Monthly Archive for October, 2006

Page 2 of 6

Swan, Princess of Colour

Published on October 27, 2006 in Art and Therapy. 1 Comment

copyright 2006 @ Sundrip Graphics all rights reserved

created for JAGA
I keep doing art pieces to keep myself busy. One might say I’m punching stuff out left and right and fast but hey, it keeps me from doing stuff I won’t regret later …but that are considered negative behaviors.

the biscuits and sausage gravy for dinner tonight was downright nasty. I should have just had a donut. I’m still pissed about the cab not coming today. My goodness I was such the girl when she told me no one was coming. I think I produced more snot in five minutes than any baby ever could. Lord, it was pitiful. The poor woman on the other end of the line said, “It’ll be okay.” I was like, “the hell it will.” Of course it took me a bit to get that out because I was gasping for breath, doing that emphysema gasp, trying to talk and sob at the same time. So, after my snot production session I talked to three supervisors about how crazy this is getting. So not only could I not get a ride home I started not being able to get to therapy.

I wondered if I should go ahead and change therapists because of his availability and because of the increasing difficulty with getting there. Then I kinda thought to myself, I can see a meteocher (sp) therapist 4 times a month or a good therapist 3 times a month with some stress about getting there. So-So care or good care hit and miss are my two choices here. I’m going for the hit and miss because at least with the hit and miss I can pick up valuable information. So, I’m staying with Dr. B. Part of me thinks I’m trying to convince myself to leave to sabotage this good thing I’ve got going here. I like this guy. I think he’ll be able to help and part of that is frightening. It means I have to really, really look at shit when in all honesty I’m scared to death to do it. So, I have to remember not to toss this good thing out of the window on a whim or because of sabotage and fear. I gotta ride this one out.

Austin

Symbolic Of What

Published on October 27, 2006 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dreams, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy. 2 Comments

The cab never came to pick me up for therapy. I was so pissed. I haven’t seen Ariel in a long time but she’s been hanging around for the last few days. I know her by her pacing.

I talked to Dr. B on the phone for about 30 min, 33 min 45 seconds to be exact. My phone logs the exact time. We went over a few entries, especially the one about the cats turning into babies and cats being all deformed and what not. He said the dreams were very symbolic. Unfortunately I have no idea what he meant by that. Although I didn’t have much contact with cats as a kid I did have one memorable experience but I can’t see how that would tie into the dreams. That memory is the reason one foot seems to want to act stupid during cold weather.

The uncle owned a nice size hotel in Tampa, Florida. It wasn’t the Hilton but it wasn’t a dive either, about 100 rooms with moderate accommodations. One day there was a cat and a litter of kittens outside the hotel. He got his gun and went to shoot them. I tried to scare the kittens away because I didn’t think they should die just because they were born feline. It didn’t make any sense to me. When I scared them away he was pissed so he turned the gun and put it to my head. It felt like forever standing there. I remember thinking, pull the goddamn trigger. At 9 years old I put it in those words inside my head, “pull the goddamn trigger.” Heck, I’d just witnessed days earlier my cousin getting one hundred lashes and being passed around to company for anything they wanted. So yeah, pull the trigger please. He lowered the gun and shot me in the foot. All of this was over a cat and her kittens. Fortunately for me it went right between my big toe and second toe. I bled like a stuck pig but that’s all. And fortunately for the world the man died a few years back, brain cancer. Some family members say some huge tumor in his head may have made him mean. Perhaps, but when they knew how cruel he could be why did they send their kids to stay with him and be victim to his cruelty? I’m sorry he had brain cancer but if you know a man will pull a gun on your child with you standing there why on earth would you in later years send her to live with him? It seems my family has a moral cancer that has no cure.

There’s some stuff I wish I could take back that I did concerning the uncle… stuff that was impulsive and the best judgment was not necessarily exercised. I went into IUMC with my then girlfriend of 9 years. When we walked in the door who stood there but this very tall, well dressed business man that I called uncle. I pointed at him and said, “That man is a pedophile.” Yeah, he was but perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to do, to say it then and there. My timing was off, not the time or place to do that so yeah, I wish I could take that back. That may have been impulsive but what I did at home was thought out and done knowing full well the consequences could be brutal.

