Monthly Archive for July, 2007

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Therapy As Planned

Published on July 15, 2007 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD and Therapy. 1 Comment

I went to therapy on Friday as planned. I stumbled into the office like I was drunk but I was just dissociating…badly. The good thing about Captain Crunch is when I’m at my worst he’s at his best. He behaves the vast majority of the time. I can get him to follow commands or “do his job” about 98% of the time but if I’m not doing well then he’s on the mark without missing a beat. I have to say, the boy is a selfless super dog. So he escorted me into the office. MacBlue started the session off by asking who was there. He said I was uneasy looking, that it looked like someone kicked me in the stomach. It took maybe half the session to get (Joan) back.

The phone session we had Monday afternoon went well as did the session on Friday. But it seems that my level of anxiety, anger and physical exhaustion have taken their toll and thrown me into having suicidal feelings. The “S” word is a frightening word for many. But I did exactly what I said I would do if I ever thought I could no longer keep myself safe. I asked for help. What worries me about asking is that I know I cycle. One minute I look like death warmed over and the next I’m laughing. Continue reading ‘Therapy As Planned’

What’s Been Living In My Yard

Published on July 13, 2007 in Art and For the Record. 6 Comments Tags: , .

Spider Web no spider

The webs line the inner and outer fence of the entire yard. They climb two trees and circle the very bottom of one trunk completely. A pile of wood is condos to what can only be called the biggest mo-fo spider of the season. This one condo-like web sits on a pile of wood beside my front door. It will be moved very soon. Before moving it I wanted to make sure the spider wasn’t home. After verifying that I could shoot without being bitten I then proceeded to do the unimaginable. I ganged up on it with a can of Raid. I’m sorry nature lovers but this spider had to die. If you click on the link, heck, even if you don’t click on the link to see the actual spider who was murdered at least look at it from my point of view. I have a problem here. I’m being invaded. Beautiful craftsmanship or not, this spider poses a threat to my peace of mind. Look at what was built and tell me you would have let it live outside your friggin door. To see a slideshow of all webs and NO spiders click the link. The following link DOES NOT show a spider, just the web.

Web no spider

Now, for the ex-resident. If you’re the squirmy type then move to the next entry or the next blog. This is not an entry for the weak at heart. But if you, like me, love bugs and their homes, then you might be interested by these shots. While viewing it Blossom said, “How many times is this bitch gonna raise the hair on my neck?” Okay, I think what Blossom means is this is one ugly spider. If you look closely you can see the stripes and all legs. If you look even closer you can see all prey caught in the web. It’s quite a detailed shot I must say. The web itself is incredible. He/she spun a perfect circle entering the base of the tree. The following link contains a CLOSE UP of an unidentified spider.

Very large spider, click with care
For all images of the spider and its web click the slide show link. As much building as they’ve done I have to wonder, is it up to code? Does this spider community have a license to build here and if so, why haven’t I seen it?

If you dare to view the slide shows be ready to see them only as they are shown. For some reason they don’t get larger than on the slide show. You can click “view larger” until the cows come home but Photobucket.com seems to have issues with my spider shots in slide shows. I’m not sure why. Maybe they feel a spider should only be seen so large and after that there must be restrictions enforced. I get an error message saying the file no longer exists but perhaps that’s just Photobucket’s way of putting this whole spider thing behind him. It’s a shame when web sites give into blocking.

However, if you just can’t help yourself I will provide for your viewing pleasure full resolution images upon email request. Just leave a comment and I’ll send ‘em to you. Come on, don’t be shy, let the world know you love bugs. It’s okay. No one will judge you….except maybe photobucket. I even have high resolution photos of a locus I watched breach the shell and of a praying mantis sitting on my coffee cup. Awesome I tell you, absolutely awesome. I’m still trying to figure out what the curious caterpillar was on my door yesterday. I’d like to also know what he was doing with my hair. Why is he on a piece of my curly hair? Its sickness I tell ya, caterpillar sickness.

