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We talked about school. I told him that I brought it up last Friday but that he just said, oh, okay, and went on. I told him that he didn't ask a single question about it. I said, if I told you I was taking these classes at the local university you would have had questions. You would have asked when the classes start, what my class load is, where I'm taking the classes, what accreditation I'll receive and what my goal is. I said, you didn't ask me a single question. He said, why do you think that is? I said, because of the subject. I don't think you see it as valid.  ...continue reading "The Right Soil"


I found out about an hour ago that Chester Bennington from Linkin Park killed himself. I'm from the Linkin Park era. I'm from the era where we wrote their lyrics on our school notebooks and watched Chester scream while wearing plaid. He was a strange attraction, someone we could relate to.

I've watched this band grow from kids to activists to fathers. I own every major CD they ever put out.

I know the history of many of the band players. I know how difficult their lives were and I know the songs meant a lot to them and to those who listened. When I heard Chester died it shocked me then the tears came because he killed himself. That's a totally different thing than dying, it means there was excruciating emotional pain that he had to end and that he was past hearing a voice that might help him out of his pain. Hearing that he took his life means Chester was suffering, that is what's behind the tears. I know suffering. I know it emotionally and physically and I hate to hear that others suffer, especially someone I felt a connection to through their music.

I know grief will bend you in half. It will break bones like they're toothpicks. He grieved. Boy did he grieve. I know the emotional toll grief has on a person especially when grieving the suicide of a friend or family member. It can break you, burn your eyes out. My God it'll eat you alive trying to grasp that someone you love committed suicide.  ...continue reading "Suicide is Complex, to say the least – Chester Bennington"


This is a whirlwind journal entry, a roller coaster journal entry with a bit of resolution at the end of this entry. This first part starts out with me being angry enough to slip in speech just a little bit......

5:37 pm
I was ranting to a close friend about the medication I was to 'make last'. It is so offensive. It felt like him saying to me, 'I know this isn't anywhere close to enough. I know you're going to be in pain but here is a tiny, tiny bit of relief.' My pride kicked in. You can not do this to me. I am so angry. How dare you call me twice and rub salt in my wounds? So, while talking to Snow I said, "I know they didn't think I was going to be okay with it!!!!!! I said, you can't toss me scraps and think I'll be okay with it. They've got the wrong nigga for that!!!" .... oh crap........

I have spent the last 5 years doing my utmost to clean up my language. I always worried it would be the F-bomb I'd drop, not the N-word. Right now I'm pushed to the brink. How many times do you need to call me to tell me I can't come back and that you're not giving me refills? The 30 days are up. Why are you calling me?  ...continue reading "I’m not your dog"


I'm still awake. I was saying a prayer before bed where I talked to God about how hard it is to say I love you even to him. I have a hard time hearing others say, "I love you." Most of the time terms of endearment irritate the snot out of me. Hun, sweetie, yuck! "I love you" will make me recoil with mistrust.

My mother told me if I didn't change my ways I'd end up like my Aunty S and die alone and unlovable. How dare she? I was told early on that I was killing her love for me. I was killing my mother's ability to love me. When younger, my sister would catch me as I walked around the corner, hit me in the stomach and say, "love hurts." She tried to tell me in better ways but it ended up being awkward. "I'd tell you I love you but you'd just do something to make me regret it." At the time I couldn't hear past the words.

Here I am at 5:53 in the morning, hours after saying a prayer, and I'm still awake because of how three words feel on my ears. To hear someone say those three words feels like a shackle has just been put on me.  ...continue reading "A hard time with the words “I love you”"

The Clearing : My Face My ArtThe problem I have with the old GP is that he never saw me. He walked in the room and typed on the computer. He didn't look at me. He asked a few questions, typed some more, wrote on paper, handed it to me and left me sitting in the room alone wondering what on earth just happened.

I use to sit there and cry. He walked out like that and I just started crying. I asked the nurse why? What's wrong? She didn't know. I thought he didn't like me because I'm fat. I thought he had a problem with fat people and that I disgusted him.

He treated me as if I was beneath him. I spoke to another employee who said others reported the same. I kept going back. ...continue reading "I don’t need to own your feelings or behavior"


Content: Heavily emotional. Being labeled heartless is the main topic but I also mention the death of a grandparent and a grandparent complicit in abuse by his silence. There is extreme child abuse listed in a noted paragraph ***.

I read a blog entry this evening concerning a survivor that worries she may have a heart of stone because she can't cry. Follow her blog here. The subject has come up before, survivors that don't cry at all or don't cry easily may feel they are different from those of us who have found the vulnerability of tears less triggering.

I know a lot of people think crying is a show of weakness. If we didn't, we wouldn't hide our faces or apologize to others who see us cry. There's a need to protect others from our emotions so we shield them from our tears. Here in the West, tears in front of others may include guilt or it may suggest weakness. Weakness in relation to automatic emotional response is what I want to talk about.

