t so much a fight as me saying, “Lately you have been doing x, y, and z and it hurts my feelings!” “Oh. I have been. You’re right. I’m sorry. I’ll work on that.”

So not really much of a fight. But I was really emotional. Then he snuggled me to sleep rubbing my head.

Deep breaths Krissy. I’m feeling very interested in hurting myself. I’m sitting here thinking, “I’m never good enough for anything.” I know it isn’t “TRUE” but today is going to be rough. I think today I’m going to have a lot of suicidal ideation. It’s starting already. I will be gentle with myself. Often my first impulse upon feeling suicidal is to dissociate as much as possible so I’m not conscious of what is happening to my body. I always hurt myself a lot that way. I bang into things. I drop things onto my foot. I have… very little ability to be present in my body while wanting to kill it.

I’m going to try today though. I only have to seriously interact with other grown ups for half an hour. Otherwise it’s hanging at home with my family. The babysitter is coming in the morning and Noah is around in the afternoon.

God I love the babysitter. She makes my life 500% better.

Her mom told me the other night, “It was really smart of you to keep paying her enough for her phone when you were gone. She wasn’t tempted to get a job.”

THAT WAS THE IDEA! I wanted her to spend 6 months underemployed so I could snatch her right up the minute we came back. Of course I’m going to keep paying her basic expenses in the mean time! If I don’t she will get a real job and not be available to me and that would suuuuuuuuuuuuck.

You can’t get better than a religiously home schooled teenager who lives three doors away. That is the absolutely ideal baby sitter in my opinion.

Why? She believes in boundaries and modeling and showing by example. She’s a good role model. She’s a great person. I sincerely like her and I’m grateful my kids get to grow up knowing people like her. AND she’s available during the day. We are so lucky.

Money is power. I learn that more deeply with every passing year.

Later today I will have a book review of Slack. It’s… got high points and down points. I continue to have my raging flood of hatred for corporate/tech people looking down on “non-knowledge jobs”. Just because someone works with their hands does not make them essentially replaceable with any and all people who work with their hands. A plumber probably doesn’t make the best carpenter.

I’m really really really really really tired of this fucking elitism. I have heard it all my life and all it makes me feel is raging hatred towards the “elite”. You motherfuckers act like you are so fucking smart and important and irreplaceable but you couldn’t do the job of 99% of people who work with their hands. So why in the fuck do you feel so superior you fucking piece of shit?

I believe that knowledge workers are not inherently superior to gardeners. There isn’t a thing in this world that will convince me they are superior.

I think we need everyone. Top to bottom. I think every level is as important as the others. I think people need to do what they want to do with their bodies whether that be work with your hands or your brain and there should be no shame.

And fucking CEOs should not be allowed to make so much money. Period. They don’t earn that money. They steal it from people who produce actual value for the company.

I will get around to saying good things about Slack… later…

After I hate on the elitists again. (I am increasingly one of these elitists. Maybe I hate them more because I now fall under the umbrella and it is my self hate reaching out to everyone like me?)

Today is intentionally easy. Let’s see if I rest, eh? My stomach hurts so bad. I had this stomach pain for most of my life. It went away when I started using pot. I miss pot today. Sometimes I wonder if I have “punished” myself by denying food so many times because I sorta knew that eating doesn’t improve the stomach pain and sometimes makes it worse. It depends on how recently I’ve eaten.

If I eat every hour to two hours, mostly carbs and sugar, I can sorta not feel pain in my stomach. Then I get horrible horrible diarrhea cause that’s not food. If I try to eat things that are more complex to digest (like vegetables or fruit) I have horrible grinding stomach pain that can make me cry. Usually followed by horrible diarrhea cause my body is so angry I put that inside me. So I try to eat a lot of meat. Meat is the most comfortable food I can put in my body. I pray that it is nature’s little multi-vitamin and I’m benefiting from all that the animals ate. Please let that be enough.

So was I denying myself out of punishment or out of desire to not have diarrhea? Hard to tell.

Little of Column A, Little of Column B.

I missed my December massage because the three of us were sick. (Me, Noah, and the massage therapist.) We aren’t scheduled till the weekend of Valentines day. My neck hurts. Noah does help, but post-motorcycle days his hands wear out.

I’m totally going to support him being a motorcycle rider again someday. I reallllllllllllllllllllly liked how strong his hands were. *swoon*

We want youngest child to be at least a teenager. So probably 9+ years to go. We will survive. We’ve already been married that long. Surely we can do that time again.

It makes me feel very safe that when I get upset about something Noah is doing and I tell him so (not in the nicest words) he says, “Yes. I did that. I shouldn’t have.”

