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I Feel Different
I feel so self conscious and very needy right now. This isn’t the normal me. I don’t cling or need validation at every turn, not usually anyway. Right now I’m worried that this and that person will be angry with me or I’ll do something foolish and push people away. I feel lonely and basically not like myself. All the self loathing has me physically exhausted. Well why wouldn’t they go away you stupid….blah, blah, blah. Shut up please!!! I’ve even been begging in my dreams. I don’t beg or plead but recently it feels like my heart only does those two things followed by deep, deep sorrow.
Today a friend called to moan about no longer having a maid to clean her apartment. She said she had to clean the apartment all by herself and make her own dinner. I thought to myself, please call me when you have a real problem. But I said nothing. I just listened UNTIL she said, “I wish I had someone like Maureen that I could pop out and have clean my house.” Oh no you didn’t. You didn’t go there. You wish you had been so damaged by abuse you split off into parts that function separately? And please don’t go, Oh that’s not what that means. It just means I wish I had extra help. Well, it’s not extra help just by itself. It’s extra help with issues. So just don’t go there. Besides, why bring up Maureen, who has been MIA for months just cause you had to fire your maid? Gracious!!! Too sensitive of a topic to just toss out her name cause that bitch is too damn lazy to cook or clean for herself. You don’t work. You don’t do anything at all and you have a maid? Girl stop, please, cause I can’t take it.
Tried It. Didn’t Like It!
I already knew when I walked in the door that therapy would be interesting. I had no idea one comment would lead to a headache of a session. I’m overwhelmed by the thought of a “few changes” that are taking place here at home but what Dr. D thinks about my views on parents and what he thinks I might deep down want are just dead wrong.
I told him that Princess Fife (Barney’s daughter) her husband and their 8 year old son will be moving in this house with us in a few short weeks. Of course there is much trepidation on my part because this means less privacy. I need my privacy. They won’t be living in my area at all but the fact still remains, I’ll share some space with 3 other people, one of which is a son of a bitch to the empth degree. I can handle Princess Fife and the boy but Prince Jackass is a bit much to take. He’s more OCD than I am he also has a very strong Obsessive Compulsive Personality. He needs everything and everyone around him to be perfect. Sorry, but that doesn’t work for me. So anyway, I told Dr. D that I understand why Barney won’t tell Princess Fife that she and her Slave Master can’t come here. I said, just like every little girl should, she’s got her father Barney wrapped tightly around her finger. It’s just the natural order of things. Every little girl should have her father wrapped around her little finger. Okay, so we went on to discuss the clear problems this whole situation presents but he got back to me and my father. I’m not sure why he can’t let go of the idea that there is a woman out here that has no longing for a father figure. I’m sorry but the idea of me having a father wrapped around my finger is totally different than what I think others should have. I can’t even think in those terms, of having a parental figure that I trust and depend upon or take for granted. Me and parental figures don’t mix. I’m sorry but I see parents as offenders. I look at Barney and his daughter and think “this is how it’s supposed to be” but I keep my personal experiences separate from them because if I don’t I’ll start looking for signs that she’s pretending to feel okay around him but in actuality he hurt her. If I do not put up a wall when watching normal interactions I’ll skew them with my own experiences which aren’t good ones.
Al-Quida School of Dentistry
In all the years I’ve done dental studies at the university never have I had a negative experience until Friday. Friday I went in for a repeat of the study I did about 3 months back. They used the same machine in the same office. Everything was supposed to be the same but this time I got a student dentist surely once an apprentice to Osama Bin Ladin. The chair she had me in was tilted so far back that my feet were above my head. She had my jaw pulled so far that I tapped her hand and said, “Um…my skin only stretches so far.” She said nothing. The person observing said, “Sometimes she forgets there’s a human being in the chair.” I said, “She had my jaw half across the room.” The student continued.
She had to be told to use the mirror to look at my teeth. She had to be told to use the lamp. When she used the little dental mirror to look inside my mouth she pushed with it so hard against my cheek that it hurt. The dental mirror should not hurt. Okay so now I’m kinda shaky because here’s a woman inside my mouth, it’s hurting AND to top it off one of the workers who happens to have my birth name kept getting paged. Even though she never used a needle the student dentist was really testing my PTSD issues. My mother used needles in my mouth. While a dental mirror isn’t a needle it sure as hell hurts when Bin Ladin’s apprentice is pressing it hard against your jaw. That on top of the worker getting paged pretty much non-stop while the apprentice dug around in my mouth was just a bit much. I figured we might as well top the appointment off with an MRI where the friggin machine sprays dye in my face. Shit, lets just make this a PTSD party. Let us not forget this was also the day of the earthquake. Why I haven’t started drinking is beyond me cause that was some motherfuckin bullshit right there.
