If I could get Grace in this shot it would be a perfect Pile-O-Fur. This is Bella kneading bread dough on her teddy bear which happens to be on top of Captain Crunch. No matter where the bear is she’ll find it and knead. I steal the bear all the time and hug it really tightly knowing full well she’ll come to it. It works every time.
Therapy: The last hour as been anxiety filled. I told Dr. D that I’m anxious before therapy because I know when I show up I’m going to feel something. It wasn’t this bad with MacBlue because the only thing I was going to feel was anger but Dr. D is a whole different story. . . . .
While nervous as hell it occurred to me that I have 3 fur babies outside the office door waiting to be loved on. I think it’s time I called it a night and went to bed, enough of the stomach churning anxiety. I have 3 balls of fur waiting to crowd me out of my bed, sniff where they shouldn’t, kick and snore and all those other lovely things.
This is the thing, I really appreciate it when Bella jumps up on the bed and sleeps on my head. I’m okay with pushing her closer to my ear so oxygen can get through my nostrils. I’m okay with that. I really am. I look forward to hearing her heartbeat. It’s rather soothing. It’s just that when she starts doing the bread dough thing ON my head do I start to have issues. Do you have to use claws? That sound I make isn’t a purr.
Here’s Grace looking all innocent and sweet. Later I should take a picture of the nice size scratch she left on my arm. I better not bruise from where she bit me. Yeah, that cat, the one right there next to the bear bit me. Not so sweet and innocent looking anymore is she? 
All that biting and scratching for no reason at all fades to nothing when she wakes me up with what I call the morning celebration. She seems so happy to be with me another day. I forget all about the biting until she sinks her teeth into me again. It’s a viscous cycle. Sleep, celebrate, bite, sleep, celebrate, bite. (I’m exaggerating, she doesn’t bite all the time, just sometimes.)
Austin
I’m thinner; as a matter of fact I’m pretty and other “females” hate me because of it. Back when I was thin and my hair was long I, blah, blah, blah. Women go on and on about appearance. Why? Why do we do it, especially when it comes to hair? They go on about the colour, the length, if it’s full or thin and how it was when they were a child. Women draw lines between good and bad hair as if somehow being on one side of the line means you’re socially acceptable. My hair is the shortest it’s ever been. My hair is bone straight. Your hair is nappy. You have “good” hair. I have bad hair because it’s not this or that. Attention to hair and weight seems endless. (Oh, and there’s the ever offensive comment, “You have a pretty face,” meaning, “You’re fat but your face is pretty despite your obese body.”)
Continue reading ‘I’m Prettier Than You’
Who am I? What do I actually like? What is performance and what is preference? Tennis shoes and baseball caps = preference. I know for a fact that’s me. The Chicago Cubs hat is my favorite. I feel naked without a cap. I like my tennis shoes, high tops and low top Converse. I have pink, green and black. I’m bound and determined to get the red ones and an orange pair. I will have those shoes!!!! I prefer dogs to cats, vanilla to chocolate, blueberry to cherry and cookies to cake. I prefer veggies to meat, potatoes instead of mac and cheese. I know for certain what I like when it comes to foods.
I like the colour red. I’m un-nerved by yellow and motivated by orange, inspired by green. But when I paint with vivid colours its not because I enjoy colour but rather I’m able to scream with it.
Continue reading ‘The Performer’
We talked about what is really me and about feeling like I have no real physical boundaries or sense of self because I switch personalities so much. It’s like being everywhere and everyone still nowhere and no one at all. We talked about performing for the mother and her seeing us as an object and not a child. Talked about being told we have no heart and getting laughed at when we showed non-manufactured emotion. Talked about what we read in his body language, which made him a tad bit uncomfortable. We didn’t comment that his body language told us so. Talked about why we try our very best to not give much in the form of body language. Talked about our lack of eye contact being rather telling but that making eye contact tells more. We have to choose which we’re willing to let him read. Bad eye contact it is.
He asked what our feelings are when someone shows true interest and doesn’t want us to just perform. We wonder why. We don’t trust it. What do they want with that information? He asked if I think they’ll try and use the information against me? Yup!!! It reminded me of when the great-grandmother died and the mother laughed at me. She said it was funny to see me crying because she knows I don’t have a heart. She couldn’t believe I was crying over the death of my great-grandmother. Those tears dried up faster than they came.
We talked about denying emotion. We talked about him helping to contain emotion and keep things from getting out of control. Enter Robert. This guy isn’t going to control me. Get a grip. If it’s mine it’s mine. You will not lead it, mold it nor touch it. He didn’t say it but he sure as heck thought it. This is the most therapy Robert has ever had. Kinda nice to know he feels comfortable enough to talk to him.
Goals for today: Put the ootheca outside. Eat dinner. I made rye bread for tuna sandwiches, add carrots and celery sticks, I should be good to go. Watch a DVD (Monster Inlaw), take out the trash and run the sweeper. I’ve already walked the dog and I’ve done my adult daily living junk. I’m going to relax the hell out of the rest of the day.