When I was younger I figured out that my mother was looking for a reaction to her abuse. She was looking for shock value, for panic, for pain response. I knew when she hit me with dowel rods, when she assaulted me at all that she was looking for an emotional response. She looked me dead in the eye and I looked back. I learned with each session how to withhold her prize, a response. I held my ground. I refused to scream, to panic, to beg. Absolutely not! That's what she was after and that's what she would never get from me. Now, my sister, a totally different kind of survivor, one with her own adaptive skills, would scream when the mother was looking for a scream, would express pain from torture when that's what my mother was looking for. And she's shed her tears when the mother was looking for a response after humiliation. I realized it was all about the response and once I knew that, I refused it. I locked it up and I refused it. Admittedly, it wasn't all at one time. Being able to control outward emotion matched the effort taken to force it.  ...continue reading "Child Abuse and the Sought After Reaction 1"

Content: Heavily emotional. Being labeled heartless is the main topic but I also mention the death of a grandparent and a grandparent complicit in abuse by his silence. Bullying and cruelty goes with the territory of this entry.

The first part of this entry starts here.

I learned I was nothing, expendable and a burden to happiness, all before the age of fifteen. I carried that with me until someone spoke up for me.

In 1985 my maternal great-grandmother was in the hospital dying. The family gathered because it was believed she would pass at any moment. They decided that the youngest cousin was too fragile to see her. I'm not certain about other cousins or my sister. I do remember my Aunty S saying I could go in because I'm heartless and could handle the sight. That's when EVERYTHING changed for me. A man complicit by not stopping the abuse was the person who changed my way of thinking. When I was called heartless in front of my entire family my maternal grandfather spoke up and said, "Don't be fooled by her silence. She has a heart."

Now, why did that mean so much to me? It was his wording. Fooled. Silence. He knew I'd learned to absorb without expulsion. Someone else knew I should scream my head off, cry, beg...BUT I didn't. He knew I was not born with a defective condition affecting worth. Ich war nicht missgeburt. It only took once, a voice from someone who truly knew the horror of what was happening, to stand up and say, at such a critical moment, you're wrong, she has a heart.  ...continue reading "Child Abuse and the Sought After Reaction 2"

I am emotional in most GP visits because the doctor has to touch me and it hurts. Also, sitting in the doctor's office feels like my denial blinds have been lifted. At least outside the office I have a measure of time where I'm not thinking of my body and what has been lost, but being in that office is different. I know why I'm there. I know that faking a smile isn't going to work. I feel vulnerable and I cry. I chatter on when I'm nervous but I can tell you what hurts, where and how it feels different from the normal pain.

I've been told recently that expressing clear needs to medical doctors can be problematic. I used the word recently because this isn't news to me. I've heard it a thousand times. I've also hear it said, 'You're more involved in your health care than we're used to seeing."

What's interesting is that I no longer have faith in you. How do I put faith in a community that has no faith in itself? Doctor's constantly put down their peers down. I've had GP's tell me to stay away from pain specialists. I've had orthopedic specialist talk bad about other orthopedic specialists and rheumatologists. Nurses in office will talk bad about the doctors and tell you what medical practices they think are quackery. If you can't even agree among yourselves how to treat the basic needs of a patient then how do you expect me to put my trust in you? You don't even respect each other.

...continue reading "The broken yet determined chronically ill patient"

I'm out of it but only because I've had no sleep.
Oh, hey, I painted yesterday. I painted in watercolor. I did flowers of course.

I've fallen asleep standing up or sitting here in front of the computer.
The sleepiness feels more like exhaustion that finally takes over. There's a suction away from wake. I'm not sure if I'm explaining myself well. I'm tired, trying to keep my eyes open but there's this very uncomfortable feeling that sucks me away until I lean and jerk myself away trying to sit back up.
When I fell asleep sitting up I heard snapping sounds, like the sound of a snapping twig. I can hear the people in my head chattering. One female voice gets louder but it disappears as I snap awake. I have no idea what she's or they are saying. ...continue reading "Falling Asleep – AM Dental Ramble"

I am no longer a season ticket holder to this Nut Bowl.

I need to go back to checking the news every other week so I can regain focus. I am all but glued to three different news stations. I don't need to know every crack in the world's foundation. I already know the fabric is torn and isn't going to get better. I certainly don't need to watch each and every seam pop.

My therapy discussion and the words that follow are exactly why personal regrouping needs to take place.

In therapy today we talked about how horrible it is to see a man get away with saying the most hurtful and inflammatory things. He is destructive and vile with no consequences. His only purpose seems to be to cause upset and harm to others. He doesn't have to worry about being stabbed or shot because of his words. He's not concerned by the level of chaos and stress he causes to others. Did he seriously take out of context the words of the mayor and put it on Twitter? Did he seriously taunt gun violence advocates in the heat of the attack? Seriously? You thought that was covfefe?  I wish Twitter would close his account due to inflammatory speech! If you have any concern at all for the mental health of humanity, please close President Twitler's account. At least he can't, on a whim, incite hatred, violence, anxiety and drama. ...continue reading "Regaining Focus While the World Falls Apart"

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