I was given the book The Right To Heal by a friend. I remember reading the Survivors Bill Of Rights in it and man was that empowering. It mentioned listing everyone that abused you. I remember there was a girl in the book that said she needed to list 13 people and then asked if that would be too much? No, was the answer given to her. So I started this project with a poster that I had. I took a poster of a little girl walking down the street with a teddy bear in her hand. She had her back to the viewers (me) and walked down a lonely country road. The picture was done in sepia tone. On each side of the picture I wrote the Survivors Bill Of Rights found in that book. I took it a step further and wrote in black ink on the wall beside the picture every name of every person in my family that had a hand in abusing me sexually, emotionally, physically or spiritually. What I didn’t do was put a name on the list as to what it was. I didn’t write, these are the people that did this that and the other. Having that list in regular size letters beside the Bill of Rights was pretty clear so no title was needed. Yes, mama would see it every time she came in my room and I knew it. I knew she’d see it and I wasn’t sure if she would be violently angry that I had the nerve to put something like that on the wall and make people think I had been abused. What happened was that she said nothing. She simply walked past it every single time she came in uninvited.

I made my statement loud and clear and I’ll never forget how it felt to put those two posters boards up on each side of the little girl leaving down a dirt road. It felt like I was hanging two stones containing Hebrew Law written by the hand of God. Man that was a powerful moment. Gracious, I can see me pinning that to the wall so that when you walked in there was no way on earth to miss it. She never said a word, not one single word about the display. Writing on the wall wasn’t a problem, I was allowed to paint murals in my room and I’d done that before so writing on the wall wasn’t a big issue. What I put on the wall in ink was the issue and what was on the poster boards should have been an issue. It seemed that when there was something she should have gone off about she didn’t, she acted like it didn’t exist. When there was some minor problem she acted like you were the worst person in the world and should be treated as such.

I did a lot of shit like that and maybe it wasn’t really worth it, I don’t know. Mama says that the reason she focused on me was because she couldn’t break me and that I was a challenge. Perhaps faking defeat would have been better than fighting her tooth and nail just to get my ass kicked more and more. I don’t know. I can’t go back and change things so there is no reason to say, “I should have” or “If I had done this or that things might have….” It’s a waste of energy. All I know is that right now I have to think of that bold stand I took when I put my rights and my list up on the wall. I have to remember that if I had that kind of inner strength as a child surely it has grown now that I am an informed adult.

One thing I am certain of is that I’m not ready to stop living. I have too much to do and this isn’t over yet. This symbolism Dr. B refers to can’t be anything worse than what I’ve already lived through. I’ll ask him what it’s supposed to mean the next time I talk to him.

Whatever the recurrent dream themes are symbolic of I do not know, but surely that symbolism is nothing compared to my determination to never, ever desire that someone pull the goddamn trigger. This isn’t over yet.

Joan of Arc

Symbolic Of What-Thursday, October 26, 2006-12:17midnight

More Calls for Death Penalty in Child Rapes

Published on October 25, 2006 in Soapbox. 3 Comments

More Calls for Death Penalty in Child Rapes
Measures in several states are meant to deter, but critics see execution making victims less likely to tell — and more likely to be killed.

By Lianne Hart, Times Staff Writer
October 10, 2006 HOUSTON — With the election just a month away, politicians examining ways to stop violent sexual offenders from striking again are increasingly calling for laws that would allow states to execute repeat child molesters.
Texas Lt. Gov. David Dewhurst is the latest to join the effort, proposing a plan Oct. 3 that would require a minimum mandatory prison sentence of 25 years for first-time offenders and the possibility of death for a second conviction.

It’s about time more than three states started seriously considering child sexual abuse to be bad enough to take the person off the face of the earth. There are only a hand full of states with laws on the books that allow for the execution of child rapists- Louisiana, Florida and Montana. These laws are on the books but not really used. There is currently one man in the entire country on death row for the rape of a child not resulting in death. He is in Louisiana.

The words of this particular politician seem like strong ones, saying that rape can and will destroy the life of the victim. In the article he says “These are crimes that have lifelong effects on the victims. Some never have a normal life. It destroys life as surely as a gun to the head” I agree totally but the mass of citizens will have to agree and have to see the death penalty as equal to the crime.

Texas says they care about their children and say that they want to send a message that if you want to do this kind of crime then don’t do it in our state. Texas might want to stop pretending that they care. If they really want to show they care then the first step is to stop letting sex offenders out for “good behavior” and letting them out early because of jail house over crowding so they can go and offend again. If they want to avoid the whole death penalty thing with the Supreme Court then make life in prison without the possibility of parole mandatory for predators.

