Therapy this morning was intense. It is rare I sob hysterically for half a session. I’m really struggling with feelings about my mom. It is fascinating how it is working this season. It’s different than previous years. I pretty much didn’t think about my mom till December 26th and it’s been a sob-fest since. It has been especially brutal during the t-break.

My shrink is very strongly urging me to back off on blogging for a bit and write some books. She believes there is more catharsis for me there than the shorter form brain dumps.

I had an acupuncture appointment today. The woman I saw was incredibly motherly, gentle and kind. She also does some form of massage (Tui Na–whatever that means; ok fine I should look it up) that she says is especially good for PTSD because it is good at working on releasing emotions as opposed to muscular pain. That sounds like a big claim. I need to research. I’m also willing to try just about anything once. She did wonders for my shoulder pain. The low back stuff is so tricky.

I have a chiropractic appointment in 2.5 hours. Then Eldest Child has a gymnastics class.

I’ve also called several contracting companies. Some are busy. Some are checking in. Some haven’t called me back yet. I have to get on it though. We have 179 days till the permit expires. I should probably call more people today…

I’m tired and sad. I don’t want to fix me. I want to lie down and never get up again.

I read an essay today on rape.  I feel conflicted about this. I have had trouble with the “rape is about power” narrative for years. It has always felt like it ignored a lot of possible motivations.

I’m going to go backwards in time. Because I want to today.

When Noah raped me (my final rape) it was… complicated because we had previously negotiated that at some point it was ok for him to ignore my no and have sex with me anyway. He had permission to do that once. He picked a very traumatic day (I had just hung up the phone from calling CPS on my sister and I was highly distressed) and I’m cranky with him over that… but complicated. I had previously consented. So is it rape? Good golly My body processed it as rape whether it was legally or not. I had no desire and I have no desire to prosecute him for it. I gave him permission.

Paul. Was that about power or wanting sex? We were at a sex party. I was happy to have sex with him with a condom. He didn’t want to wear a condom. I was on drugs and not physically able to push him off of me. It was only a few penetrations anyway. He didn’t orgasm in me. I feel pretty confident that was a power trip. A power trip he can’t remember because he was on so many drugs so his friends say it didn’t happen. He’s kinda famous. He puts on childrens shows.

Kevin. This is one I really struggle to define as rape. He licked my cunt when I explicitly told him I was not interested in sex with him. He didn’t use his penis or fingers. I struggle to believe I’m allowed to call this rape. But it was sexual contact I had repeatedly refused. Was that about sex or power? Why was I naked around him if I didn’t want to have sex with him? He was a massage therapist. I hang out with a lot of people who are naked when they aren’t at work. Only one has broken my boundaries so I don’t think the problem is being naked with your friends.

Dan. We were on our second date. I meant to have sex with him. With a condom. He got me so drunk I blacked out then had unprotected sex with me because he knew I was on birth control. The funny thing is: I was way way way way sluttier than him. He was really stupid to want to have unprotected sex with someone who was as promiscuous as me. I think that pushing someone to drink way past their comfort level falls squarely into wanting power.

The guy I picked up on match.com when I was 18. He spiked my drink. I had a shot or two and remember nothing. I found condoms the next day in the trash. My friend (who was hosting the party) said I had been acting really weird and I went to sleep early. Was that about sex or power? I don’t know.

You know what? I can’t keep doing this. This is hurting like fuck. Those are the people who raped me when I was an adult. When it feels different. I can’t go back through the childhood rapes and debate them with myself. Not right now.

I can’t. It all feels like my fault. It all feels like if I hadn’t been so stupid. It all feels like what I deserve for being stupid and for wanting to be around people.

If I had just stayed home like a good girl…

But at home I had to face my family. That wasn’t better. If I had spent more time around Tommy he would have eventually been successful in raping me. Maybe it is better that it was outside the family, at least.

I find myself choking on trying to decide if these rapes were about sex or power. My throat is closing.

What about the attempted rapes? God so many of those. I have had attempted rapes be prevented by bystanders. It is part of why I am pro bystander intervention.

If Cameron (Kameron?) hadn’t pulled Justin physically off of me… but they remained good friends afterwards.