J of A (bugs are just one of my many interests)

Tell Me How To Make Me Happy

Published on July 13, 2007 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, Poetry, PTSD, Relationships, Segments, Soapbox and Therapy. 2 Comments

I realized that I don’t know what to expect in a relationship. I complained to Dr. T about how Blossom fixes my collar, how she is constantly touching my shoulder, rubbing my back, etc. I told him I don’t like when she calls me “Honey” and “Sweetie.” I thought she was talking down to me, talking to me like I’m a kid or something. He went on to explain that people in an intimate relationship (even when it’s “benefits only”) tend to be touchy feely. The more domestic one tends to fix collars, fix a hair that’s moved out of place and fuss over the aggressor in the relationship. He used the word aggressor and I flinched. I’m not aggressive with her how come I’m the aggressor and she’s the ….well, she’s what? If I’m the aggressor then what does that make her? He said the aggressor is the more dominant one it doesn’t mean violence and domination. I was more comfortable with that word from there.

Further discussion let me know that simple things people do in a relationship I had no clue about. So what do people do in a relationship? I mean really? When I think of a relationship my mind goes to fixing things, to making sure the other person is safe and happy and pleased. My mind goes to the image of a man sitting up all night over a desk full of bills he can’t meet but somehow finds a way to keep from his family that they’re on the brink of bankruptcy. Then he somehow maneuvers things and the world is okay once more. Having never let on that he was worried, his family goes about full and happy. What kind of image is that? Where did that come from and why is it that I still stay up all night making this house “perfect” so that when my roommate wakes up, when Blossom finally gets her ass out of bed the world is perfect and they never know that during the night I fell apart. Where the hell does that come from? I know it didn’t come from Ozzy and Harriet or that Dagwood cartoon because I’ve never seen them, not even once. Maybe I feel under cover of night I can fix all that is wrong in me and by sun up no one will be the wiser that I nearly fell apart. I wish too that when the sun comes up I’d know what it really means to hold a relationship. I wish when the sun comes up that I’d have some clue as to how to read another persons actions through glasses not tented with suspicion. Our problems, Blossom’s and mine are more than her lack of manners and her recent tryst. Our problems are too many to count but the one that stands out, the one that keeps this sick bond together is my BPD.

I could walk away, I have before. But I keep coming back. Looking over journal entries I’ve been doing this back and forth thing since 2003. Why? I’m hell bent on fixing things, on not being the bad girl, on being what she needs me to be. TMI→ From the beginning I’ve not let her do certain things in bed so it’s mostly about her and I prefer it that way. Even with me as the “aggressor” with little reciprocation I still feel like I’ve done my “duty”. That stupid written record she keeps of my performance says in general I fill my “duties.” well enough to claim I’m a “good girl.” ← end TMI.

See Mama, I’m doing right. I cook. Never once has she made me dinner. It’s my hands that make the fresh bread she eats and my words that dry her tears when she tells me how loathsome she is. My suggestions and hounding result in follow up appointments for her health. I entertain. I give. I fix and fix and fix yet everything remains broken. I’m trying to fix the wrong things and that’s why everything remains broken. Dr. T asked once if I thought Blossom and I could be just “friends with benefits.” I said “No, this is a collision course. Let’s not even pretend it’s anything else.” I told him that ex’s hanging together and having fun is called a TV sit com, The New Adventures of Old Christine. That’s TV. Unlike the humorous encounters between those two TV characters I find myself loathing Blossom once more. I know our issues have crossed when I slip and call her by my name. It makes me wonder who I hate more.

Entry Title: Tell Me How To Make Me Happy-Thursday, July 12, 2007-3:23PM
Poem Title: Tell Me How To Make You Happy – Thursday, July 12, 2007-1:42AM

 

Not That Easy – An Inner Conversation With Three

Published on July 13, 2007 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD, Relationships, Segments and Soapbox. 0 Comments

They say the real definition of insanity is doing the same things repeatedly while expecting a different out come. I understand that, I do. But the need to erase this feeling of “you’re a fuck up, a loser”, “you can’t get anything right you dirty broken little shit” is stronger than my concerns with definitions. It’s not that easy to go, “Hey, this isn’t healthy for either of us. We have to part and stay gone.” It’s not that easy because in the back of my head is a disease waits to take over and flood me with insults. “You’re a fuck up, a loser”

