Sundrip Journals
He isn’t happy with me, not at all…..not happy with me at all. Things get really bad when his stuff comes up or when Dr. D addresses him personally. I want to talk to Dr. D really bad.
This has been in my head all day long. It’s been in my head while feeding the dog, while caring for the fish and the toads. No matter what I do or where I go I hear self condemnation.
A long, long time ago my mother told me that one day I’d be taken captive from her and be raped, tortured and possibly killed. In this no-name place I’d be asked to confess to crimes I didn’t commit. I’d be sleep deprived, hungry and ready to die but before I did they’d escort me into a dimly lit room, sat at a small table, given a pencil and forced to write my life story. Every word I said would be scrutinized, misconstrued and used against me. She said I’d need to learn to say exactly what I mean with no ambiguity. I’d need to be clear and never leave an open ended statement which could insure my execution. I needed to be prepared she said.
The problem with me and ‘that girl’ is according to her website entries, I’m exactly what she was looking for. She needed someone with a violent past who would reenact their pain on her. She needed someone broken, angry and ill. No one healthy would do what she wanted done. I was perfect!
When I saw her I had few red flags. I looked at her and worried but I thought it was because of my past not because of something she was doing. We went on a few dates and things seemed to be going very well then in an instant it all changed. The person I really enjoyed spending time with showed her true colors. At first I thought it would be fine for me to say no and tell her why but it became apparent to me that the stories were exactly what she wanted to hear. She wanted me to tell her what my mother did to her then do it to her. She wanted me to reenact the abuse with me as my mother and her as young me.
I wrote an entry yesterday about how I was told that my then neighbor/roommate died. That entry reminded me of a game my mother use to play called, “Guess Whose Dead?” Out of the blue the mother would come up to my sister and myself and say, “Guess Whose Dead?” “Who?” we’d ask. She’d say someone’s name then wait for us to gasp and ask if it was real. She’d tell us, no, so-in-so is still alive. We’d playfully groan and she’d go on until the next time, when we’d do it all over again. It was a pointless game of announcing the death of a loved one who didn’t really die.
I pushed my cart down the isle of my regularly visited grocery store when a half familiar face said to me, “Aren’t you X’s sister?” I looked her dead in the eye and said, “You look familiar but I can’t place you.” After a short while she told me who she is, at which point I told her that X use to be my name but that I changed it. I knew this girl 18 years ago when her father lived in a small apartment attached to the house where I rented a room from one of the most influential woman in my life. After talking to her for a bit I remembered that I didn’t like her family at all, as a matter of fact I wanted to distance myself from them. Distance was hard since her father lived basically in the same house I lived in, for awhile anyway.
This may be one of the very best little duck graphics I’ve ever seen.
Now if I could just get this on a white t-shirt I’d be good to go!!!!
I am so lovin’ this!!! This is from SGlider12′s Blog.
Lets see, after a few days of getting my head back on my shoulders I’ve come up with a decent care plan I think I can stick to. I’d stopped eating properly so I had to go add that to my care plan.
Every single time I see this person write his name on the net he writes his chosen first, middle and last name. At this time I’ll call him Brian Michael Evans. After a little bit it got annoying. I even thought to myself, is it so hard for you to write Brian M. Evans or Brian Evans and leave it alone? Why your whole name all the time? I get it, you have three names, so do I, get over yourself!
Despite going on and on with all sorts of criticism I was unable to shake that I do the very same thing. Most of the time when I write my name I write all three of my chosen names, Faith Magdalene Austin. Why do I do this, I thought? By now anyone who regularly reads this blog knows I chose this name rather carefully then changed it legally so that I could move past the pain of my old name. What I’ve come to realize is I still struggle to feel as if I exist in my own space without threat of extinction due to outside influences. What I mean is after years of dehumanization it is still a struggle for me to completely believe that I get to keep “me”.
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