Had a chat with Noah last night about the fact that he’s been a wilting flower for quite a while here. He periodically complains that all he gets to do is work. He’s right that all he does is work at his job, work on his second job, and work at home. It’s true. But I’ve been telling him to change that for over a year. I was kinda mad at him for sitting at home when we were on the roadtrip. YOU HAVE FRIENDS. GO SEE THEM.

But Noah does that man-thing where he isn’t good at organizing and arranging stuff with people unless he is dating them. Then he’s better than average.

I told Noah that he should finish the book he is most of the way through creating, because he’s already put so much time into it. But he should finish by June. Then he needs to take a break from having a second job, kind of indefinitely.

And instead of hunting for a raise in your next job you should look for an 80% position. If we could have that at exactly this salary, rad. If we lost $10k-$20k it wouldn’t be a problem at all. If we kept good medical insurance, a $20,000 dip would be fine if it gave us 3 day weekends every week.

Noah has been working like a fiend for ten straight years. He has provided magnificently. He has put us on a such a trajectory that it would take a rather major disaster for us to lose course. We are almost set for life.

And it’s not really about the second job, you know? Your primary job pays absurdly well. We are fine. It’s ok to spend more time not working. It’s ok to remember if you even have friends. Hell, after how hard you’ve worked for this long… go date. Something. Stop looking like a sad zombie walking through life.

I have worried that Noah was depressed for a while. I’ve been talking to him about it. He doesn’t find a lot of joy in… anything. I’m concerned. If this is how you feel just doing work and the kids and me…

Let’s change something. You matter. You are so important. Your happiness is so important.

Sarah is smart and Sarah says, “Ok, you are up. How are you going to handle the come down?”

This is why I keep my friends around. They check me on my shit. They keep it real. They remind me of the realities of my life. I know I’ll come down again.

I’m actually being somewhat careful about this up. I’m not adding that many new things. A date a month. A couple of parties a month. That’s … very moderate for me.

The kids, Noah, and I have all expressed a really strong desire to slow down, which I find hilarious given that we have a slower pace of life than most of the people we know in the bay area. This is still too much for me. Everyone has requested that we try to get to two days a week of classes. (That’ll be tricky.) We want to have not a lot on our plates so that we have the energy to say, “Hey do any of our friends want to come over for dinner?”

Right now we are too tired. We don’t want to see people much because we are drained and pissy. Everything dips from our bucket instead of filling it.

Only flirting with my submissive is dumping extra spoons in my drawer every day. I’m sleeping really well. Last night I got more than eight hours of sleep. I’m trying so hard.

 

I’m told I have to go cook eggs now. I told Noah he could have a no-chore weekend because he’s looking like a limp dish rag.

I love you honey.

I’m having a bad night. I spent some time talking with a few of my pals. They happen to be sex workers. I regularly come across the attitude that sex workers must be bad people. They must be somehow tainted.

Clearly, you don’t know any. These are some bright, capable, fabulous folks. They make life choices you may not make… but that’s because we are all needed.

I sincerely believe that sex work is respectable work. Sexual connection is a big deal. Not everyone is capable of finding a romantic relationship. Many sex workers have long careers and form deep bonds with clients.

Are some people abused?

Should we go through every industry, every occupation, every endeavor of human existence? Guess what. The way to decrease abuse is to increase protection, not to criminalize. If we acted like it mattered when a sex worker was abused, less of it would happen.

But instead we, as a society, act like people who engage in sex work deserve whatever they get. Because we have no understanding of consent and ownership of bodies.

I’m trying to be gender neutral. Why? Because I know sex workers of every gender configuration including no gender at all. People do sex work for lots of reasons. Can it be unhealthy? Shit dude. Sewing can be unhealthy. Drinking too much water can be unhealthy. (It can kill you.)

Sex work is not inherently more degrading than any other profession.

Just like people who have been extremely promiscuous without pay are not necessarily bad people. Nor even bad for children. Many of us have a much finer sense of boundaries.

I was reminded recently how fuzzy some people are about sexual exposure boundaries. Like, whoa. People, uhm, have different thought processes around this than me.

But dude. The people who have a lot of sex behind closed doors with careful boundaries around that are not societal problems.

We know we only want adults in our sex lives. We know we only want truly consenting people in our sex lives.

How in the fuck are we the problem?

Sex workers have a much lower rate of STDs than the normal population. Did you know that? Do you know why? Because they are more educated than almost anyone else about sexual health. It is their job to know. Yes, there is a certain slice of the sex worker population who is much more at risk.

But it isn’t the whole industry. Nothing like.

With every new intersection of marginalization the risks go up. The access to education and resources go down.

That’s why I believe in reparations. We have documented that women of color are trying to do more with less than anyone else.

That’s not fair. I understand that throughout most of history people were able to be ignorant about the lives of the people around them. There was a lot more “Well you deserve ___” that went on.

We are to the point where we have studied this shit so exhaustively across so many mediums for so many years…

We need to help fix hundreds of years of trauma. We did this. As a country. We created this damage. We need to help fix it. Just like we have to clean up oil spills. Just like we have to clean up what the hell we are doing in Flint.

We need to act like the purpose of having money is so you can do shit with it to make the world better not so you can have more expensive shit than everyone else put together.

But my values aren’t everyones values.

More the pity.

My cat is also almost 18 years old and showing some signs of aging being no fun. That’s freaking me out. I’ve been freaked out for about 3 years now because I’ve had this kettle of doom over my head “She’s gonna die soon” and her vet wants me to do exploratory invasive procedures cause she might have kitty IBS and that’s why she pukes sometimes? Uhm… I don’t think that’s a good idea. But he’s calling me to lecture me about why I should really go look. “Almost no one does this but you really should because it’s an option.”

I really should torture my cat with exploratory procedures just because I might get the lucky news that I should be injecting her weekly until she dies?

She’d hate both you and me for that. I’m not sure I should do that just because it is an option.

I’m being an over sensitive whiny baby to “Have you tried therapy” this week. Nope. Never thought to try therapy. Therapy is a waste of time. Totes.

Too bad I didn’t meet you when I was three so I could have started therapy in time to prevent many of my problems.

Oh wait.

Never mind.

“Oh it’s just insecurity. Go to therapy.”

If wishing made it so.

You don’t want to start nothing online. Then I’m confused by most of your stream. You usually look like you want to start something. But you want to start something where someone else is wrong, not you.

I understand.

I feel the same way.

It really and truly isn’t just men who create problematic culture for women. I really wish the conversation wasn’t always phrased as men–the enemy. I get as much casual push back on being broken from women, really more.

I know she didn’t mean anything. No one ever means anything. She’s just like the 10,567 person to tell me to go to therapy.

I’m kinda touchy.

It’s been a bad month.

I called it already. 2016 is going to be a bad year. I said it in January. This year will suck balls emotionally.

Growth is a motherfucker. I’m kinda tired of it. I’m ready to calcify.

I’m trying to stop crying.

And I’m supposed to start bleeding any day now.

My body is so unhappy. I got 2.5 hours of sleep tonight. I feel wired for sound yet so weary I can barely breathe. I’ll ry again soon. Now that I’m more medicated.

I hurt.

 

Ok, current things I’m feeling feelings about.

The house remodel is uhm, going poorly. My lawyer, however, said the kindest thing ever and told me that my current approach is exactly the right one. I have multiple next steps. But this is complicated and layered. Lots of phone calls. Lots of dodging phone calls. The contracting company is eager to minimize this problem. My lawyer is really happy I’m getting inspections done. Don’t talk to the contractors till I have a better idea. I like that advice. (It occurs to me that putting this on the internet is questionable. Ha.)

I’m not trying to screw them. I’m trying to make sure my house isn’t permanently damaged to the tune of $100,000–yo.

That’s a fuck ton of money to pay to get poor quality work, motherfucker.

So. I’m formulating a strategy. And my lawyer likes it. And that pleases me. But LOTS OF BIG FEELINGS ALL OVER THE PLACE with this sucker.

Health stuff continues to be fun as it is. Sleep sucks. This fucking piece of shit cleanse (given how it is making me shit…. I’m punny…) I think is part of why I’m not sleeping. I think my body is literally freaking out about what is going on inside me and I can’t sleep because my body wants the onslaught TO GOD DAMN END.

I’m going on a month where I haven’t gotten more than 6 hours of sleep in a night. Some nights as little as 4 hours. That was last night. I don’t want more nights like that. But I got multiple REM cycles… is that a good trade off?

God I don’t know any more.

And I’m supposed to be laying out tile and I’m fucking freaking out.

I have a med evaluation on Monday. That always stresses me all the fuck out. How poorly will this go? fuck. fuck. fuck. I wish I had confidence that because this referral comes from my psychologist I am more likely to get along with the doctor in question.

fuuuuuuuck.

Give me back my Lorazepam so I can sleep!

It’s magical. I don’t need a high dose! JUST 1 MILLIGRAM!!

