The Button

I'm currently attempting to help myself... my biggest issue is that I am more than capable of figuring out what's wrong, and analyzing it to death while attempting to actually do something about it... I have to... if people complain endlessly about something sucking and just let it lie forever, it will drive me insane. If I'm that person, then I eventually have to smack myself in the head, say something like, "Hello, McFly!" and get to work.

I procrastinated for weeks before I finally clicked on one particular button and, trying not to analyze, actually talked to RAINN... although I'm sickened by their stance on helping the transgendered with sexual assault... I knew, I was crumbling. Badly. While I'm aware that anger, triggering episodes, irresponsible behaviors, etc are normal, I also had tried to avoid the issue... and I am generally very prone to using a bit of dry gallows humor, at least at first, to deal... to wit: "A fire on Ash Wednesday? Brilliant!" I'll eventually have to break and meet it head on. When I realized I was an anxious mess (and thanking God that for the most part, those I've chosen to keep are patient with me when I head into spectacularly neurotic episodes.)

I tried a website where people can talk... about healing, about assault, etc... detested, right away "Victims" being the first word that I caught, and have yet to avoid clicking the red X to my right when the "This website may cause triggers" warning pops up. Nope. Can't handle. I've had more than enough. I have to cope, I have to work, I have to find comfort when I can.

Certain "innocent" or "normal" things people say will cause me to shut down, to become angry. If I show in some way that it did, it will anger me more. "Daddy like" causes me to flash back to an incident where The Idiot Known As Ricky Fucktardo decided to A) entrust me with the knowledge that incest turned him on... (Strike 1---and OUT!.) and B) tried to invite a couple who could satisfy that whim. Having no interest in swinging was something I already got shouted at, beaten up, and occasionally, invited to whether I wanted it or not. (I'm so glad I live somewhere where no neighbors can attest to me literally running for my life to a friends' in my underwear.) They were creepy, they were forceful, I was stuck for the night, unfortunately, and my skin was crawling. I hid in the closet.
Then there was the guy that he invited over---a big, creepy guy who had told RF* that he'd give him $ to have sex with me. And left me alone with him... When he tried to get me onto his lap, I ran. Later on, I received the fight of my life... and  physical scars that still heal to this day. Because I'd cost him money and he'd made a promise to this guy. I was supposed to be good, I was supposed to be obedient. I'd made him look like an asshole. Now I deal with itching, peeling, etc... and thank God that it's gone.

Anyone who says "Do something sexually to prove you care", even in jest, is more or less going to freak me out. I will never be able to look at that person the same way.
I always figure a true friend can get you a gallon of milk on the way over without needing to have their schlongs or other parts polished just for the favor. I also figure that if I feel like thanking a person, then I'd make sure that they got gas money if needed, a hand written thank you note,  or a home cooked meal, or gee, maybe a heart-felt thank you. If a sexual favor is expected in return for a favor, it's not happening.

Freedom's Just Another Word For Nothin' Left to Lose

I went a-flipping through materials from when I did a class on behavior and attachment. One particular paragraph caught my eye...as they will.

I'm always on a search for freedom... for me, the stars, in a place where the sky is dark enough where I can see them and assorted sodium-vapor and other bright electric lights don't white out the sky... the chance to grab that itchy blanket, and go watch the stars. For me, a dog... like these little guys. Look at those wrinkly little foreheads!--- they're so fluffy, I think I'm going to die! :)

from http://basenjithebarklessdog.tripod.com/pics_of_basenjis.html

But.. there's a flip side to dreams of stars and sweet little yodels (these bark-less dogs, one of whom I know intimately, can yodel, make a peculiar sound (almost a meow) and more..., of porch swings and grass.

Responsibility. First and foremost...try to at least make where you are comfortable. To this end, I went on a massive "Clean all the things" rampage... I now need more garbage bags, and other supplies because I really went OCD, but I'm comfortable, sort of. And we're taught early, that the grass really isn't greener on the other side, although Erma Bombeck does teach that it is greener over the septic tank. But, I have a REALLY blank slate. Next phase: Decorating. Simply. I'm thinking blues, grays, greens, and yellows, and a little cranberry red (a rug). To this end I'm using what I call "Cottage Porn"... I tend to start dreaming and salivating when I see things like:

Completely Coastal

More cottage porn, courtesy of: How To Make A Gamer Laugh on Bitmob


The flip side of freedom:

1)I have obligations. To myself, to my family, to my friends. I must accept them. I cannot neglect myself, either.