J of A
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Therapy Notes Monday, October 29, 2007-4:10PM EST
I need to break this anger streak I’m in right now. I woke up today and thought, “Great, the sun is shining, damn it!” I put the covers back over my head and went back to sleep. My phone has been ringing off the friggin hook, enough so that I turned off the ringer again. I’m annoyed and irritated by the slightest things…CAPTAIN is on every single nerve I have!!! Since the sun is shining he can spend a good amount of today outside where he won’t be victim to anger spills.
It’s been a very long time since the alter with the weak left side has been out. I’ve noticed we’re favoring that side a bit. She has something going on with her left leg. It kind of kicks out when she walks. The left arm stays really close to the body, almost curled up at times…not like with MS or a disorder like that. It’s hard to explain. It stays close to the body, wrist turned to the chest, motionless. Hang on, I know why she’s been out. Argh!!!! Our therapy discussions have been about body memories. I know exactly why she’s been around.
I wish I could go swimming. Okay, that was out of the blue. Heck, I don’t even do water but for some reason I really want to go swimming. Alone, of course cause people get on my nerves. What is wrong with me? My goodness!
I’m not making anymore candles today either. I may be a bit burnt out on that. I want to sew something. I’ve been wanting to sew for a few weeks now but I haven’t done it. I’ve got a little bedtime cap (yes, I wear a cap to bed) that needs to be fixed. I’ve wanted to sew a doll for a long time but I haven’t done it. I should start that. Can I stay big long enough to do it though? Maybe I should take a walk and try to work off some of this ….???? I don’t know. It’s generalized anger and annoyance.
.
Angry Annoyed Irritated and Everything in Between
Sunday, October 28, 2007-1:26PM EST
Looks like I’m going to be a grandmother for the very first time. It seems Misty the Mantid got herself pregnant while out in the wild. She laid her ootheca, which looks like this sometime between Tuesday and Wednesday evening. (That image link is from the Brisbane Hoppers website.) When I first saw it I was like, “Oh hell no, what is that?” Then I realized I was going to have little grandchildren running around in 3 to 4 weeks if the ootheca is properly cared for. This should be pretty dang on cool. The sad part is that Misty will die shortly. I don’t really understand that and I think the little ones and I might have kinda a hard time knowing we’re going to wake up and Misty will be on her back. I don’t know why she has to die just because she laid eggs but I suppose that’s how it goes. I’m not happy about it cause I like the little critter but at least now I know what to expect for her.
I’ve been reading up on how to care for her and everything so now it’s time to do more reading on how to care for her ootheca. I’m thrilled to death about it. I was grossed out big time but now I’m just like, oh man, this is totally cool. So somewhere between me, Captain and the girls I’ll care for the little egg sack. I am so looking forward to this. If I smile anymore I’ll hurt myself.
Grandma Arc aka Joan
Just Call Me Grandma
Friday, October 26, 2007-6:16PM EST
Why on earth anyone would choose to eat a chicken fetus is beyond me or why anyone would eat a thousand year old egg is even further beyond me but I suppose someone out there eats it. Maybe the producers of Survivor China made those two dishes up. Maybe they found villagers who heard stories of hard times, villagers that were half brain ravaged by untreated syphilis and they gave the producers recipes for these “delicacies.” Either way, it was nasty as all get out. This nastiness and a strong reaction by a teammate caused the strongest man in Survivor China to bypass a chance to save himself and put into action Todd’s diabolical plan. James may have traded chivalry for a million dollars. He knew by finishing that “delicacy” it might mean they would win immunity and throw off Todd’s plan but he wouldn’t’ force the lunch lady to finish her chicken fetus dish. It was a beautiful moment in human kindness. I’m impressed James, even more impressed by your chivalry than the back view of your public shower. How on earth can such beauty be legal? Only in the forests of China and the streets of L.A. do such crimes go unpunished. Your beauty is a crime and you should be punished James, oh so very punished.
Speaking of beauty, Sherea I’m sorry you got kicked off but it was inevitable. Eighteen days in China is something I’ll never experience. You can tell your grandchildren about how the light-footed one Todd conspired to have you kicked off the show. They kept self proclaimed bad boy John-Robert instead of you. It wasn’t personal but I know it hurts. Todd, light footed one, your day is coming. I hope it is James, The Beautiful One, that stomps all over your little scheming self and sends you back to the airlines to serve over priced coach meals. Dear little airline steward, your days are numbered, not because your game is tired but because you’re devious, conniving and know nothing about loyalty. Take a look at The Beautiful One, now that is a gentleman, a true gentleman. And Sherea, I figure you didn’t call me because of the lines being down and everything. Maybe you couldn’t get 5 bars where you were but you’ll be back in the states soon. Call me girl. No excuses this time. We’ve got the network here, call me.
P.G. What on earth is your problem? My goodness you have serious issues. You wished your grandfather could see you in his homeland but would he be proud of the way you’re playing or would he understand that his granddaughter is driven by greed and shaded ideas of value and worth? It might be good that he doesn’t know in his homeland you brought Western grown values. It might be better that he can’t see you lose honor this way.
That’s it for my rant, rave and cat call on Survivor China.
(Read the Survivor China Blog.)
Please be quiet.
Be quiet.