Or I can take half a bottle of sleeping pills and just get a stomach ache as my body says, “Fuck you bitch we ain’t dying today.”

I’ve been pretty fucking bitchy and I’m so sorry. Noah and Pam both followed me out into the back yard last night to help me do a minor chore and I flipped out. I felt overwhelmed, claustrophobic, and like JUST LEAVE ME ALONE TO LET ME DO THIS THING HOLY FUCKING CHIRST.

I had just gotten home from driving in shitty traffic for an hour. I was buzzing with frustration.

It’s not an excuse.

fuck

This is too many balls in the air for me to maintain “nice” all the time. I just…

I feel like when the remodel is over I need to spend a month of just hanging out with the kids. Take baths. Take walks. Read books.

Don’t think or talk to anyone.

I’m so tired.

I don’t even want to see the forking doctors. I’m so overwhelmed. I want to crawl in a hole and not come out.

I god damn hate adulting.

Gear up for a fight, but don’t gear up too much or you might use a tone of voice that is too harsh. You might take it out on someone who is unfortunately just standing nearby. Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck.

This house represents the single largest portion of my retirement fund. I’m gonna need to cash out at some point. I need this remodel to be done well so that I can capitalize on this god damn property.

I could walk out of here able to live comfortably without working forever.

Who forking knows what the future will bring. But this investment is serious fucking business.

I keep thinking, “You messed with the wrong bitch.” Viola Davis is dreamy. (It’s a line in How to Get Away With Murder.)

The kids want ramen and Youngest Child has a class soon. I should get up and do that. I guess my parasites are cooked enough.

My sleep is seriously off. I’m up to more than three weeks of this awful. I’m not hallucinating yet but I think it is not that far away. I have a med evaluation scheduled for Monday.

Because I’m so tired my moods are cycling fast. I’m going between happy, sad, irritated, ecstatic, calm, cheerful, and then right back to cranky as fuck. Just sitting by myself in a room. I’m not really even interacting with anyone. Barely chatted this morning.

So many feelings all at once. I feel 3 and 13 and 17 and 24 and 34 and 56. The 56 is kinda weird but I’m sure looking forward to the smug satisfaction I hope I’ll feel by then.

Despite the fact that I fuck up (and yes I really do) I feel like the last ten years have had an amazing trajectory. I’m really looking forward to the next twenty years. My life is amazing.

Why can’t I just live in that space all the time? Why can’t I feel good in my body because of where I am and what I’m doing?

Because tomorrow is Tommy’s birthday. He should be turning 39. But he won’t. He’s stuck at 21 forever. Because it was just Sissy’s birthday. She turned 47. I should be watching her grow up. But I’m not. I rejected her and I talk shit about her. Like a piece of shit baby sister. My other brother will turn 42 this year. The meaning of life, the universe and everything.

I wonder if he has ever stopped being so angry? He said he had to break up with his family because we drove him to blinding rage and he doesn’t feel that way about other people.

I understand.

He doesn’t want to think about the past. I get it. The past hurt us very badly.

I wonder how his kids are doing. I wonder how much he has hit them. I know he’s big on spanking. I wonder how much it has escalated. I worry but I’ll probably never know. I hope my sister has never fucked up again with another kid. But I don’t know.

Once you cross that line, is there going back?

I have not had sexual contact with a minor since I was a minor. I never will again. I have no desire in any way shape or form to do so.

I feel so lucky. There was something wrong with my father and that curse skipped me. Thank you.

Today the roof should be finished on the addition. Then we wait for the bathtub to arrive. Once it is here there is three days of tearing down a wall and installing fixtures. Then tiling and painting. I’m doing the painting. I’m laying out tile starting today.

From when the bathtub arrives, we will be done in about three weeks.

Now we are just tapping our toes for the bathtub.

I made a mistake. It ended up being ordered about a month after I was kinda supposed to order it. Because the original order had to be cancelled. Whoops.

Oh-the-well.

So they can go work on other projects and ignore me for a bit.

It won’t be a bad thing to have these folks not in my face for a bit. I’m feeling weary of dealing with them. I think I picked the wrong company. Fuck. Oh well.

I’m tired of them acting like I’m someone to work around and only consult when absolutely unavoidable. It’s my god damn house. I’m fucking responsible. Talk to me.

I think I figured out a theme for the mosaic building. Nature in seasons. It’ll make sense when you see it. Let’s see what I can build with the stuff I found fairly randomly for cheap. Ha.

I’m going to stop for a minute here and say, this is pretty cool even if it is scary. My house is going to be a very serious piece of art when I’m kinda done. The kids and I have more painting ideas. I’m really enjoying this part of owning a house. I wonder what I’ll do when I’ve painted the whole house completely and totally with different fantasy/nature scenes? When I run out of room… what next?!

See what someone else will pay for the privilege of living in Wonderland? Enh? Enh? That’s kinda a cool idea.

Maybe. We’ll see. Or maybe I’ll live here till I die. I really don’t know any more. I’m trying not to future trip much beyond 2021. That’s far enough right now.

The kids have strong opinions about the around-the-world-trip. They don’t think they have any desire to do 12 straight months of travel. The kids are saying, “How about 3 month trips on four years?” I’m not sure. That would be a very different kind of expensive.

Hm. Must think. Good thing we have five more years to decide. In that five year period I have to pay off the mortgage and the heloc.

Oh god.

I started out this year with around $130,000 of debt because of the mortgage. At the end of this year I’ll probably have about $200,000 worth of debt. Sob. It’s going to take five years to pay it all off. I *know* I can dedicate $40,000/year to dumping on debt. Higher than that is… harder. Maybe I’ll be able to? I need to stop forking traveling in the meantime.

Uhm… one more big trip? Yeah. The 10 year anniversary was long since planned and paid for. So we’re doing it. Jenny and one of Noah’s random people he met through work are going. And their families, of course.

I’m a little surprised anyone at all wanted to go. Thank you.

I look forward to spending a week trapped on a boat with you. We’ll get to talk. There are really fun water slides and pools and daycare. Food and food and food. So we don’t have to do work as we sit around and talk for a week.

Yeah. That’s my idea of a good time. I understand that other people don’t find it appealing. That’s fine. You don’t have to like what I like. You probably also don’t enjoy kicking someone in the testicles as much as I do either. It’s ok that we are different.

It’s ok that I want to homeschool my kids and you don’t. It’s ok that I want hours and hours of snuggling and you don’t.

It’s ok that you are better at holding down a job than me. It’s ok that you are better at caring about a collective arbitrary goal.

We are allowed to be different. We have to be different.

I need you. And I need you to need me to be how I am. Because there has to be a place for me. Just. As. I. Am. Ok, with room for growth because shouldn’t we all be growing?

I’m so tired. But I have a mosaic to lay out. In a few hours I need to call around about parts. I’m dreading that. I hate the phone. I had my phone on silent all day yesterday and it was a good thing. I came back and saw a bunch of voicemails and texts. I answered them when I felt like it. I’m kinda glad I ignored everyone who wants to treat everything like an emergency. I didn’t act like I was responsible for answering just because someone felt like calling.

That’s probably healthy.

The skylights need to arrive. I know. You told me on Friday they had to be here on Monday and I went to the store on Saturday. They had not previously been on my shopping list because y’all are supposed to be buying the windows. But apparently skylights are different? And you didn’t give me much notice? So guess what. They’ll be here when they bloody get here.

I don’t need to answer a bunch of texts from you about that. We had a meeting on Monday. I told you it was arriving Wednesday. Guess what. I’m not going to sit around all day and argue with you about that.

This dude is seriously pissing me off. I’ve asked over and over and over for a complete shopping list. They won’t give me one. Instead they want to tell me on Friday what is supposed to be here Monday. I can’t always comply that fast. So uhm, shove it. Stop telling me you are losing money because of me. I’m paying through the nose for this unpleasant experience.

I feel like these guys act like if a man says they can’t have it till Wednesday they say ok. When I say it they text me over and over asking why they can’t have it yet. Because it is on a truck.

fuck.

I couldn’t pick them up because they weren’t in stock. They had to be ordered. And Monday was President’s Day. Take a chill pill.

Not to mention that I was told the roofers would arrive early Tuesday and get it done in one day. Instead they showed up around two and had to quit at dark with hours of work left anyway.

I’m done apologizing. The windows arrive this morning. Chill all the way out, motherfucker.

I’ve had multiple people bitch lately that I’m not available fast enough when they text or call me.

You know what you people can do? You can kiss my lily white ass. I’m not here for your entertainment. I don’t have to be available when you god damn want me. I’ll call you back when I want to fucking talk to you. Until then, stop acting so god damn entitled. You ain’t my boss. You ain’t my mama. Even my god damn mama doesn’t have the right to demand my attention so I don’t know where the fuck you get off thinking you have the right.

I don’t have to respond to you instantly to tell you if it is ok if we move our appointment by 15 minutes three days in advance. I’ll get back to you in time.