2)I have to do the right thing, despite what critics may say. Taking care of myself means sometimes, I have to avoid things that make me act unnaturally.
3)What happens to me is a result of choices I make

4)I can't control what happens all the time. I can control how I react to it.

Ok. That's pedantic. And sounds a bit sad. Let's bring on the music, shall we?

The best "Do everything and look cool" soundtrack. EVER. My nephew says I'm cool, and that's enough for me:

And of course, the ditty that popped up on random while I cleaned up after the Ash Wednesday Fire, and made me stop scrubbing for a minute so I could laugh (somewhat maniacally.)



Well, that's that. Cheery bye!

Do You Ever Have That *Whisper* Not-So-Fresh Feeling?

This was not an advertorial. Neither Lysol, nor FDS, nor Summer's Eve have offered compensation. Please note that while some may choose to smell pine fresh, putting Lysol near sensitive mucus membranes is a terrible idea. Thank you.

No! No!, Dr.Who, and a Sleepy Neurotic

For the last time, Dear Family of Mine, (Never mind the oddball Dr. Who reference to "Family of Mine"... that stays put, although frankly, I'm once again creeped out less by daleks and a family that takes over people's bodies in order to achieve their ends...and unlike the 10th Doctor, I won't say "I'm sorry...I'm so sorry.")

Listen, I know I am a neurotic with a severe perfectionistic streak. Yes, that means I occasionally try to hide that vestige of Slavic blood, the fur... (we are a furry, furry people. It must have been needed to go over continents in search of home, and fight numerous Germanic tribes in the northern European chill.) But seriously, I've had my hand on razors and depilatories since I was 14 and decided my blond fuzz just had to go.) The gift of electrolysis? Seriously? I'm supposed to put something that can cause a burning smell near my skin? (Before you say it, one, I'm pretty much immune to paying $7 for, and having, hot wax ripped off my eye brows. The only issue there is ultra sensitive skin and the redness that doesn't go away for a bit. Hell, I even have coupons for a freebie bikini wax, provided I let the nice lady down the road have at me while I'm in a Happy Baby pose.) Yes, I have had incidents with hair control, don't we all? Electrolysis for my birthday? Complete with "Watch the pretty blue light" and "Don't worry about the burning smell? Oh, I'm perfect as I am, indeed. Listen, I get nitpicky with me. I always consider it a family's job to talk their neurotic spawn down, preferably before the legs become something Social Services wonders about (Because I'll go in far closer than I should) and I'm worrying about a mustache I don't have.

BUT.. a wise friend said this, in one of their more calm moods..."The human race isn't capable of perfection. We are imperfectible."
All along, I've dealt with not quite being able to fit... I worry when I've been Novocaine-ed  or tired because I know my  speech impediment comes through and you look embarrassed... (But at least, if I'm asking, say, the pharmacist, "By the way, am I drooling? Slurring?" they're likely to reassure me. I'm not sure, but perhaps I can act healthy far better than I thought.) (Also, I learned how to drink a soda with half my mouth numbed. It takes gymnastics, yo!)
 like "How could I have had THIS child? Her brother is SO healthy..." I worry when I'm so tired I can barely stand. Because there's that look. Shame and pity.
Now, see, there's a time where I'm not going to be able to act "Healthy"... this pink cheeked bundle of joy and verve takes forever to get it right.

Dear Bro, I have to take care of me. You doing it would be creepy. Besides, I'm not under 18 any more, and it might surprise you, but... I am not a helpless idiot (not in the original political term "Someone who doesn't bother to vote", but in the original "labeling term", someone with the IQ of a small child.) Sure, I'm sensitive, sure, I either haven't had time to, or have tried very hard not to, become jaded by the world. I know it sucks. I know it's dark. I also know about beauty and want to share that. I'd rather not let the darkness overcome the light. I made a promise to myself some years ago: I will lay down, die, and let someone take care of me, and when I do, the person I am will cease to be giving you an empty shell.

I will visit California, take the nieces out, enjoy whatever healthy and gf delights Northern California can offer. But I will not stay. It's time for me to take steps on my own. A vacation is good. I want one in a colder climate too. Yes, I want my family close. No, I do not wish to be their drudge, their project.

I'm taking steps to help me. Working with the neuro, who may come from the best neurological group in WNY but I sometimes wonder if he simply enjoys having a guinea pig/ really good trained monkey/ whatever to treat.