Softly she whispered, be quiet.
Mind of horror and dreams unseen.
Mind of unfilled tasks and time hands stuck on twelve.
Be quiet.
Be quiet she whispered softly.
Fingers in the crease of her brow holding onto frown lines as if they were some sort of hope that should never slip through her fingers again.
Holding in the sockets of her eyes.
Holding into place the brown that sees the world in colours no man can really imagine.
Head to the floor.
Eyes tight shutting out, squeezing out and locking in what she holds dear.
The little peace of mind she has left
Like music it would play if only it could.
But nay, no it screams on in a mind tortured by unquiet, unsettling reminders of yesterday.
Be quiet.
Be quiet she whispered softly.
Please be quiet.
comment and reply from the entry: Are Borderlines Crazy
Teegan Says:
October 22nd, 2007 at 8:31 am e I dated a borderline woman for a year. She was very abusive towards me, yet told everyone that I abused her. Everything that happened was my fault. If she got mad at me, it was my fault for doing something wrong. If I got mad her, I was abusive. If she got mad at me, it was okay, cuz I screwed up. If I did something right, she took credit for it. If something went wrong, it was my fault. If I tried to leave, she would steal my valuables (such as my laptop) to hold me hostage. She had me beat up, and tried to have me beat up two times after that, but I got too smart for her.Borderlines are unstable, abusive, manipulative, and dishonest. They *are* crazy. Anyone who tells you different is probably because they’re borderline. If you know you have the condition, and you take steps to improve/heal, then you’re *not* crazy. But, as in her case, living in denial and doing the things borderlines do *does* make you crazy. Remember, borderline used to be considered a form of psychosis.
Teegan,
While I sympathize with what you experienced I have to say the behavior of this woman appears to me more than “just” borderline. You mentioned she is abusive and dishonest. Those are not symptoms of borderline personality disorder found in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders. I believe it would be more accurate to say that the woman you dated had BPD and is an abuser and is dishonest but to lump us all together and say she’s a crazy borderline is nothing short of offensive.
There is a reason for labels such as borderline, psychosis, Schizophrenia, Bipolar, etc. Several symptoms together equals a name, a label, a label which stands for a certain type of treatment for the advancement of health. Having a name to a problem tells a person, just like an arrow, which direction they should go in. Labels are used to narrow down treatment methods and goals, not to isolate, demean or devalue the individual but to pinpoint action and move towards healing. One might look at the label Borderline as the heading of an outline. The name of the outline gives an idea of what to expect and how to handle what comes up. But the label isn’t meant to tear down or offend. I resent my outline, my healing plan being cut short, erased and replaced with the word crazy such as you have done. There is no help, no hope for the crazy but this is not so with borderlines. I am sorry that this woman hurt you; however, to say anyone that says borderlines aren’t crazy is borderline tells me that your issues with this person blind you to the larger picture. We borderlines may have symptoms in common but we are still people, human beings with feelings, feelings which can be hurt. We may share symptoms but we do not all come in the same shape and size. To lump us all together like you and others have gives more reason for people to not get help. People fear the word “crazy.” If they think they’re crazy will they go out and tell someone and make it known? No, they’ll keep that dirty little secret to themselves. Stigma keeps mental illness alive and well. It should be the goal of those who suffer to seek help not have more reasons to hide from it. Please consider that the next time you use the word “crazy.”
Last but certainly not least, remember Schizophrenia use to be considered demonic possession but most of the world has wised up. Many considered depression to be something you just dealt with but with new information views and understandings change. We in the modern world like to call it advancement.
Sincerely,
Austin of Sundrip Journals
Monday’s session: dowel rods, detailed explanation of the abuse instead of generalities. Talked about the grandmother and aunts, about the mother researching the best torture techniques. He asked if we ever thought of killing her. Out pops Robert with his crooked devious smile. Yes. We thought about it, researched it the same time she researched torture techniques. Wanted to know if we’d get the electric chair or spend forever in prison. Why didn’t we do it? Didn’t think she’d die. Thought we’d miss and really get in trouble then. Asked if we fought back. No. She said lay down and take it or fight me like a woman and die. Talked about being homeless and leaving all our things behind on a whim when the mother wanted to leave. Talked about how we felt validated by the movie The Pursuit of Happiness because the guy went to work clean and never let on that he was homeless. The mother did the same thing, held a good job but was homeless. It let me breathe a sigh of relief because there’s a well known story about a guy who pulled this off. He said she seemed to be able to function in the outside world but come home out of control. I said she was very much in control, methodical. There was nothing out of control about what she did to us. She thought about it, rehashed it later to get off on it again. Nothing out of control about her. He asked if we ever thought of prosecuting the mother. Silence. Fear. Anger. Robert. Robert said very matter of fact, “Who on earth would believe this story?” “It was our fault.” Body memories begin. Session ends.
Therapy Notes Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Robert showed up to therapy I think because of Monday’s session and everything. Robert wears the baseball cap and trust horse necklace to therapy. He wears the red stocking cap under the cap or a black one. He would have worn the combat boots but thank goodness he decided against it. We look so dang on butch when he dresses us.
Continue reading ‘Session Review’
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