People. You are annoying me.

The roof will get done. I won’t see construction workers again until the bath tub arrives. Oh. Joy. I should put a tarp over the vanity that is still outside. It’s going to rain today. Tile lay out is going to be intense. I have ideas. I’m just… nervous. I’ve never done anything like this before. This is my first foray. And it will live in this house forever. No pressure.

Am I brave or stupid? Ha. Ha. Ha. The line between those bastards is razor thin.

Time to go make a smoothie. And tea. Noah makes everything else. I’m checking off all the boxes. Not true, I haven’t been meditating in a few days. I’m so out of whack. But I’m doing all the other health plan stuff I have agreed to do.

I’m trying. I’m doing my best. I’m not sure how good it is. But it is all I have.

I read a lot of information about how being a traumatized parent can damage your kid even if they never experience “trauma” themselves. Being around crazy people can be traumatic, and I worry so I check on what the signs are.

My children are not quiet nor withdrawn. They so rarely indicate low self esteem that I can’t believe they are faking high self esteem. They fucking like themselves. I was absolutely, completely convinced I would be doing worse by now. I thought I would have fucked up everything beyond repair by this point.

I don’t think I have. I think I have worked hard to change how I react to things. I think that when I over react to things I talk about that. I talk about why it is an over reaction, what I should be doing, and why I’m struggling.

I read some parents console themselves with the idea, “At least my kids have never seen me have a panic attack.”

hahahahahahahaha my kids have seen many.

“Ok, I know I’m over reacting and I know this isn’t actually a big deal but right this minute my body is freaked out so we are going to sit very still until I calm down. It’s just a storm. It’ll pass.” As I sob hysterically and keen and rock myself.

I can talk through fucking anything. I’ve trained myself.

But we talk about those kinds of things when I’m calm. “Lots of stuff happened when I was a kid that over loaded my central nervous system. That kind of thing leaves a permanent mark. So sometimes my central nervous system gets a misfired impulse of, “COMPLETELY PANIC” and it takes a few minutes for the rest of my body to catch up on the fact that there is no current danger. It’s super annoying and I wish my body would catch up faster.”

That’s more or less what I tell the kids.

I’m a crier and they’ve had to adapt to seeing that. They offer comfort but don’t freak out. My explanation of that is: “Sometimes when you have life experiences it isn’t safe enough to have feelings about them while they are happening. It doesn’t matter if you have time that day or not. All of the thoughts, feelings, and experiences you have in life impact your body and get stored for later. (That’s why we work so hard on getting you positive thoughts, feelings and experiences!) If you have bad feelings that hurt you and you aren’t safe enough, they get stored up for later when you are safe. So even if it takes years and years your body is still waiting to release those feelings. I’m safe now. So my body is still working on releasing and that gets annoying and inconvenient sometimes. It’s ok though. I’m grateful I’m safe.”

I can talk about these things this way because I am safe in a way I never expected to be. I don’t think I’d be able to do this if I were currently in more danger. So I don’t expect someone else to just do this. This is very hard higher order thinking I could not do when I was still in danger. I was not capable of this kind of explaining when my life was still at risk. It is part of why I’ve had so many traditional social problems.

I don’t think my kids are showing distress on the down low and that shocks me daily. I think they are genuinely doing ok so far. They are some of the happiest people I’ve ever met in my life. I’m finding out what real privilege looks like. I wish everyone got a childhood like them. A childhood full of spare time and snuggles and philosophical conversations about when to follow rules and when to break them. If anything their life has been too good to them and they default to assuming that rules are just and should be followed. How did I end up with kids who think the world just makes sense!??!?!?!

I do a lot of buffering.

When I feel like, “I’m doing well” I stop and reflect… no… it’s not actually about me. It’s about the layers of luxury and safety in our lives. How can I be so patient with them? Because when I’m flipping out we eat out and I don’t have to do more work. How can I work with them on what they want to work on all day? Because I don’t have to do other work. Because I’m lucky enough that taking care of them is my first primary job. It is the only job I can’t shuffle on to someone else. I love my job. It feels like 5% of the hardness of teaching and about 150% more wonderful.

Because this way I can cuddle with the kids and it isn’t illegal. Life is awesome.

When I was a younger adult a “snuggle party” was a different concept. These days we have almost daily snuggle parties and I feel like it is healing my soul. I have people who want to touch me gently and not scream at me now. I have people who want to sit around and cuddle and tell the same 15 knock knock jokes a few thousand times. It is… strangely relaxing and fun. I am soaking in what it means to feel safe.

Many of my friends are not in the easy spot I’m in. I’m feeling very guilty about that just now. I understand why most of the people I know in my tax bracket carefully avoid knowing poor people. I feel like a piece of shit for spending so much money on my bathroom remodel when many of my friends could turn their whole lives around for $10,000. I could have turned ten lives around, twelve, fifteen for what I’m going to spend in the end on my bathroom.

I don’t feel very good about that. I could have fixed the black mold problem for 1/5 the price.

But then I wouldn’t end up with something that fulfills out my lottery fantasies for ten years. I’ve dreamed of this bathroom for a long time. I’m selfish. I want it. I want a bath tub where my kids can hang out and soak with me and talk when I’m trying to deal with how much pain I’m in instead of telling them to leave me alone because there isn’t room.

And my bank balance is terrifyingly low. For me. Which makes me feel like an asshole. I need to transfer money from savings to checking today because otherwise I’ll over draw in the next month. I’m that close right now. It’ll be ok. I will have the credit cards paid off by June. But I’m freaking out. I feel like an asshole because I’m worried about being down to $5,000. But my friends are worried about being down to $11 and how will they get to work.

I can understand why rich people feel so guilty hearing about the problems of poor people. I don’t get to complain. I may have feelings about where I am financially but I don’t get to complain. Shut up, bitch.

I’m going to remodel my bathroom. Then I’m going to catch up more on debt. Then I will probably increase my donation rate. I will never get to the point where I can give people all over the country as cushy of a life as I have, but I could do more and I will. It is hard feeling like that is good enough. It isn’t good enough. But I think that is the best I can do and still learn how to take care of myself.

I really believe the bathroom will pay off long term in terms of increasing the value of the house. We live in a very expensive area. Going from one toilet to two, having a bathtub that is actually fancy and fun… I’m starting to lay out the mosaics for the wall!

My bathroom is going to be art. Which is freaking me out but feels so awesome too.

When did I become an artist? Whoa. I am.

I’m getting to serious sleep deprivation again. I do that. It is shortening my fuse a lot in a variety of situations. Today is a body care day. My body is so upset about everything I’m doing to it. I’m making progress and that is upsetting.

I’m not sleeping enough to repair from the work I’m doing and that’s going to create a negative cycle sooner than later. That’s really damaging. Why am I so anxious?

I feel like I’m having an identity crisis. I have changed a lot of how I’m supposed to behave. I’ve changed a lot of who I am in the past few years.

So I’m sleeping for like half an hour to forty-five minutes in a go then I wake up terrified that I’m about to be late for something or I’m already crying or I feel like I’m bad bad bad.

I’m going to hurt everyone. I’m going to do it all wrong. I will never ever get to the point of being ok. I will never be able to be a good friend; I will always be a selfish bitch.

And I’m maxing out around six hours of sleep in a night. Heavily broken sleep. I’m starting to hurt pretty badly again. It’s been over a week of this. If I take four sleep aide pills I get to six hours of more consistent sleep with only one or two wake ups for peeing. So I’m kinda not wanting to up that dose again.

I don’t want to get back to the point where I’m taking seven or eight pills to get seven or eight hours of sleep. I know how much that hurts my body. But does this hurt me more? Who. The. Fuck. Knows.

 

This time I’m thinking about health stuff as it relates to money. Specifically, how I’m going to catch up on my budget in the next few months. Right now I’m kind of hemorrhaging money. This has to stop soon. Between the remodel, vow renewal, and health related expenses this year is already freaking me out.

Of course health-related expenses includes paying for things like physical skills classes. I’m never sure if I make the right decisions.

Thinking a lot about why we need to say no to things. What is health? What is balance?

I’m going to the grief ritual this year in May and the cruise in August. Then I think I need over a year off from travel. I need to save the money. Travel is related to my mental health because when I travel I talked to a lot of different kinds of people. These conversations are part of how I construct the view of the world that allows me to continue. I don’t think the travel of the waste. I just think I need to not afford it right now.

I think Christmas this year needs to happen for under $300. For the whole family. Why? We don’t have room for new stuff anyway. I think mostly we will buy food.

I’m scared that I’m spending a lot of money trying to fix my body and maybe it won’t work. Maybe I should be spending this money differently. I remind myself that Noah wants me to make these choices right now. This is complicated because I am feeling better but I don’t know if I’m enough better to justify how much money I’m spending. How much better am I going to get through this much money? I don’t know. That is scaring me right now.