And, with all of the triggers of late, I know, it's time to help myself. I have gotten so ground down, I am really showing disregard for myself and have become a bit useless to those I care for. I can't do that. I'm driving myself and them insane. There's some people I absolutely must cut off. But there's some I'm afraid I'm losing because my personality is getting weird. I don't trust me. I have to focus on me for a bit... the physical scars are healing slowly and annoyingly, but it's healing, none the less. I'm forever wanting to lean, but know better than to do so, plus, I wouldn't want to crush anyone. But, I will trust some of that to an expert.

I will not, cannot, let D. win by letting triggers and fear get the best of me. Or nightmares. So I'll beat him. By having confidence and taking care of me. I will not let a hideous FUBAR wreck me.

It's A Perfect Day For Letting Go...

Music, ah, music, the louder the better (There's a reason I like early, pre-RIP Cliff, pre-haircuts, pre- Lars Is A Little Girl- Metallica--- a profoundly deaf friend with a very old 80's Cutlass used to play them as loud as could go (in the uncomfortable echo chamber that is a small 1980s sedan)- sure, I'd be thrown back in the seat, but it got the blood and heart pumping. ) There of course, is something for every mood.

Contemplative--- "Epiphany"- by Staind. It feels like a heart beat, Aaron Lewis is beautifully gravelly, and it just works.

Oddball Cheer Me Up:
"Doing the Unstuck" by the Cure. There's something strangely delightful in "Let's Get Happy" and "It's the perfect day for letting go". A B-side that can answer the question "The Cure HAVE a happy song?" Answer: As cheery as only the Cure can be.



  Hooked On Phonics Nothing better than a song that can entertain and teach at once. I used to enjoy, but never fully understand, one particular fast-paced ditty giving the parts of the body. I especially adored seeing Abby rock out to it on NCIS though. There's two in particular I love... for kids, but never talking down to. From an awesome show, Horrible Histories (In the US, you'll have to Youtube it, although you could get a zone-less DVD player so you can play a region 2 DVD.) On this first one, giving the names of the UK's royalty from William the Conquerer to Elizabeth II, there was a challenge to memorize the lyrics & monarchs.
And of course, my favorite... a beautifully dark song about the dark life of Dick Turpin, highway man


There was a list someone wrote about "Worst songs to listen to during sex"... I think I have to agree, Rammstein is indeed the least sexy thing to listen to!

"Thigh High Panty Hose, Please"

Of late, in the interests of recovery (I have a lot of work to do, and would like to get my health, etc into gear so I can begin on the next steps of my 5-10 year plan, and hope to really make doctors scratch their heads when I do not fulfill their prognoses of early death (I want to meet my great great grandchildren, at least!) ) I've had to under go more rounds of medications to correct problems caused by other medications, in the fond hope that eventually, they decide to get off their asses and fix the problems so I can go without having to strip down and administer migraine meds by injection, so that weeks DON'T go by in which I either drag and wear sunglasses permanently (And so I can get rid of black out curtains, as I hate dark houses), in which I am not, and cannot be, of use to anyone, in which, to roll out of bed to go to the bathroom is like walking a tightrope, or crawling across one, and which any conversation I'm forced into is forcebly cheery or contains, when I'm at my worst, the observation that the light hurts/ is causing vision disturbances, or contains a variation of "Please, God, kill me now"...  I am also attempting to take care of environmental needs... and removing things that I know are wrong for me. Unfortunately, this includes people. A friend I respected highly, and have done acting work for, had voiced interest. Because it conflicted with my view of said friend, as a friend, and yet, no romantic interest, I kept said person at arms' length. Because I respected them, and could not bring myself to broach this. Also, when they are people whose jobs you can list in a resume, this is not ok, and is a huge no-no. (Because, otherwise, what was he supposed to tell people, "Yeah, she's a great little worker, always willing to please?") This is in the past. To offer "Help" with a request for thigh high panty hose and um... personal depillation requirements? OK, when you delivered my paycheck from said acting gig, and I was as sick as a freaking dog from bronchitis and side effects of medication, and I passed out on you, you claimed to have carried me to bed. My natural alarms are going off, now. What did you do to tuck me in? Your not taking no for an answer and being angry when I tell you I give no favors for favors, nor will they be asked for by me, tells me something. Actually, it helps me to be more anxious. As part of need for recovery, and out of fear, I'm doing this. I don't care that you're a friend to a close friend of mine. You're toxic, you're creepy. You're out. Friends don't allow their friends to feel fear of them. 