That’s going to cost some serious money though. My suggestion is to forget these stupid lottery things and start building more prisons and start taking the safety of children seriously. There is so much wasted money and it makes me sick. Yeah, okay Dateline catches predators every Friday for our viewing pleasure but are they really doing anything? Will those men be charged sufficiently? When they get out won’t they offend again just so we can go back and have this conversation all over again? Will there be any lessons learned? Will Dateline continue give repeat offenders the TV time they need to show the world just how much control they have over our children and the safety of our mental peace. Dateline gives us a look at the world every single Friday but gives no real solutions. My thought is, the main difficulty is how the victim is viewed. Are women and children important enough to say, “If you prey upon them we’re giving you the needle?” Is a sex crime viewed the same as murder? It should be because they take the very soul and rob it blind and leave it knowing full well the person will be allowed to roam the streets again so they can rob and mutilate yet another soul.

This one inmate on death row for the rape of a child in Louisiana (Patrick O’Neal Kennedy) apparently has the law answer the question for us concerning children. His appeal for the execution is based on the fact that the US Supreme Court laws say the death penalty is for the rape of women not children.

On the subject of female predators, I’ve seen a slight change in the media concerning these monsters. There are still jokes flying left and right about teachers with male students, much to my disgust and confirming that male victims are not seen in the same light as female victims. Recently on TV three major shows on ABC had a female offender. I was shocked that three shows in one week showed gruesome acts by women instead of the perp always being male. One show had a woman that helped and encouraged her husband to do the Sleeping Beauty type rapes (Somnophilia aka “Sleeping Beauty Syndrome). One show had a younger woman binding, torturing and killing teenage girls who appeared to have everything to live for. Shows like this may not be taken as they should be right now but perhaps enough of them will let people know the heart of a woman can be just as black as that of a man. Women offenders deserve the same legal treatment as men in all crimes including those against children. If this means the death penalty then so be it. It’s about time someone put a light on women offenders and stopped giving them psychiatric labels to explain away their violent behaviors.

I’m not a reporter, a journalist or any such thing, just a survivor who knows the full effects of what predators can do.

Austin

see my reply to comments at the link provided.

 

Issues Binding

Published on October 25, 2006 in Art. 2 Comments Tags: .

Copyright 2006 @ Sundrip Graphics All rights reserved

Issues binding. This picture started out titled Walk With Me but in the middle of making it I turned to showing what it feels like to try and move with the past holding onto you. I thought about writing the word guilt on the floor of the painting but then I just left it blank because this could mean so many things. Held by guilt, held by nightmares, held by other issues, just held against your will and it feels like you just can’t break free. You know what though? I will.

Psalms 18:29- For by you I can run against a marauder band: And by my God I can climb a wall.

Austin

For The Therapist: Slave To Dreams

Published on October 25, 2006 in Dreams, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy. 0 Comments

Grandmothers house, empty car port.

In mvie theater. The movie showed on the screen but it was words only, no pictures. (opposite of what has been happening lately. I can’t seem to say words I can see the picture but can’t get the words out) the mother was in the seat next to me sleeping. The person next to me family member was picking with her while she slept. Never a good idea. The mother woke and said she had to use the restroom but that it felt good to hold it. She stood up to hold it and I began pushing her to the restroom. We finally got there and the line was long yet all the stalls were unoccupied. Every one of the toilets was gross, restroom tissue, crap, pee, all of them filled to the rim. Some of them had it on the sets and what not. it seemed each stall we went to got worse. then stall #8 had something even more strange. A kitten was sitting on the toilet seat climbing out of the bowl. He wasn’t wet or dirty or anything. He was scared to death though. When he realized he’d been seen he climbed out and stayed close to the wall, low and tried to run from the restroom. As he did the door opened and a lady came in with a toddler in her hand and an empty infant carrier. The cat climbed into the carrier and turned into a baby. Next thing you know the baby is tossed into the dirty toilet in stall #8. the baby was a new born, like hours old, very quiet too.

I took him and cleaned him off and went up to the popcorn stand to tell them I found a new born. The lady said she’d call child services but they were most likely closed until Monday morning. I decided to take the baby home with me until then. I remember thinking I wanted to keep the baby but it would be hell trying to get a birth certificate for him and legalize his adoption. It was time to feed the baby but somehow instead of a bottle he ended up inside a bag of milk. I asked a girl (?) if the baby could breathe in there and she said probably not so I opened the bag and wiped him off and began to burp him. I was walking around with him, he was still quiet. Then he moved a bit oddly in my arms. Someone was making a heck of a lot of noise and the newborn told them to shut up. Of course this was odd but what happened next was even more strange. I said to the baby, are you a demon. He said yes then proceeded to put his thumb in my right eye and try to blind me. I woke up. The babies body was normal proportions but his arms and legs were spaghetti sticks, literally spaghetti strips but dry not cooked. The proportions were equal but the baby was about 10 inches tops. The baby was maybe ½ pound. By the end of the dream he was a regular size baby.