Go back because it hurts, you need that hurt. Who else will supply it if Blossom doesn’t? You need that pain.
God, you sick fuck, what are you talking about. I thought we stopped living in pain. We left home because of it.
Please, be quiet. Leave her alone.
I still need it to feel like I exist.
You are one sick woman. She’s a sick woman.
Yeah, but without pain I’m a sick empty woman.
Arggh! You don’t deserve this you know that right? Joan tell her she doesn’t deserve this.
We already know that and we don’t want to hear it. I just want to make that hole inside full.
Is that supposed to happen by being hurt?
I don’t know. What would you have me do?
I’d have you cry.
What kind of answer is that?
Maybe doing so would give you some sort of relief, some sort….
You’re just being stupid now. There is so much to prove.
You’ve proven it. You’ve proven that your goal is unreachable because you’re working with the wrong person. You’re trying to change the past.
I know that.
My goodness will you leave that girl alone?!
So stop acting like you don’t understand where all this pain is coming from.
I never said I didn’t know. I said I needed it but that I also hate it and that I don’t know that if walking away again will solve anything. The hurt is too deep and it’s not even from Blossom.
I know it’s not from her but when you look at her you see….
Mama, yeah I know.
People must think we’re sick because….
Because we’re trying to fix the past with Blossom who we see as our mother and it could very well mean that right now we are willingly sleeping with our mom to make her love us.
Yeah….You’re not going to publish this are you?
Yeah I am.
Why?
I’m not sure. Maybe so that others inside can read it.
Turn off the comments will ya?
Yeah…What is wrong with us? How come we can’t let this thing go? How come we can’t stop rubbing in the past or let it go and accept that we can’t make our mother love us through some one else? Especially someone with a mountain of her own issues? How come it can’t be as easy as walking away.
As you said, walking away means leaving a need unmet and that need is more important than a silly definition. You said you needed it, you needed to fix it.
I still say there is nothing in this relationship to fix because the problem started way before Blossom.

It’s my hands that make the fresh bread she eats and my words that dry her tears when she tells me how loathsome she is. My suggestions and hounding result in follow up appointments for her health. I entertain. I give. I fix and fix and fix yet everything remains broken. I’m trying to fix the wrong things and that’s why everything remains broken.

Not That Easy – An Inner Conversation With Three
Thursday, July 12, 2007-4:34PM EST

Big Pink Elephant

Published on July 12, 2007 in Borderline Personality Disorder, Mental Health, PTSD, Relationships and Soapbox. 1 Comment

I can’t sit across from the table, lift my fork, smile, sip Coke and pretend I’m not angry. I can’t look a person in the face or hold a conversation with them knowing inside I seethe. For this reason I canceled dinner with friends. One friend is unaware of my reasons for canceling but the other, oh she knows why. After an hour long conversation I realized I was speaking to the wall. It didn’t make any difference how I explained myself she just wasn’t listening. If I sat at the dinner table offering smiles when I really didn’t feel like it I’d toss myself right back in yesterday. It is yesterday when the big pink elephant lived with me. But I’m an adult now. While I will not hold a grudge I also will not pretend I feel one way when I feel the exact opposite. I’m sorry but I’m not going to dinner. I’m not the pink elephant type anymore. I looked past him out of necessity but times have changed. I’m a survivor now. I slay pink elephants.

I think part of our conversation that made me angry was when she told me she would do what ever it took to make me happy. Argh! There goes that submission, that total disregard for self. It gets to me. It gets to me deeper than the moment. I know it goes back to not just how I saw my sister as weak but how I saw myself as weak. How could I lay down and take that kind of beating at age 20? What kind of weak something was I? Why did fear grip me so hard that I’d disregard dignity and lay down and be beaten with a dowel rod? Submission! I do not take it well and I do not express it well. When she said she’d do whatever it took to make me happy I swear I pulled the phone from my ear and looked cock eyed at the phone. Did you really just say that? Are you serious? I said to her, “Please tell your therapist exactly what you just said to me. Please make sure that you tell your therapist that you offered control of your thoughts and decisions and that you are willing to trade what you want in order to not upset me.” I could hear her crying on the phone then I heard nothing. I said, “Hello?” I thought she hung up. The ultimate offense, to hang up in the middle of a conversation. I was pissed. She didn’t hang up on me, she was just quiet. She told me she just wanted me to stop feeling angry and to tell her what to do to so she could make everything okay. I told her, “You’re a grown woman. You’re a smart, capable woman who can make her own decisions. I will not take control of you.” “But how do I fix this?” “It’s up to you to fix it. I can tell you how I feel but you have to be the one to decide what you want to do based on how you feel. I won’t tell you what to do.”