I hate when my bank balance is going down instead of up. But I really want this bathroom. I think I will be happy about living in this house forever with this bathroom. I think that if we sell this house the bathroom will be a plus. I know that people don’t believe me yet, I’m used to people not believing me when I say things will happen. The funny thing is, I’m right pretty often. Not all the time.

ack. Kid walked in while I was using the microphone. That was hilarious. Never mind. I’m done typing. Bye.

I’m thinking about the definitions of words again. Words like safety, morality, consent, health, appropriate.

I’m getting better, I think, at recognizing that my freak outs are my body going “Not for me” instead of “How dare you do that.”

I don’t actually care what you do with your life. I know I over react sometimes. I’m sorry. I’m imagining what I would have to do to accomplish that and…

Yeah. I over react. It’s not very nice of me. I’m sorry.

I’m getting better but it is still annoying.

What is healthy for you is not healthy for me and that is ok.

What was healthy for me is not healthy anymore and that is ok.

What is healthy for me now is not very healthy for you so you shouldn’t do it and that’s ok too.

Negotiating is hard. How do you ask for what you want when you aren’t exactly sure what it is? Mistakes suck. They hurt. Recovering from them takes work and effort.

Life is a constant renegotiation. We never arrive at “done” until our life is done. You never know what might happen to you in the future. Your health could improve or decline. Your life could blow up or magically come together. Who forking knows.

Today I feel like I have no idea what my future will be like. But I’m sure glad I will get to do it with Noah and my kids. These people make me think that whatever it is… it’ll be ok.

Some day I probably won’t have so much extra money. I will have to dramatically change what I do with my time and how I manage my spoons. I’m afraid of that time but I know I will find a way to make it ok. I’m plucky like that. I have good reason to strive forward now. I want this. I want them.

I feel grateful to the tips of my toes that I get to spend so much time snuggling with my children. This time will pass. I want every minute of you sitting on top of me I can get. I want every single hour of lying next to one another that can exist. You are growing so fast. You will leave me. You will grow up and move on and that will be right.

I just get this for a little while. I have so much pain to make up for.

I shit you not I would keep having kids to drag this feeling out if I could. I feel like this is one of the things I have done best in my whole life. I spend time with my kids. I guide them and instruct them and let them do what they need to do to grow up. Are they perfect? No. There is no such thing as perfection. If they were perfect I would hate them for it. Let’s be honest.

I need them to be flawed and wonderful and ok. Because I need to see that it is ok for people to be like that. So maybe it is ok that I exist.

We are all kinda flawed and broken. We are all racing towards death on our own pathway. It’s ok. That’s what meat-creatures do.

What will I be like when I grow up?

I kinda reacted like a viper when someone said that I should be done growing up by now after x years of knowing an individual.

You know what, motherfucker, I don’t give a flying fuck what you think about my maturity. I have been in a safe environment for ten years. That’s it. I have not yet had enough time to undo twenty-five years of trauma and if you think I should hurry up you can put it in your pipe and smoke it.

I fucking hope I outrun my Eldest Child but I sorta doubt I will manage.

I am learning compassion for myself on this journey. That’s probably a good thing and a big deal. I’ve had ten years to undo a lot of specific trauma. Yeah. That’s not enough time. Go talk to the experts. It’s not enough time. This is hard. It peels off in layers. I fix one problem developmentally then I move right on to the next problem. I keep going though because I get bored of having the same problem.

I like new and exciting problems.

Speaking of which, I think I have messed up every stage of ordering stuff for this bathroom because I didn’t check measurements when I ordered. Well fuck. I get to live with it.

Uhm… yeah. I’ll do this differently next time.

Please sweet Jesus let there never be a next time.

I’m just sayin’.

I kinda wish Noah was mad at me for breaking a rule. He kinda sorta is. My shrink was shocked that he wasn’t pissed off. Yeah, he doesn’t piss off easily. It takes work. I know! I’ve tested these limits extensively.

How do I keep Noah exciting when he is the safest thing ever? That’s a trick. I’m thinking hard about it. The sex is still good. Everything else is trickier in a marriage, though. Well. That’s another think my shrink gushes about. She can’t believe how happy I am with my sex life. She says I am an anomaly in her therapy career. I say, “Yeah how many big sluts have you seen? That practice pays off.” She laughs.

She doesn’t answer though. That’s professional.

I don’t have bad sex unless I decide to. Because I’m that good. I do decide to have bad sex once in a while for complicated reasons. It’s never an accident any more. Well. Ok I’ve had obnoxious interruptions… but that’s not the same.

Why? Because if I’m not done I’ll tell you exactly what to do so that I can get done. And I ain’t fucking subtle. “Ok, this position hurts. I want you to twist your upper body like this…”

Hey you are responsible for the sex you have. If you want it to be good, speak the fuck up.

Nobody can read minds.

I’m sure there are genuinely bad lovers out there who can’t be taught. I haven’t ever decided it was worth my while to date one. I don’t see the upside.

I need to go to a kid class now. I so don’t wanna. I want to sit still till next Tuesday. Sigh. On we go.

I had quite a conversation this afternoon/evening. I met this man a few weeks ago. He is the friend of a friend. Today we talked about martial arts, self defense, and my future plans. He is a martial arts teacher/personal trainer and when I told him I just signed a 6 month contract he said, “Come over for some free classes for now and when your contract is up we can discuss payment.”

His background: he’s been doing martial arts since childhood. He was in the marines for 18 years with 9 of them spent as a weapons instructor. He worked with the Israeli military as they developed Krav Maga. He’s taught some fantastic number of different art forms.

He specifically teaches womens self defense classes that combine a few disciplines to maximize the strength of the female body. He… was kinda judgey about Impact. But that’s fine. What he’s doing isn’t what Impact is doing.

He’s very local. He is a friend of one of my very favorite moms and she’s known him forever. So he’s incredibly well vouched for.

I told him I have about a five year window before I need to be where I ought to be because I’m going to be more like launching my research in about ten years and I can’t be just getting to physical fitness as I’m doing the interviews. I need to be ready and it just needs to be an ingrained part of my life.

He smiled at me in a way that worries me. And makes me very hopeful at the same time.

People come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. I kind of needed to have someone show up and say, “Let me teach you how to be incredibly devastatingly physically effective.”

Sometimes the universe smiles on me in ways I truly don’t deserve. I’m grateful. Thank you.

I have no idea if this will go anywhere. But I’m very happy that this opportunity is falling into my lap.

Also: both of my chiropractors have commented this week that my body seems to have made a huge leap of progress. I’m less inflamed. I have more range of motion. My neck vertebrae has been in actual alignment for more than a week and this is the first time since I’ve seen this doctor that I’ve managed that. Even though this weekend was a brutal physical skills class.

There is emotional healing and physical healing and they tie together. I store my trauma in my body. Even though some people don’t approve of the degree of blood thirst I feel… oh come on. I have legitimate reasons for needing to work through my big feelings towards men. I’m not picking fights with strangers just to be a dick. I’m fighting instructors in class and enjoying it. I am enjoying the process of learning how to keep myself safe for hopefully the first time in my life.

The last time I was raped I fought and I lost. That was very useful when it happened. In many ways it let me stop feeling so god damn guilty about my failure to prevent every other rape.

I can’t lose again.

That is so complicated.

I’m having a lot of complex thoughts about rape right now. I’m looking at my five year old and thinking, “Do I believe this person to be emotionally, spiritually, or intellectually capable of rape?”

No. But that kid sure can walk all the hell over your boundaries unless you enforce them.

Oh wow.

Boundary violations, trauma, consent, rape. I don’t know about you but I sure as fuck didn’t know how to ask for consent when I was five. But I was told I was supposed to put my mouth on as many dicks as I could.

Today my five year old fell asleep on me. So her mouth fell open wide as she drooled on me. I felt nauseated, repulsed, and disgusted by the fact that someone, anyone could look at a child like that and have sexual thoughts.

Then I thought, Oh my god I already had a body count.

Ok. I think I finally believe it is different when a five year old does it than when an adult does it.

I didn’t until today.

Today I looked at my child and saw absolutely no ability to be culpable for such an act.

But a child that age can be trained to do anything. That’s not the same thing as culpability.

I don’t think this change of opinion changes my overall status as a monster. It’s all so complicated.

Why am I a monster? Because I was trained to be a rapist before I knew better? No. Because monsters aren’t really just creatures who have done specific things. Monsters are scary. Monsters don’t have to do anything bad to be monsters. They are just monsters.

I’m a monster because I have absolutely zero desire to be charming. Charming people are god damn dangerous.

Monsters are just ugly and rude and tell you that things have to be the way they expect things to be and that’s how life is, right? DEMANDING ASSHOLE IN THE HOUSE!

Monsters are monsters because they are creepy and they make people uncomfortable.

I need to go to bed.

Guess what? Where there is a huge jump in hits without a direct link to snottiness… it isn’t scary.

Ahhh today is a great day. Hopefully I yelled at the contractors enough yesterday to last all week.