Oct 24th 2006

I’m in the old school hallway and I can’t find my locker. The school is closing for the year and they’re giving out food. I’m walking along the hallway with a black kitten in my hands but the kitten turns into a baby doll. I put the doll on the floor and try to remember the combination to my locker. A girl says I’m irresponsible for putting a baby on the floor but I told her it was a doll. She was still angry.

I’m traveling around the country by car looking for someone (???) but at every rest stop is a shop selling porcelain dolls. Some are expensive and others are about $1.00.

I keep dreaming about dolls becoming cats or visa versa. I keep dreaming about cats multiplying but some are malformed. Some don’t have eyes or legs, some are just a head and there are tons of them all over the grass and the hill in front of the house in the 4th grade. It is always night time in dreams like that, always a filthy restroom, always someone to run from. The mother keeps the doors locked and looks out the windows suspiciously. She says someone is watching us and is coming for us. Sometimes in the dreams she is clothed and other times she is not…always the 4th grade house. This was the only house we lived in that was clean but it was also the house with a field in the back that I crossed in order to sit on the railroad tracks so it could run over me. 4th grade is a pivotal year. I started therapy then too, been in it ever since mostly on and off but mostly on clear up into high school.

Common theme:

  • Movie theater
  • Mutilated or malformed cats
  • Paranoid mother or sleeping mother
  • Grandmother’s house, empty carport

New or Newer:

  • Cats turning into babies and visa versa (meaning of cats in dreams)
  • Black porcelain dolls which I currently collect. (very small collection, about 15 ranging from about decent price to dirt cheap at $1.00) Wasn’t allowed to play with dolls when I was a kid.

I’m sick of being a slave to the dreams. Good gracious Dr. B.

See ya Thursday. I took a little vacation last week end from working on stuff. I had a good week end in general. I can’t complain about that at all. It was pretty nice. I’ve eaten a few times this week and I’ve done better with meds. Kept the curtains open, went outside a few times with Cap, talked on the phone a bit and other stuff. I’ve kept up with ADL’s. Sometimes I feel good other times I don’t. I’m up and down. When I’m up I’m up when I’m down dang am I down. I have a better support system than before so I suppose it makes the hard times easier to handle. It use to just be me out here hanging alone but thats not so true anymore.

Me

**Comments have been closed. This is now an archived post. Feel free to drop me a line at the guest book link found on the sidebar**

Lessons in Futility

Published on October 24, 2006 in For the Record and Mental Health. 2 Comments

Lessons In Futility-Tuesday, October 24, 2006-7PM EST

I felt sorry for Barney because he worked his friends to death getting that garage down before the 1pm deadline. I felt sorry and sad for him because it took almost getting a lean on the house and a fine for $2,500 for him to do something about the garage and the yard. It saddens me that anyone would allow the 30 days they were given to go by and then on the 29th day at the 11th hour he has his friends outside in the chilly air taking it down piece by piece. I don’t know, it was just sad. I’m happy that is gone but to know that someone is so off in their priorities just kinda breaks my heart. It makes me wonder what he was thinking and why on earth it was okay for him to go out to the singles parties and what not instead of getting the yard together so he wouldn’t be sued and further shamed. It doesn’t make any sense to me. If someone told me they would put a lean on the house and charge me 2,500 bucks I think I’d act that night….heck, I wouldn’t have let it get that bad that the health department would threaten my credit and the status of ownership. I don’t know… he seems like a guy running around like a chicken with his head cut off.

Last night he came in and the first thing he did was get ready to go direct a play that the singles club is putting on. I thought to myself, hum, he’s not starring in this one he’s better in a position of control. I can’t believe I thought it. I don’t know why I thought it because he’s more of a follower than a leader.

The other day he said that to make up for the $25 in rent that he took off the total cost I could do some house chores. Yeah! Let me get right on that Barney! Then recently he came home and said, “Thank you for turning on the porch light so I could see to put the key in the door.” I said, “Did I forget to turn on the light?” He said, “No, I was serious, thank you.” I about fell on the floor. That is the first time I have ever heard him say thank you about anything that’s why I thought he was being sarcastic. He caught me off guard. He also decided again to start eating my food only this time he made a mistake and ate something that was prepared for the dog. It was stew. It had meat and carrots and peas in it but it also had dog chow in it. He ate some and you better believe I told him about the chow in it. He will either do something really stupid and I think he can’t shock me any further then he’ll do something nice and shock the crap out of me only to revert to the stupid moron that he is. I don’t understand it yet I stay.