For the last time, among the things I'd do before I ask for help, breastfeeding a rabid mountain lion, and/or undergoing female circumcision with a piece of rusty barbed wire are at the top. I'm going to spend a few days getting ready. I won't be able to eat/ speak correctly (or as correctly as I do now, speech deficits not withstanding) and since it's a "holiday" (or reprieve from Lent), I'm going to enjoy it. Period.

Say Something Nice Day

Tomorrow is apparently "Say Something Nice On The Internet Day"... (it's also a friend's birthday, at one point it was joked that she was the same age as her then-1st-grader). If you're around long enough, you know this:

• No matter what, someone will have an issue with it. If you're thin, no matter that you find yourself freaked out when bones poke through, or if there's illness, genetics and nutritional issues. You have to be throwing up or not eating. 
• If you're heavy, you're a fat bitch
• There's no such thing as subtext.
• A nice person wants something
• Remember kids! It's a new world out there and no one has empathy anymore, it's outdated. (I believe this is the Marquis De Sade School of Thought, but could be wrong) either way, I'm not giving mine up.
• Every six months or so, someone will pull the overgrown 6th grader route.
• No one understands this particular concept: not everyone has lived normally. Or had the same experiences as you. Thus, the brave new world some fight for brings new experiences.
• Apparently casual sex runs amok and people are shocked if you don't have it. But no matter what, you're a whore. Because, you know, you're not only of a particular build, but you crossed them. 
• There are times when you end up simplifying simply because you want to save the worst for those who you're close to.
• If men pay you a lot of attention, you're in trouble
• No matter if flirting visibly scare you, you're a whore
• Don't let anyone do anything nice for you, and if they do it without you knowing, God help you
• Oh, that's right, we're all supposed to be atheists now. 
• As for simplifying, while Occam's Razor is a lovely tool, it isn't 100%. For this reason, I kept that the last thing I remembered was going through an ebook format of something I'd used to write an essay, and that a severe migraine and stress from grief had knocked me out. In the interim, a lot of stuff happened, wires got crossed, no one could reach me, as I allowed my phone, a worthless 3" brick die, and I was the last to know, and quite scared when I finally realized what had happened.
• Well, I suppose, life is what it is. While I will not ever willingly ask for something, I will thank people who are kind. I also will do what I need to do. 
• I will not ever use sex, false promises, or manipulation to get my way. I've seen examples, and I didn't like what I saw
• How is it like to be facing my 40th? I have no idea, ask me in about 11 years. I missed bell bottoms, I thought everyone was built like a linebacker, and the hairstyles made poodles blush. 
• How's this for different? I was brought up by older parents, one of whom was literally cloistered at one point, and tended to know my doctors by their first names. While I'm very good at remembering things (even those that I tend to think of as a blurry Polaroid) I had to learn communication in all aspects after having many routes closed off. I'm not going to talk or write like anyone else. (I still recall an "apple-asshole" conversation with horror... I couldn't pronounce the fruit for the life of me, and my speech therapist wanted me to be speech only. P's were very difficult.) 
• I'm still facing down situations that helped me to be scared of my own shadow, and to apologize unnecessarily. I will work on that...FOR ME. I think the first was a large 10 year old when I was 5, who tried to get me to steal money for her from her mother's purse. When I refused, I was beaten. I was found later, walking aimlessly. The last, I still fear. It's still in the shadows. People being put into my bed when I said no to willingly swinging, having to make blueprints to move and leaving them with people I knew I could trust, people being reintroduced, hopefully to control me and my mind, being hit so hard I broke a molar, which I now have to undergo a root canal for? And being told "Learn to lie... no one is faithful anymore, everyone uses people..." no. Same place I lost a rib in. I'm still trying to bring back a lot, still having to pay off his bullshit, and still wondering, "where can I go?" I learned to try to placate so I could calm things down, then work on my escapes in secret. Not being able to talk to certain people, or go to the doctor without being stood over or dealing with a huge fight when doctors wanted me alone? (Because I made him look like an asshole)? Those, I talk to my doctors about, to work on the whole mind, whole body thing. And making for damn sure I'm fully cleansed of that. Time will heal, and so will I. I have work to do.

But, being as Say Something Nice Day is coming up: Those who lent their hands when I needed, those I've kept, even those I lost.. all are important for a number of reasons. Thank you. God bless.