The conversation was void of comedy. There was no pep talks, no typical Joan of Arc to the rescue action. She then said, “Shall we pick you up tomorrow?” I will gladly eat leftovers. Curried beans and rice with sausage and spicy corn cakes, ice tea and no pink elephant. I’ll be just fine.

I feel the need to say that I don’t yell at her. I don’t call her names or talk down to her. I really don’t. I get so frustrated but I don’t curse at her or yell or name call. Now matter how crazy I get with wording on here I let it stay on the blog. Like hitting, you can’t look a person in the face and be cruel and in the next breath say you care. There is a part of me that simply crumbles when I think of this girl ’cause I hold onto the hope that this time I’ll get it right. This time I won’t be the bad one. Boy how I worry that it’s all me. I just have to shake my head and stick to what I know. No pink elephants, no faking, no hinting, no games and certainly no lies. I hope it’s not all my fault. I should mention as well that Blossom has been medically cleared to drive again. So with one eye and one ear and a head full of issues she’ll meet our other friend for dinner. God help the fly on the wall that hears their conversation.

Sad, ashamed,
J of A

Big Pink Elephant
Thursday, July 12, 2007-12:42midnight EST

Friends and Flowers

Published on July 11, 2007 in For the Record and Humor. 1 Comment

So there I was sitting on the sofa twiddling my thumbs, whistling my innocent tune. Da dee, da, dee, da, dee. Then it occurred to me today is a beautiful day for yard work. “Self” I says, “Today is a good day for yard work but a better day for shooting pictures.” So I grabbed my trusty digital cam and tripod then headed outside. Satisfied with the work I’d done I hurried inside to upload the multiple shots of the dead flower, whose name I do not know. Just before uploading I realized I had email. “Self” I says, “You have email from your good friend Beauty.” Pleased to see a note from a friend I rushed to open the gift gmail brought me. But what did I find? This!

Me: How could you?
Beauty: But it was just a joke.
Me: SILENCE!
Beauty: What can be done for me.
Me: You need a lawyer. I’m suing.
Beauty: Have mercy on me. I’m just a redheaded woman with nothing to do but harass my friends and put up billboards with photos they supplied.
Me: Oh, so now this is my fault?
Beauty: Well, if you think about it, yes. It is. You do put tons of photos of yourself on the net with your dimples showing and eyes looking all innocent. But we all know. We all know ya little no good……
Me: SILENCE!

I begged the court to have mercy on Beauty for it was only the third time she’d done such a thing to me. They did not drag her away screaming to the prison for those who use photos improperly.

Beauty: Friends?
Me: Yeah, we’re still friends.
Beauty: Wanna go get some ice cream?
Me: No, but I did pick a dead flower for you. See???!!!

Dead flower for my lively friend Beauty

J of A
Flowers and Friends
Wednesday, July 11, 2007-4:42PM EST

Lactose Intolerance: My Memoirs

Published on July 10, 2007 in Art, For the Record and Humor. 1 Comment

Steak 'ems on Pizza

Steak Pizza-Pizzeria Style

In shackles and dairy restraints I stood, head hung low as a jury of my peers found me guilty on all 4 counts of gastrointestinal assault. Found guilty of violating the non-dairy laws I was cast off to face the fury of a privy prison. To get a better understanding I must go back 5 years when the law of this land changed no longer allowing the free flow of eggs, milk, cheese or products which contain them such as chocolate and butter and gravy, all the things that really count in life. It all began when I turned thirty years old and blew out the candles on my lactose-free cake served with tofu ice cream. It was then explained to me that my wish for dairy wasn’t granted and I’d have to spend the rest of my life in dairy free damnation. Tears welled up in my eyes. “You must not cry over spilled milk.” he said. “Now is the time to suck it up and be a woman. You must reject every creamy goodness on earth.” I took this sour pill not fully understanding what changes lay ahead. But I’d learn, boy would I learn. Continue reading ‘Lactose Intolerance: My Memoirs’