Friday I fly to Portland. Sunday I fly home. I’m going alone. I’m looking forward to more than 48 hours of not being responsible for anyone or anything. I mean I’ll have to show up at a birthday party and I’ll be spending time with friends… but if I’m lazy that’s fine. In fact I suspect that if I’m lazy it will make people kinda happy. (Ok, blacksheep will want me to do some exercise but mostly because she can’t sit still to talk so we’ll have to be in motion. I can live with that.) Luckily Dad is lazier than fuck. Once I get around him I can assume a couch lock position and he’ll think it’s great. Ha.

I’m feeling weird about one thing that folks-who-don’t-know-me-on-the-internet conflate.

My Dad was never my Master. I have never been his slave. We are both in the bdsm community, yes. We fucked once (it was awful and gross and never again) and we’ve played a few times because he is very good with canes and single tails and he put needles in me once just to break my cherry. But we haven’t played together other than as a class demo (I’m unusually verbal) in more than ten years. Our closeness at this point is not about our bdsm relationship and we don’t know that we’ll ever play again.

I know I shouldn’t care about strangers getting that detail straight. My Owner was a very different person. My Owner was unmarried and had never had children. My Dad has children almost my age. His oldest is a year younger than me. His bio-children don’t appreciate my presence in his life but… they don’t have to run into me other than weddings and funerals so I can live with that. And I’ve been at both for 15 years.

I suspect it might have been healthier for me to find an adoptive father who didn’t want to beat or fuck me… but baby steps, ok? Maybe what I need isn’t what you need. I can live with that. I don’t need you to be like me for me to be validated in my choices.

My life is unusual. What is right for me is probably not right for you. Don’t emulate me. But consider me, perhaps. As an idea of “Wow. I guess people really do need to be different.”

I needed to have a relationship with a Dad where I had the right to set the boundaries on our sex and beatings. I needed to be able to put up more and more boundaries until it wasn’t happening at all and have the experience of someone choosing to stay with me.

I’m glad you don’t need that. I genuinely am.

You don’t know what it meant to me that I was taken to the hospital at 19 by my Dad and it was the first time in my life someone was fucking nice to me when I was sick. Before that I always got in trouble. I was lying. I was malingering. I was just asking for attention.

Yes, I did ask for attention. I was a child and I was sick. I needed attention. But it came in the form of diatribes about how I better not be lying this time or I would get it.

I work with all my might to believe the things my children tell me about their bodies. You feel sick? Ok.

I mean… ok I’m sure at some point my mom wasn’t nasty when I was sick. Taking me to the hospital was always an ordeal. My mom screamed at me the whole way to the hospital for getting a cast re-set because I said I didn’t feel well. Then I puked on the floor.

I’m bad for saying I’m sick because I’m not really sick and I’m bad for not being adamant enough when I’m really sick because I inconvenience people.

Going to the various doctor offices so often lately is… creepy. But I feel like I’m getting good help right now. Things are changing in my body. I’m making a lot of progress on injury sites. I’m feeling stronger. I came back from the trip really beat up and done. Maybe I’ll be over the trip by the cruise but really… I’m looking forward to that week of sitting on my ass watching my kids play in the pool. I’ll be fed whenever I even think about wanting it. I won’t clean a god damn thing.

I don’t rest in hotels. I hate having maids come in so I clean the whole time like normal. Cause I’m neurotic.

But on a cruise ship? Ahhhhhhhhhhhh. That’s how you know life is good.

Ok. Breakfast.

This weekend is the Impact Bay Area basics class again. I have taken it before. (Somewhat ironically, when I was on the elimination diet. Now I’m on this fucking cleanse thing. I seem to like strenuous exercise when physically depleted. I don’t really claim to be smart.)

This time I don’t know anyone in the class except the suited instructor who I met last time. I don’t have any friends and the rest of the staff is different. This class is fewer people so everything is going faster and feels less rushed. We did extra fights because we had so much extra time and we still left 45 minutes early.

I’m not going as slow as I wish I were going. It would be better for my muscle memory if I could truly slow down. Thing is, I get into a fight situation and I am just kind of a blur. Move.Move.Move.Move. My accuracy is improving a lot (the suited instructor was very complimentary today) and I’m not hitting quite as hard. I know that I’m not hitting as hard because I don’t ache. My wrist is the teeeeeniest bit sore. My elbow doesn’t hurt at all. My back is a little sore from standing for hours today when I don’t usually stand like that.

That’s pretty damn cool.

Honestly I think the Krav classes are helping with that. I’m sloooowly doing the exercises with Noah in class and that’s relatively easy because it isn’t a fight setting. I’m not adrenalized. At Impact the dude is creepy, the situation is tense (on purpose and deliberately in a safe manner) (Ok the dude isn’t *actually* creepy–but with the mask on he is intimidating as fuck.)

I noticed something today. Multiple times the suited instructor backed off from a fight because I verbalized so forcefully. That was a much more adrenalized situation for me than the fights. In the fights I calm down. I center. I look for what I want to hurt and I just go. When it is still words and I don’t know if I’m escalating too much or not enough and I don’t know if I’m going to get in trouble for what I’m saying…

That scares the living fuck out of me. Moderate verbal exchanges are much more distressing for me than a fist fight.

I’m really fucked up.

I like knowing where I stand.

I don’t like ambiguity.

Oh wait, speaking of Krav. I have a confession. I document my fuck ups with the kids so I need to do this too. At class the teacher was correcting one of Noah’s stances and Noah asked why. I leaned over, tapped the back of his head twice and said, “Because you are open to this.”

Well, Noah doesn’t get hit by a grown up without hitting back. So he thwapped my head right back.

I hurt for a while. We’ve talked about it. I think I was very wrong to do what I did. It was rude. It was demeaning. It hurt him. I really should not have done that. But I’m pissed about how hard he hit back.

I’m not saying he doesn’t have the right to defend himself. He does. He completely does. He’s a lot bigger than me. I think he could use less fucking force and still fucking effectively communicate.

This isn’t something we have done in years. It wasn’t cool of me. That was wrong. I need to not do it again.

But I’m kinda pissed. (Hey everyone on the internet–no taking sides. I’m documenting for the sake of documenting. We are pretty good to one another the vast majority of the time and every few years we have a boundary issue and we talk about it. Then years go by before one or the other of us fucks up again. I kinda think that’s life.)

What the fuck is abuse. I was an asshole, yes.

See. This is pretty much why I don’t think I’ll ever get to the point of thinking of myself as a good person. I’m not sure I’ll ever stop fucking up.

I feel pretty ashamed of myself for being this ridiculous. Grow the fuck up already.

I really haven’t finished growing up yet. I know.

Speaking of, I think that’s life.  (I don’t really know this writer. He’s the friend of a friend. But this piece on reenacting trauma and safety hit home in more ways than I’m happy about.)

Yeah. I do this. Over and over and over.

Fuck. I’m not even original. Lame.

On the emotional front: I was busy and dissociated today so I wasn’t suicidal! I uhhh guess that’s good? Awesome. I was very distracted from myself today. So I was probably more positive.

On the poop front: what is this shit…literally. hahahahaha I crack me up.

Ok for real, on the poop front: things are changing. It’s been a week of this “cleanse” bullshit. How is it changing. It is… only a little bit more firm. Still tooth pastey, but so very brown.

I don’t know about you, but my shit has been neon yellow for the vast majority of my life. Sometimes it is green. Very very rarely brown and even when it is brown…not like this.

It’s not black. It’s not tarry or anything. It’s just BROWN.

It’s… I don’t know. It’s intense.

 

Ok, Noah and I are negotiating me hurting people. Because apparently I need to do some hitting.

I was thinking this morning, the purpose of life. How much does loving yourself play into it? How much does it matter if you love yourself if you love other people enough to make  up for the lack. I don’t know.

I want to take my children around the world. It’s going to be expensive. I need them to see, with their own eyes, what it means to be alive right now. We live in a special time. Yes, there have always been people who are privileged enough to travel and to have interesting experiences but usually that was reserved for a handful of people from each country. We live in an incredible time. The amount of mobility that is possible now is absolutely unprecedented.

I believe this will not continue forever. I believe we will come to the end of the fossil fuel. I don’t know how quickly we will come up with replacements. Everything comes to an end. It isn’t something to mourn, exactly. It just happens.

So, if I want to have the adventures I want to have with my children I need to change how I live in my body. Near as I can tell, I am going to spend 2016, 2017, and well into 2018 specifically trying to heal. That is really daunting to look at right now. It means I will have to shrink my world. I will stop reaching out. I have to. I’m not sure how to do this. I have spent my whole life looking out and out and out so that I do not have to look within. I am scared.

My world has shrunk before, when my eldest child was born I abruptly backed out of everything. I am told that it was shocking. I was serious when I said this would change everything. Having children has changed everything. I wanted it to and it worked. Now I have to change again. Have to heal the damage I have already caused and I have to learn how to not cause more damage. Then I will have to spend several years specifically working on getting stronger. Or I will not be able to do the tasks I want to accomplish in this life.