My dad raped everyone. Was that about sex or power? He started when he was a kid with his siblings. He continued on. I know about 6 victims and I’m fully convinced there were more.

Why am I doing this to myself this morning?

Because it is better than cutting.

It is actually… grossly comforting to me that I’m less and less likely to be raped as I get older. I’m less appealing. *phew* I may not let my kids leave the house unsupervised at 15. That’ll be jacked up.

Part of the reason I think about these things as much as I do is because if there is a pattern that is my fault, I need to figure out what to change. I want to be to blame. Because that way I can make it stop. If it isn’t my fault then I can’t make it stop. It is just… what happens.

Do you know that at this point I work very hard to ensure I am rarely alone with a man? Just about never. So close to never you could probably say never these days. I think that is fucked up. I think the fact that I look at every man as a potential rapist really sucks. But if you’ve been burned 12 times and you stick your hand right back on that burner it is your own god damn fault.

It isn’t fair of me to paint all men with the same brush.

But it is my own god damn fault when I’m around the wrong men and they rape me.

Don’t you see how there is no winning here?

Given that our society works very hard to ensure that girls can’t pass around knowledge about the rapists…

How are we supposed to protect ourselves?

We aren’t. We are supposed to shut up and accept however people feel like treating us. You don’t believe me? Watch how children are indoctrinated in school. Don’t talk back. Don’t resist authority. Don’t be belligerent. Don’t have your own opinions or thoughts. Don’t argue with the status quo. Don’t stand up when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t sit down when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t go to the bathroom unless you have permission.

There is no room for autonomy there. We are supposed to just do as we are told.

Have you ever noticed that there are differences between how teachers punish boys and girls? Girls are sat on faster and more efficiently but with less violence and hatred. Boys are allowed to break rule after rule after rule after rule until they make someone so angry that they freak out and over react on a stupid unrelated punishment that doesn’t teach boundaries.

Boys and girls are not socialized to the same rules.

I find it interesting how many people in the psychology world believe that talking about old stuff isn’t helpful. You need to just focus on the here and now.

But the thing is, your past helped create who you are. Ignoring it means that you can’t understand why you have some behaviors. I don’t know about you, but it is a lot easier for me to change my behavior if I understand why I adopted it in the first place and why it is no longer serving me.

Why do I think about my own rapes so much? Partially because I deal with rape survivors more than average for non-therapists. I think about the patterns within my own life so I can help other people figure out patterns in their life so that we can all figure out what is actually better for us.

I don’t know how to do that without thinking about history.

I woke up to really brutal diarrhea. I’m pretty sure my body is done with carbs as my main food source. When I feel really bad, my body doesn’t want to process vegetables at all so I eat very little. Protein makes me feel bad. Yesterday my protein and vegetable matter was a combined ~ 1oz. So of course my body flushes. This is what makes folks suggest that I have celiac. I don’t think I do. I think that when I’m feeling really anxious and I can’t eat my body purges like fuck out of panic. Kind of like how birds have to poop every time they lift off to lighten the load.

Tonight we all have our first martial arts classes. Oh this should be entertaining. Wake up at 2:30 in the morning, have difficult physical skill class at 7:30pm. What could go wrong?

I think I need to nap today.

I also need to force myself to eat. I’m on day four of the medication withdrawal. I have to god damn eat. In the previous three days I don’t think I’ve consumed a day of calories. No wonder I feel like shit.

I love pot so much. You have no idea.

I haven’t eaten a day of calories in three days. I went on a challenging walk yesterday. Day before was the test for the martial arts class.

Well, that means a weight drop is about to begin. Sigh.

I don’t do this on purpose.

I don’t think Dark Garden will be very happy if my measurements change substantially in just a month. Oh well.

If I knew of something I could eat without feeling worse I would eat more. But right now everything feels crummy. I did manage some cheese when I woke up this morning. Maybe if I go eat right now instead of waiting for Noah I can get ahead of the curve. My belly only hurts at like a 3 right now. If I wait till “breakfast time” it is going to get worse. That’s how it goes.

It is kind of like that horrible stage of pregnancy where you have to keep something in your stomach at all times or you get sick. That’s my life.