Another chance to turn it all aroundSecretly, I hope that when he ends up needing some sort of convalescent care that I’m the one to give it to him. I wouldn’t be mean so don’t think that. I think it would make me feel useful. I miss doing that kind of work. I like it actually. It was the thought of washing a dead body that made me leave the job training. They said it was a requirement. I just couldn’t risk that spontaneous muscle spasm thing they do after death. I don’t think my heart could take it…an arm just lifts up and they’re supposed to be dead. Nope, couldn’t do it, had to go. I think too that taking care of his convalescent self would be another chance to prove that Aussie isn’t a bad girl. It would be another way to recreate the past and prove once and for all that I’m worth something. I can make things right this time (another chance to turn it all around). I can see that so clearly, me trying to re-create the past. If something needs to be re-created its his level of common sense. Poor sap. Barney!

The picture is a PostSecret image

Me

 

Oh What a Night – Shoes and Socks

Published on October 24, 2006 in Dreams and Mental Health. 3 Comments

I’ve got to get myself together. I’m somewhat depressed, anxious, irritated and in serious need of a shower and some coffee. Rough night though I woke up giggling from a dream. I had a dream that I was wearing green stripped shoes with pink stripped socks and hanging out with the singer John Mayer. He has a commercial right now with Volkswagen were he’s playing the guitar. In the dream he was staying in the hotel room next to me. He looked at me like I was crazy because I had on green stripped shoes with pink stripped socks. I woke up giggling.

It was a heavy night and a very long one, lots of pacing, lots of head breaking, brain squeezing flashbacks and a strong need to hurt myself. I think I rearranged the furniture 4 times last night to try and do something other than cut. I started to take a walk but it was around 3am and the sun wasn’t up. We don’t have street lights, just house lights so walking in the dark is just dangerous. The golf course doesn’t even have lights around it. No sidewalks + no lights= robbed and left for dead.

So anyway, I got up when the alarm clock went off. I stumbled into the kitchen to throw some chicken in the crock pot so I can have chicken ala king later this evening. This crock pot is a little guy, 2 quarts I think. I always forget to turn it on. I put all the stuff in it then walk away and maybe 30 min later I think to myself, did I turn that thing on? The lights come on as if I’ve turned it on when all I’ve done is plug it in. one would think I’d remember that the lights just mean it has power but I seem to forget every single time to turn the stupid thing on. So, as per usual I had to go back and turn on the chicken. The biscuits will be made later. They need to be kinda fresh not 3 hours old but just out of the oven when I toss the chicken ala king over them…

I hope this day starts to look better….actually….there are some things I plan to do to make this day look better. I have to open the curtains..no ifs, ands or butts about it. I have to take medication. I have to actually eat the meal I’m cooking and not just put it in Cappy’s bowl. I have to step outside my door today and get some fresh air and I cannot move around this house in complete silence. I’m going to need some stimulation so I’ve got to either turn on the radio (Napster) or toss in a YoYo Ma CD or something pleasant to listen to without words. I don’t need any more words…I have enough words in my head as it is. So, that is my plan for today.

I got my first laugh of the day from an e-friend. She wrote a story about my crazy household. The first paragraph had me rolling. She wrote this here:

It was dark and presumably night. From the depths of her doggy bed Aussie greeted the shrill ringing of the telephone with dark mutterings.

‘Cripes,” she said, fury edging her tone. “Somebody’s gettin’ themselves a neck wringing, I promise you that. Call me in the dead of the night, huh.” Her brow wrinkled in puzzlement at the sound of leaves crackling in her undies. “What the hell . . .” her voice trailed off as she caught Cappy, from the corner of her eye, sneaking over to steal the bed, still warm with her body heat.

“Freeze, mister,” she said, pointing a stern finger at his sheepishly drooping head. And to the insistent phone she hollered, “Dang on, hold your horses. Somebody better be flat out dead, only reason my phone better be ringin’, this time of night.”

I mean to tell you I laughed so hard. I won’t put the rest up here cause the story is mine all mine but that part is so funny because it is how this house runs. I do sleep in the dogs bed, he does try to steal my covers and I did find leaves in my underclothes that one day….just once mind you, not always, just once. This household is an odd one at times but truthfully there is never a dull moment. I think this e-friend pointed that out quite well. I’m glad someone else could see the humor in the madness I call home.

Now that I’ve laughed I have to go open up my curtains and get this day on the right track.

Aussie, (no socks, no shoes)