I always feel kind of pissed off when I notice something like that. I don’t want to do this. I’m scared. I know that I’m whiny white girl and I have all the support I could possibly need; this is hard anyway.

What would doing this be like if I were playing on a more difficult level?

Nothing is fair.

Oh crumbs.  I just realized that I need to get some lidocaine. I have a tattoo appointment.

I was talking to a boy in our life. He’s in foster care. I was explaining a little (tiny) bit about my story. His foster parents asked me what the happy ending of my story was. I said, “Some day you won’t be a kid any more. That’s the happy ending.” I don’t think that was what they were hoping for.

I feel like I was doing great until about 10 minutes ago then my anxiety flared like a motherfucker. I don’t know what is up with that.

I had self control for a week? Who thought I’d actually be able to make it a week? Ha.

It has been a good week. I have spent a lot of it watching Outlander. I think they did a good job with the story. Yes, things were changed from the book but not in such a bad way. I think that if this were my first exposure to Claire and Jaime I wouldn’t love them so much. The actors do a fine job, but… they aren’t what I imagined. What I imagined is better. I’m happy to watch it several times though. So I’m not complaining. I’ll learn to love them.

One of my favorite parts of the show is the fact that Diana Gabaldon has spent a lot of time snarking George Martin who does Game of Thrones. She throws shade like, “I don’t miss deadlines.”

=====================

When we were on the road trip the kids and I negotiated that we would do trades and each get a week off of chores. I have done my part to give the kids time off. I haven’t gotten a week off yet. I’m thinking next week. We don’t have babysitting (the babysitters family is going on holiday) and from Sunday to Saturday of next week we only see Aunt Sarah and Aunt Pam for social. For classes we have Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, ballet, and gymnastics. And a pediatrician wellness check.

For us to only have only that many things scheduled (no doctor visits for me) is the lightest week we’ve had…. I couldn’t tell you when. That is a non-scheduled week. With 2 social visits (one overnight) 6 physical skills classes and one doctor trip. Non-scheduled.

No wonder I’m so god damn tired. Going outside to garden until the kids are off to the park. Tired of the noise.

===========================

My city has banned the delivery of cannabis. I’m writing nasty letters to my city council members. This will not decrease the number of illegal grow sites you asswipes. The people who are already operating outside the law don’t give a flying fuck that you banned deliveries. Guess who is impacted? Legitimate medical patients. Fuck every person on the city council.

==================

It is occurring to me that I should probably stop scheduling dinners with people. I need to develop a night time routine. It’s going to be hard enough that two nights a week will have martial arts classes to wake me up. I need to not stay up late. I am struggling to find a rhythm. And Noah is having a hard time sleeping and I feel kinda guilty about that. He gets out of synch real easy and I’ve jerked him around too much lately. He does better when we are very consistent. Yeah, we all do. But it’s easier and more fun to look at him than me. He’s more charming.

Ideally we’d go back to eating dinner at closer to 5pm than 7pm. Doctors tell me I should be taking baths pretty much every night. Meditating is going well. It would be great if we turned the screens off after dinner and read/played with each other. We get plenty of screen time. It makes it harder for us to go to sleep if we have the screen on until bedtime. Yes, I’m as guilty as everyone else. I’m bad at moderation. The switch has to go on or off.

That is sounding like the kids and I can use screens between lunch and dinner and not really at other times during the day. That would limit me fucking up my arms. I’m doing better! I am!

======================

Oh! I touched base with a friend. She needs side work. I need someone to type for me so I don’t permanently disable myself. We are going to figure out (I am going to figure out) how to do voice recordings. I’m sure it isn’t complicated. I just need to google it. But I haven’t done it yet. I’ll do it. Noah has a nice microphone. Then I’ll send her the files and she will transcribe them and I will give her money and everyone will be happier. She has done this professionally and is fairly skilled. My squee is huge. I know so many competent, talented people. Want to know something funny? Pretty much all of them feel useless or incompetent. Y’all crack me the fuck up.

=========================

Recently I’ve been asking women why they love themselves. I wrote down a list (ok two things) first. The first thing on my list and the first thing every woman has said so far: “I’m a good listener.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ok. Dudettes. What is up with us. Why do we define our lovability in our ability to outwardly focus? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

I mean… yes. It’s an awesome trait. I’m glad I have it. I’m glad y’all have it (hey… maybe that’s why you’re here) but! BUT! BUT!!!!

Why is that the first thing?

I deserve to love myself for something better than the fact that I listen carefully to people. I mean, yeah it’s a good thing to do and I’ll keep it up and all. Just like I don’t want my life to be devoted to my children I don’t want my life to be devoted to listening to other people.

Even though I want to grow up and listen to more stories about incest than anyone has ever listened to in the history of the world.

Even then.

That can’t be why I love me. No. I have to be bigger than that. I have to be something different than that. No. No. No.

That is not what I’m going to love about myself. I am not just a vessel for supporting other people.

That is not why I deserve love.

I mean, it may be related to why I am worth forgiving when I fuck up. Maybe. But it can’t be why I’m worthy of love.

Do you know what the second thing on my list is? (I’m kinda hoping it gets longer as the year goes on.)

I don’t hesitate.

It means I fuck up a lot. It means I do things very wrong and I have to be incredibly comfortable apologizing and groveling. But it means I get to do some tremendously cool shit.

I put an ad on Craigslist looking for women who have spare maternal energy. I found one. She was great. She’s my age with kids my age and she told me everything I would tell someone else. I liked her a lot. The second… wanted sexy times and then was sad when I said I didn’t want further contact even of a non-sexual nature. If that’s your opening I’m not in the place to have the boundaries you require of people. I’ll punch you. The third person is an 18 year old.

She is barely getting out of an abusive family. She’s dealing with a lot of guilt and shame. I spent the phone call trying to carefully phrase things as if I were saying them to myself while I was really trying to give her advice. I’m not going to spill her story. There are some parallels. Not that many, just a few. But it was easy for me to say, “I tell myself ______” when I really wanted to say, “Oh honey. You can’t ______.” I think that is a hilarious way to sidestep advice.

She said, “You really made me think.” She made me think too, not of what I wanted to think about, but she made me think anyway.

I don’t think I’m going to get mothered this lifetime. Do you know what mothering is supposed to do? It is supposed to catch you before you are ready and help you be ready for all the hard things that are going to come up in life.

It’s too late. It is clearer and clearer with every passing year. Giving that up is hurting so god damn badly.

Because you know what? I’m ready. It doesn’t matter what for. If I’m not ready today I can make a plan and be ready in a few months. Maybe a year or two if the plan is super complicated. But… I’m ready.

It is too late to be mothered.

What am I ready for?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Why do you bring reality into this relationship? Go straight to hell.

I’m ready to be where I am today. I’m ready to handle all of the problems that are going to come up right now. I’m not ready for everything I want to do in thirty years, but I have a plan. I’m in progress. I’m on schedule. In some places… I’m actually a little ahead.

I’m ready.

Oh.

Hey.

Maybe that is something to love about myself. Not just like. Love. Like the solid first thing on a list that will grow.

I love myself because I am ready. I am ready for anything. I can adapt or change or fuck up and fix it. No matter what it is.

Well, not no matter what.

There are relationships I can’t fix. I’m not G-d.

But you know what? I can grieve. I can move on. I don’t spend all of my days worrying about any particular wounding from the past. I can cycle through them. Cause I’m festive. But on most days I think about the future. I think about today. I don’t think that much about the past. Things come up and I’m working really hard on being ok with it coming up when it does. I am so out with people in the world. I’m kinda TMI on steroids. Sorrynotsorry.

Why?

Because lots of people come to me with questions, “So I know this person who has _____ problem”. It’s not that I have all the answers. I don’t. But I’m good at helping people imagine possible reasons why people are the way they are and what kinds of things might go well or poorly.

I don’t have all the answers. But I study like mad. Because I’m hard. I have to explain myself to people or they don’t get me at all.

Sometimes that’s hard. Why in the fuck do I have to write my own users guides?! Because no one else has spent enough time with me to be able to do so. And I’m a picky whiner.

I want to be treated how I want to be treated. So I persevere in explaining myself to the internet. I do not believe in the golden rule. I do not treat others as I want to be treated. Folks would be slapping my face. I try very hard to treat people how they want to be treated to the best of my ability to decipher.

I should hit post. It is time to go to dinner.

I’m going to get it in under the wire. I just went and spent a crap ton of money on a whole pile of tile. The tile guy tried to talk me out of the variety. He said it “just won’t work!” I said, “In whose opinion?” and I smiled real pretty. It took two loads in the van cause it was so damn heavy. I’m super excited about the haul. At the next tile store: no white.