I can’t think of a single thing I actually want to eat. Crap.

Everything sounds disgusting. Even ramen. You know things are bad for me when I can’t bear the thought of ramen.

Ramen is what I eat when I can’t eat anything else. This has been true for over 30 years. But I just can’t today. Shit.

Whoa. Weird. I went to the kitchen and poked around. Do you know what I want? Beans and cheese. I’m pretty sure that has never been true before in my life. I’ve definitely eaten it before, but wanting it is weird. If my body wants it, I’ll eat it. Wow. These taste so freakishly good. What is wrong with me!?

Bodies are so weird.

Ok, the beans are delicious and the cheese is meh. Oh well.

Oh, as far as weight goes: I weighed myself at the chiropractor’s office. 172! I’m thrilled. I didn’t know it was that high. *happy dance* That was before the med break. Let’s see where I am in a week or three, enh?

Why is being heavier better than being lighter? I cry when I hit 152. I try to avoid it.

My clothes don’t fit. I don’t have the physical leverage to do a lot of things I want to do. 20 lbs is a big difference in strength for me. I cannot lift my children when I’m at the bottom of my range. I will fall down. I can at this weight, still.

Yeah my kids are getting too big to be carried. I’m not ready to give it up. This may contribute to my back problems. And my neck problems. And my shoulder problems.

Yes, I know that my physical problems are my own damn fault. As I type and type and type and fuck up my hands.

Noah has been expressing concern. He’s worried about the level of disability I will hit. That’s just cause he has to listen to me cry from pain.

I am so aware it will be my own damn fault. Just like everything else.

I know.

I don’t feel as suicidal as I did yesterday. Well, that’s good at least. My shrink sent me a rec for a med doctor I can probably get into see fairly quickly for more Lorazepam at nights. If I am going to have a snowball’s chance in hell of doing a month I need nighttime help. Don’t know if they will have a stop-gap day time option. I doubt it. Most things I’ve already tried to horrible effect. But meds change all the time. Maybe there is some spiffy new short term anxiety med that doubles as stomach pain medication.

A girl can hope, right?

Ok, I let Noah get a reasonable amount of sleep. Now I can go cuddle him.

I walked to the farmers market with Eldest Child. It was a wonderful trip. We both really enjoyed the time alone.

That’s why I insist on dates. Because they build a relationship.

We talked and talked and talked. Only a few times did I start crying and getting overly emotional. When I started mumbling to myself because I couldn’t keep the “I’m sorry” chanting in my head silent I told her to just ignore me when I’m like this.

She said, “Mom. You are in pain. I’m not going to ignore you when you are in pain.”

I almost collapsed right there sobbing.

I told her, “Well… ok I am in pain. But I’m mostly in pain from very old things that don’t bother me so much when I’m medicated properly. Today is hard.”

“I know that. But if today is a hard day, maybe I shouldn’t ignore you.”

That was really intense. I feel horribly guilty that my children are aware of my problems but trying to hide them would be worse. I couldn’t hide the impact of my issues. I could just lie about the structure of it.

I don’t know if I am helping them build strength or weakness. I don’t know if being aware of other peoples feelings like this will overall be a win or a problem in their lives. Are they going to spend their time chasing broken people because they want to save them?

That scares me.

It’s a little over three miles round trip to the farmers market. I can’t tell if I’m just that sick, or if I’m out of shape or what. Maybe it is the not eating a days worth of calories in the 24 hours around puking?

The walk hurt. It hurt really a lot. My hips hate me and would like to poke me with sharp pointy things.

The walk back with 20+ lbs of groceries was kinda brutal. We had to stop and rest several times.

To be fair: when we used to do this walk… we pulled a wagon and did not carry the groceries. So maybe that is part of why the walk was so brutal. I may want another damn wagon. Our old one broke, much to my sadness.

I’m scared of the balance between weakness and strength. I’m scared that I am too weak. I am scared that being strong is a myth. I’m afraid that being strong means wanting to be… I don’t know… bigger, meaner, more awful.

I do want to drive people away from me if they are around me just to be nasty. I absolutely do. I’m ok with that strength.

But at the same time, there are an awful lot of people in this world I want to connect with. I don’t want to drive everyone away. If you present yourself wrong… that happens.