I feel so safe. I feel like my version of reality is treated like it accords with everyone else’s.

Whoa.

I mean, I have things that are part of my reality that isn’t part of theirs–I have a lot of anger issues. But when I’m angry about something from the past I say it is from the past and I’m sorry I’m bringing it forward. When I’m angry about something right now people act like I’m not crazy. I’m telling the truth about a problem.

That’s very healing. I am pretty sure that I would never have been able to manage the degree of healing I have managed under any other circumstances. I have never before in my life had consistent dealings with a man who will treat me the way Noah treats me.

I hit the jackpot.

It is so easy to forgive someone who rarely needs to say, “I’m sorry” but who does so whole heartedly when it comes up. That is trust building, right there.

I think I’m mixing up a few lines from different books, but I’ve had this thing in my head for a few days, “In perfect love and perfect trust you must create a vessel of the self where the self is not.” I’m not sure if that is pulled straight from a Kushiel book but it might be. I have to look up the line to see if I’m stealing it straight or mixing it with other elements.

I think about that a lot with regards to the incest research I want to do. I have to make myself into a vessel for so much pain it is going to almost drown me. But I am going to have to make sure the real me is not there. I feel like I need to build two things inside of me. A bottomless well and a house right next to it. There will be roses and hydrangeas in the yard. (I’m so upset my hydrangea died–that’s my favorite plant.) The house will be where I put me. Where I keep myself safe from all the hard. All the horrible. All the pain. I can come out of the house to talk to people. I can walk them over to the pool and invite them to cry until they run out of tears. Don’t worry. The pool can hold them all.

Then when they are ready to keep walking I will go back inside my house. Where I am safe. Where I am me. Where the pain gets to be left outside because not all pain is mine to carry. Sometimes it is like being a midwife. I am just here to help you get that thing out. I don’t do the work. You do it. I just stand nearby and make comforting noises and occasionally hand you useful tools.

I love you. I want you to be here. Sometimes you need to purge in order to really blossom into who you could be.

I understand.

I pulled one five gallon bucket of weeds yesterday. Did a few loads of laundry. Did dishes. Read a whole bunch. Stretched. Practiced my Spanish. (3% fluent? Who in the hell is duolingo kidding!?) Took the kids to Rockin Jump and sat on my ass. I typed more than I should but not crazy excessively. Filled the bird feeders.

That was most of my work, I think. That is a light load.

For reasons passing my understanding I prefer to do like 80% of my stretching/yoga on the floor. I’m always afraid of getting dizzy and falling down. Which means I think I’m lacking core stability and strength. I need to find a way to work on this.

Eventually.

With all the other shit I’m supposed to do. Sigh.

I keep thinking, “When am I going to start working on the books!” Then I think, “Not today.”

A friend invited me to a womens retreat this year. That might take the place of the writing conference. I don’t think I want to be gone alone for four weekends this year. Also, the womens thing is in July and otherwise all my outings are over by May.

I *am* going to Sobonfu’s thing this year. I am looking forward to having this experience outside the university setting. I had a hard time with the fact that most of the people at the previous grief rituals were students doing it for a grade so they often didn’t take it seriously. This will be more a retreat for folks who just really want to be there. That sounds way better.

Printed out the registration form yesterday. I’m mailing it in. And I paid for an Impact class the last weekend in January.

I’m trying to fix my brain and my body. That’s complicated. There are so many things to fix. I have experienced serious, noticeable growth because of the grief rituals I have been to. I always walk away feeling like I learned a lot of things I desperately need to learn. Sobonfu doesn’t have biological children. She often treats her clients like they are hers to mother. I’m ok with that.

The Impact class was wonderful. My goal this time: more control and less force. Last time I took an Impact class I proved to my own satisfaction (and to the poor suited instructors) that I hit hard enough. That’s not what I need to keep working on. Accuracy and control. I’d like to graduate onto the advanced classes where you deal with multiple assailants and weapons. They don’t let you do that till you have a lot more control than I demonstrated in my first class. Plenty of force!

Do you know how good it feels to hit a 6′ tall man in the face and watch him go flying many feet backwards?

Oh god that’s a good feeling.

I mean, yes the suited instructors do learn to fall and fall hard so they don’t get hurt. But they weren’t flying like that from the other ladies. I hit hard.

(A few lucky punches from other people had similar effects. I’m not the toughest bitch out there or anything. I just…. can’t tone it down so almost every hit was that hard from me.)

I want to be capable of delivering overwhelming force. I want to have such control over it that it never slips out on accident. That’s kind of a tough combo.

Ok, kids are up. I should stop.