And I finally got in touch with my tattoo artist. It is time for more ink. He’s in the bay area! HE WAS IN SOUTH DAKOTA AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME I WAS THERE. I am so mad I didn’t think to call him before I went on the trip. I know he’s a traveler. Apparently he’s there every summer and I didn’t know. Well crap crap crap crap. He’s a daddy now. That is one of the most thrilling things I’ve heard recently.

I’m not going to spill his secrets. But this man helps me understand that people who have hard lives have a really lot to offer the world and we should be here too. I’ve known him for eight or so years? I… think the world of him. I’m so glad I will get to have more reminders on my body of such a fantastic person.

Ok, dinner.

I shouldn’t be typing right now. But I have a weak will. I have a ridiculous need to be understood. I understand that mostly the only people who “understand” me through my writing are Noah, Sarah, Pam, and a handful of other people who seriously show up in my life and have put in years of time. The writing supports their understanding of me and gives nuance I am literally not capable of providing in other way.

I get that I’m pretty fucking confusing to everyone else. That’s ok.

Why did I check the referrer to Reddit? Because the last time I got posted there it was in a positive way. I wanted to see if I should ban it or leave it. That was probably foolishly optimistic. The one positive posting to Reddit was a fluke. That’s not what Reddit is about. Ha.

Ok, onto this “She thinks she is a Strong Black Woman even though she is a white stay at home mom in the suburbs” thing.

This is something I have super complex feelings about. I worry like fuck that actual black women will think I perceive myself this way. Holy crap for Crisco I don’t and I don’t want to be one more white bitch appropriating in this fashion.

I don’t care very much if random white people want to perceive me that way, that’s about them being twats. I worry about actual marginalized people perceiving me as appropriating their struggle. Because crap I’m trying to not do that.

I talk a lot about racial issues. Throughout my life I have found most of the wisdom I needed for enduring the traumas I have experienced have come from black women. Not black men, which is something I feel feelings about… black women. I feel like a racist piece of shit for not wanting to hear how black men endure. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to hear it. I read books from their point of view. I actively seek out black male writers for their opinions on current events.

But I don’t usually feel like what they have to say about managing existing in their bodies is relevant to what it takes for me to live in my body.

It’s different with black women.

Now, do I think that I understand what it is like to be a black woman? No. No. No. No. No. No. I don’t. I do not in any way shape or form understand what it feels like to live under institutionalized racism. That is a form of understanding that is forever denied to me. Not because I’m stupid, but because it is just not for me. It hasn’t happened to me so I *can’t* understand.

Just like other people who have not been raped for decades starting in infancy will never understand what that feels like. It’s an experience you have to have in order to understand. I feel that many things in life work this way. I will never understand what it feels like to grow up with loving parents. That is a door that is closed to me. There are doors of understanding that are closed to everyone. Life works that way.

I don’t think I am a Strong Black Woman. I think that is a really damaging stereotype, as an aside. I think that black women are sometimes strong and sometimes weak and in their human variance they have many lessons to teach people who want to learn. Does that mean that any particular black woman owes me an education?

Uhm. No. That’s creepy and gross. I have no right to demand that anyone educate me. Boundaries, people.

But what I can do is seek out black women who have deliberately and consciously put themselves into the position of Teacher and I can pay them gobs of money for sharing what they know.

I perceive there to be a lot of shaming in this country for anyone who says that black women have something to teach. I think that is shitty. I think that is partially about the fact that from an intersectional point of view, many black women have to be able to cope with many kinds of bad all at once.

If I say I’m happy about the trolls not descending on me en masse, a troll says, “I’ll fix you! I’ll put you on Reddit!”

If I say that I learn a lot from black women and I am deeply grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to learn from black women…

Obviously that’s the same thing as pulling a Rachel Dolezal. If I admire black women and I think they have something to teach me… I’m appropriating. I’m saying I’m the same thing as them.

Nope, check your reading comprehension.

I think I have benefited from white privilege in ways many and varied from small to huge. From not being followed in grocery stores when I was a kid while I robbed them blind to being expected to go to college. To being able to pass as “just another person at a VC event in silicon valley” despite having…. uhm a troubled background. (VC means Venture Capital. It means some of the richest people in our society.)

I don’t think I understand what it means to be black. I think many people who are black have suffered in ways I can’t even wrap my head around.

I try to not be a using piece of shit. I try to do anything I can to make it so particular black women have one or two less pieces of shit to carry on one given day. But I’m very limited in what I can do like that. When folks post, “I’m about to lose my home” or “I can’t feed my kids” I can help in a teeny tiny way correct what society is completely failing to do. But I can’t carry everyone. I can’t fix every problem. I can’t pretend I am “part of the struggle”.

I’m kinda doing my own struggle here. There are ways that my struggle overlap with the struggles of black people. In those ways I try very hard to be an ally.

But I don’t get cookies for that. I’m not doing it for cookies. If no one says “Good job” I show up and do it anyway.

Because I’m trying to be someone I can love and respect. It isn’t about you. I’m trying to do what I think is right as a person with growing privilege so that I can look myself in the mirror without feeling contempt.

Yes, it is kind of gross that I need to write in front of an audience for validation. I know. But I’m not really doing it for your validation. Especially if you are a stranger.

I want my kids to validate me solely by continuing a relationship with me–I don’t get to ask for more. I want Noah and Pam and Sarah and Jenny and a few other people who might be less keen to be specifically named to validate me in actual words and they do. But I absolutely cap it at a dozen people.

These people are my judge and jury. These are the people I’m courting in this lifetime. This is my inner circle. These are the people I substitute for my sense of self. They are the people I’m consciously trying to turn into my inside voice. These are the people who need to think I’m not a piece of shit.

If Reddit likes me… I’m probably doing something wrong.

If random people want to get together on a troll site to feel better about themselves by putting me down…

I’m sorry your life is that bad.

By the way, I do see psychiatrists. And psychotherapists. And counselors. And acupuncturists. And chiropractors. And GPs. And I’ve been through a huge variety of other specialists. I jump around between doctors for lots of reasons related to money, health insurance, and personality conflicts. But I’ve seen probably close to a hundred doctors in my life (adding in surgeons and ER Drs). Between therapists and psychiatrists I’ve seen more than two dozen.

But go ahead and sit at home and decide that I’m just working with a dealer and I’m a loser who isn’t actually trying.

I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that people who are like me are like this because they aren’t trying. I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that if you had x happen to you then you would do the right thing and you would be over it by now.

I get that. I really do.

Part of the reason I write about racial stuff the way I do is because I am hyperaware that I have gotten more support and aid than is standard in this country. And I’m still this fucked up. Even though the system was designed for people like me I’m still falling through the cracks. It is much worse for people who aren’t white.

I’m not going to stop talking about that even though assholes on the internet want to shame me for caring about this racial disparity. I want it to change. That means I’m going to talk about it.

I really hope I can do so without acting like this issue is about me. It isn’t. It is standing near my issues. Fixing it would also fix many of my issues and that’s convenient. But they are separate.

I am not a strong black woman. I am a white woman. It is all I can ever be. Whether I am strong or not depends on the day.

But I get to be weak or strong from day to day. That is one of the gifts given to white womanhood. Black women are by and large completely and totally prevented from being as open about being crazy as I am, even when it is true. They get punished in ways I have escaped.

Please, don’t think I speak for the black experience. I don’t. I speak about what I’ve seen, which is 100% through the lens of a white woman.

I know that nuance is hard.

In the past few months I’ve read comments on multiple websites from people who say they have been following me for years because I’m such a trainwreck and they hate me.

You know… you really need to work on your life. That’s not healthy. I’m pretty sure I have never in my life fixated on someone in that way and I’m one of the most broken people I know. This does not say good things about you, my friend.

If you hate me and think I’m lying, how about replacing my influence with someone you like and respect? Wouldn’t that improve your day? I mean… how is deliberately filling yourself with contempt for a stranger improving your life? I don’t understand. That must mean I somehow remind you of someone in your life. Someone who has hurt you. Someone you really want to think about/not think about so reminders just… feel addictive.

You really should rethink what you are doing. Find things that make you want to be a better person rather than feeling contempt for people you feel better than. That’s not a way to have a happy nor a healthy life.

I understand. Many years ago I followed people on livejournal because they were connected to my community and I felt I had to be along for the ride. I’ve since decided I can opt in to as much of other peoples lives as I choose to.

I find it fascinating how many people have said in the past few months, “If you don’t password protect your writing you deserve what you get.” It strikes me that I’ve been told “If you don’t ____ you deserve ______” for my whole life.

The metrics move around a little, but the story is the same. It is always my fault that other people do things. If I haven’t done _____ then I deserve what other people feel like doing to me. It’s pretty interesting.

I no longer believe that story and I feel grateful down to the soles of my feet.

There is nothing I can do or not do to deserve people deciding to send a crew of assholes after me. Yes, I could do things to hide in my house and not communicate with the world. It’s true. Women have been trying to make themselves smaller so they would receive less abuse… since the beginning of time.