I’m scared.

My emotions are everywhere this morning. I feel grateful that the jumping beans didn’t get going till 6 am. I got a reasonable amount of sleep. Thank you Lorazepam–you’re my only hope. (These are the last 2 pills from a prescription I got last spring. I use these suckers sloooooowly because they are far more habit forming and harmful than pot.)

So now I’m on my own for a few days. Cue sobbing soundtrack.

I have all the feelings this morning. Noah calls pot my apathy enhancement drug and he’s not wrong. A lot of my problem in life is that I just care too much about everything and everyone. I’m not… I’m not good at being in neutral. I LOVE or I hate. There isn’t that much in the middle for me. It is rare for me to kinda like or kinda dislike something. I’m brutal. I’m all the way.

Part of the reason I went on the road trip was because I wanted to pull taut the strings in my life and see which ones held.

I’m seeing.

It hurts.

I thought… I thought I would keep some of the people who have wandered off. If I sent a whole stack of postcards and presents and letters to people and I still haven’t heard from them… they are done with me.

So today I have this feeling that I wasted so much time and energy on people who didn’t actually love me at all and that hurts.

I’ll get over it. A shit ton faster than I’ve gotten over my family. I don’t still cry about all the losses of friendships in my life. I’d never stop crying.

I don’t even cry over Brittney anymore. She was my best friend for thirty years.

In the end I wasn’t someone she wanted in her life. I don’t act right. I don’t leave skeletons in the closet. I don’t deny who is a cheating bastard. I call it like I see it. That means you lose friends when their life depends on their ability to “not see” bad things that are happening near by.

I’m not big on “slow fades” but we’ve been home long enough and I’ve sent enough feelers out that I think it is time for me to recognize that a whole bunch of people I thought I was close with… no not so much. I’ve been home for almost two months. I contacted them. I invited them to things.

I need to let go. I just removed people from the google group if they haven’t acknowledged me in 9+ months.

You don’t want to be in my life. That’s ok. I need to stop looking for you. I need to stop hoping for you and that is so hard.

I live my life in this state of hope. Surely I will find more people to love and some of them will love me. Sometimes I think that is the thing that has kept me alive through so much horror. I have this deep part of my soul that cannot be convinced I am out of love to give.

I don’t know why I love you all so much. Even the people I am really angry with. Even the people I want to scream, “Go away!” I say that because I don’t like how you are treating me. No because I don’t want to love you.

I… I’m not in a place where people can treat me however they like to treat people and that’s good enough. I’m brittle and fragile and oh so specific. It is hard to learn how to be around me without hurting me.

It’s part of that whole ‘trigger warnings’ thing that bugs me so much. It is excruciatingly hard and it takes years for someone to learn how to not trigger me. Noah is still struggling to learn. I have so many triggers. So many things flip a switch in my head so that I feel like there are emergency sirens screaming, “Die you worthless whore. Die. Die. Die. Die.”

I know that frequently I am the problem. The only way out of being the problem I have ever been able to devise is either disappearing or dying. I can’t disappear any more.

I can’t password lock my journal. Why? Because then I won’t be able to find the other incest survivors. I need to be able to find them. That is what I am going to do with my life.

Once I finish growing up.

That means I need to stand in a place where bullies can see me. I don’t like standing here. I’ve kinda been a target enough in my life. But if I want to find the incest survivors… I’m going to need to be a target. It scares me something fierce.

So many people are going to want to hurt me. I know I’m being overly paranoid about the troll witches. They aren’t actually hurting me. I “know” I am reacting out of proportion to what is happening right now.

I’m reacting like this is part of everything that has happened and everything that will happen. I’m acting like it isn’t an isolated event because for me it isn’t. It is… kinda normal.

Why do I respond with such hostility? Because I have learned that the low level bullies retreat when I do that and I need to have that much of a buffer. Does it make me easy to deal with? No. But sometimes being easy isn’t my goal. Sometimes striving for easy just means you are easier to hurt.

I was interrupted for breakfast. Now it’s time to walk to the farmers market.

I’d like to write a whole long thing about how awesome married sex is, but I don’t have time.

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.