It doesn’t work out though. The smaller you cringe the more they kick you.

Until they kill you.

Do I feel victimized by people being assholes to me on the internet? No. Does it make me throw up sometimes? Yes. Does that make me pathetic? Probably.

I know the difference between victimization and people being assholes. If you don’t, that’s on you. People being assholes is allowed to bother me. I mean, I’m happier if I can ignore it…. but it’s ok that it bothers me.

It’s not ok if it derails my life. But it isn’t. So yeah. I am allowed to have feelings.

I don’t think the kid who kicked me in the throat victimized me. I think he was a kid and he did something stupid. I don’t think his mom victimized me. I think she has behaviors I don’t want to be around and I’m personally angry with her. I don’t think my children victimize me by being kids or by hurting me.

I don’t think that when I agreed to one rape scene with my husband that I was victimized. (No, asshat Redditors it isn’t a frequent occurrence. We had something a year or two that was really hard for me in terms of feeling like a violation of consent but it wasn’t. It was a cue that I was ready to learn new behaviors that had not been previously part of my life.)

I was victimized when a friend pinned me to a rock and sodomized me when I was a child.

I know the difference between victimization and not. If you don’t… that’s not my problem. If you think I don’t then you are ignorant and that is really not my problem.

Also: I love how people on the internet feel qualified to say things like “She needs lithium”. And you complain about how I self diagnose and medicate with pot?!

Only I use pot under the supervision of a variety of professionals. Every doctor I talk to knows about my usage and we debate the merits and problems.

My shrink tells me to take this feeling of defensiveness and feel down to the base of the tendrils and somewhere in the roots in the ground I will find my self-love. She says my ability to go through what I am doing to improve and why is part of what I need to base my self-love on.

I do not brag about beating my children. I have never beaten my children. I have slapped one child in the face once and it was a mild slap. It was not a beating.

It was a fuck up. It is not justifiable. I need to never ever do it again.

You know what? I’ve never lost it and hit their feet for kicking my chair while driving again after losing control once. Even though I just had six months of my kids kicking my seat all day long.

I document so that I can get one fuck up. After that it isn’t a fuck up. It is a pattern and I need to be removed for the safety of other people.

That is not bragging.

Once again, I understand that nuance is not part of the life of the average Redditor. (This is why I say I’m an asshole. Was this dig *really* necessary? – edit 2/2)

I don’t care if you come here to read. I care if you leave a referrer link so that I see you being an asswipe. Which is why you did it. You wanted to say, “See! I can be disrespectful to you!”

Uhm, congratulations? You have many peers in this life. I hope you are proud.

I really don’t understand people. What do you get out of saying, “Here is this crazy person. Let’s laugh at them. huh huh huh huh.”

Seriously. What in the hell can you get out of that?

For the 18 months my brother lived at home after the car accident there were always kids waiting near our yard. They were waiting around to shout insults at my brother. “Hey retard.” He wasn’t retarded mentally. He was physically disabled from having his head go through a car windshield at full speed on a major highway.

But kids are uhm charming.

Reddit reminds me of those neighbors. It is not a positive association.

These are the people who are going to line up to throw insults and nastiness when I eventually get to the point of seriously speaking publicly about incest. These are the people who are going to work like maniacs to try to silence me.

Really this is good practice. The hatred and devotion I’m inspiring now is… kinda nothing compared to what I’ll get once I’m seriously into the incest research. Brace yourself, EppieKrissy.

On a positive note: I loved the chiropractor I talked to today. He had a lot to say about different treatments and approaches based on my incredibly complex history. He was optimistic but he did not make promises. That is such a perfect balance.

He said he really doesn’t know a trauma informed GP to recommend. I’m going up to meet a new psychiatrist soon. I’m working with someone who knows my primary therapist. Which means Berkeley. Sigh. I am not looking forward to the drive. But I need the specialties I need and they are hard to find.

I should try to schedule with preferred northern acupuncturists while I’m up there. If I ask my friend to babysit and she says yes. Ok, more to do.

Made more progress with local developmental psychs for parenting stuff. It’s still phone tag though. I made more calls.

After this burst of defensiveness I feel strangely better.

One of the things that is exciting about this chiro today is he is normally a sports medicine specialist. So he’s a little freaked out about me. Ha. His eyes went big more than once in alarm when I brought stuff up. So… it’s going to be mixed. But! He is super interested in helping me figure out how exercise needs to be reintegrated. He is well informed about how exercise and injury are really tricky because it is a fine line between helping yourself heal and hurting yourself again.

I feel like I could tremendously benefit from someone who is experienced at dealing with that line. He’s really enthusiastic about me getting back to running. He also said emphatically not yet. That… feels like the kind of support I want and need right now. He wants to help me get where I want to get and he has specific skills to help me.

A lot of the problem with personality conflicts and Drs is, a patient has to be helped to get where they want to go. Not where the Dr wants someone to go. So you need to find a Dr who likes to help people get where you want to get. Most people aren’t that honest about that process so it’s tricky to find a good match.

I’m weird. I know that. I’m ok with it. The places I want to go… aren’t places most people even think about let alone want to go there.

I have to believe it takes all kinds. Or I need to die for the good of the herd. So. Hey troll-tastic followers. I know I lose my temper sometimes and I say I want you to feel a lot of pain. In that moment I sorta feel that way about an abstract you.

I can pretty much promise you that if I actually met you I would step in front of danger so that it doesn’t hit you. Because I think you need to be here and I’m pretty sure I’m expendable.

I know I need to be less of an asshole here when I’m in a bad mood. Because I sure give the impression of wanting you to suffer.

You know what? The world already suffers enough. I’m ok with less of it. Even if it means that you don’t suffer for being an asshole. I’m an asshole. I’d prefer to suffer less. I guess that means I need to be ok with the same for you.

I forgive you.

Maybe if I work on that, I can make it easier to forgive me.

Somehow it occurs to me that even though it isn’t part of self-love for other people to forgive outsiders, maybe it is for me.

I don’t know. I’m sure that is backwards and broken. But I carved the word forgiveness on my body. It is, specifically, what I am searching for in this lifetime.

I’ve never been sure for whom.

If I were the sort of person to hold on to notebooks from my own childhood you would see that my main doodle for years was to write the word forgive over and over and over in cursive. It’s prettiest that way.

I am working on forgiving my mother. I am working on forgiving a lot of people.

It’s funny. When I was 18/19 if someone said or implied that I should forgive my mother I responded like an enraged mountain lion.

If I had tried at that point in my life I would have opened the door to more problems. I had to get that angry. I had to break those bonds.

But I did. And now I need something different.

Life is change, Highness. Anyone who tells you different is selling something. (Yes, I know that I changed the quote. That was on purpose. -edit 2/2)

Plagiarize, plagiarize, that’s why God gave you eyes.

How do I learn to love myself? For me it involves learning the difference between being victimized and people being an asshole. It means learning what kinds of feelings are appropriate in which circumstances. It means forgiving people who are mean to me because of what they were taught.

I, too, have been a monster because I was told that was who I was supposed to be. I am not in a position to judge. Not ever.

Man, this has been one of the most interrupted pieces of writing I’ve done in a long time. Why in the fuck am I persevering in 5 minute chunks?!

I’m talking to myself. Shuddup.

Ok, that means Friday is the day of the week I’m allowed to blog. It’s decided.

Shiiiiiiit. Who wants to make a bet on which day of the week I’ll crack before next Friday? I’m taking odds…

I have massage work scheduled! I’m getting a hair cut with Youngest Child. I get to drive north to visit some of my dearest friends. I will visit the home remodeling recycling place in Berkeley on the way. (Tile!) I see chiropractors bunches.

It occurs to me that I’m at a good stage of life for developing boundaries around sense of self that I’ve never been ready for in the past. That’s awesome.

Ok. That’s gotta be enough for today. Let it go, Krissy. Let it go.

If you post that you are happy about not seeing a flood of people coming from one place you anger the trolls of the internet. They say “you are not supposed to have control over people being assholes to you without being inside a locked box. Here. I will send Reddit to you”.

 

if you are a person who spends your time being nasty to mentally ill people … I will pray for you. Obviously your life hasn’t had enough actual strife. You must spend your time kicking people who have already been kicked a lot to prove that you deserve to be a kicker instead of someone who gets kicked.

 

I get it. I don’t like being someone who gets kicked either. But I’d rather be like me than like you.  It strikes me that your adult life is probably actually a lot less happy than mine, even though I am the crazy one you want to feel better than.

 

Well, whatever makes your socks roll up and down I guess. I’m going to go see another Dr now. Since all y’all casual visitors first say “she needs help” rest assured that I am doing my best to access help.

 

Obviously your comments are based on your deep well of human compassion. Hahahahahahahahahaha

 

i will address the “she thinks she’s a strong black woman” idiocy later. I really don’t. But you are so cute. Or not. Does even your mama think you are cute for being a mean piece of shit?