In all the years I’ve done studies at the university never have they gone down this path. I’ll keep doing the studies because the money is good. I just have to remember this is rare.
If you do these studies don’t worry, they’re not usually like this. It won’t happen unless of course you go to the Al-Quida Family Dentistry office near you. They’d better be happy they paid we twice as much this time as last time…. the bastards!!!!!
Destiny
Love Does Not Hurt
A second friend of mine is dealing with a domestic violence issue which to me is yet another indication that this form of abuse is ramped. For the last few days as her husband sits in jail, she’s proudly taken steps to get help. She is not trying to handle the criminal abuser on her own. She has reached out to the community, to legal agencies and to friends. What a show of strength and courage.
Because this is the second time in two weeks that a friend of mine has been in a domestic violence crisis I feel the need to get some links together for other Indiana women in this situation. I’m going to do a page on this journal with extensive information on shelters and resources in Indiana. This will not be a page that links to other links, that’s quite frustrating when a person is looking for help. I will link to specific pages that give names, numbers and locations as well as offer resources on how to sign up for free self defense classes or obtain a free restraining order in Indiana. I hope to have this page compiled within a few days. One very different thing I’ll do on the page, to benefit those out of state, is put up my search queries. All the survivor will need to do is change the name from Indiana to the state they live in or wish to reside in.
Please remember, rich and poor alike abuse and fall victim to abuse. Rich and poor alike have equal opportunities at the shelters that will be on the page. And, rich and poor alike need safety. This includes men. Resources for battered men will be included on the page.
If anyone has resources for battered men (men as victims of domestic violence) please leave a comment and I will include all appropriate information on the list. If anyone has domestic violence resources from any state (for male or female) please leave a comment and I will link to all appropriate information.
Sundrip has undergone a few changes as far as its template goes. The new template allows for drop down menus. Once the Domestic Violence Resource page has been completed it will be in the drop down menu under My Time To Heal.
Thank you
The Domestic Violence Resource page is coming very soon.
Love Does Not Hurt-Sunday, April 13, 2008-12:50AM EST
Slightly Irritated
I believe I may be slightly irritated at every living thing and pissed off by anything that might move the wrong way.
When it comes to stupidity this girl is an over achiever. Now, I’d never say that to her face cause that’s just down right cruel but you know, people push ya and you just want to scream. This is what happened on the 6th of April: Usually if my phone rings at 4am it means someone is having a hard time. I immediately grab a Pepsi and get ready for a nice long phone conversation. I figure anyone who has my phone number is welcome to use it 24/7. I’d rather get a 4am phone call from an anguished friend than the coroner. Well, this morning the phone call came in from the ex-girlfriend who wonders if we still have the connection we once had. I took a deep sigh as she tearfully explained that we once had such a strong connection that it was as if one of us could pick up the phone to call the other and go, “What’s the matter?” She said she could still feel my pain but that she was really having a hard time and she wondered if I could still feel hers. “What is this about?” I asked. I mean, really, why ask me this at 4am? I figured something else was going on. Come to find out she was having a hard time and was upset that I didn’t sense it.
Note to all: If there’s something you’re feeling please do use your voice to tell me. Don’t send me brain wave messages then complain because I didn’t get it okay?
Your Shit’s On the Porch
My regular cab driver didn’t show but it let me have a conversation with a different cabby, a conversation I’m rather passionate about. He told me how his ex-wife was extremely jealous and that she would go through his pockets to see if he had a girl’s phone number. If she found a phone number she’d call the girl and give her grief. This is my thing, why call the girl? Why skip over the main problem, your partner, and go for the other woman? That makes no sense to me. I say put blame where it belongs. If your partner wasn’t a cheat you wouldn’t have to deal with phone numbers from Lynda or Sheila or Susie Q So-Special.
He said if he came home late she was at the door ready to tell him off. I told him that’s the difference between me and other people. If my partner decides she’s going to come home excessively late repeatedly I’m going to ask what’s going on but I’m not staying up to greet her at the door. Nope, I need my rest so I can skillfully tear her a new one. I can’t do that sleep deprived.
If she decides that she’s going to stay out late all the time and I have no real clue as to what she’s doing she can fully expect me to ask some questions but not as soon as she walks in the door. Where have you been? Who were you with? Were you drinking? Oh hell no, those questions I don’t even need to ask. I should be able to trust that she’s doing right. When her normal pattern of behavior changes we’ll discuss it but without the 3am feline pounce. To me that makes no sense. Why stay up all night losing sleep over someone whose a cheat? Heck, I’ll stay up to pack her shit and sit it on the doorstep but I’m not going to stay up mad, fuming, pacing the floors, cursing and ready to pounce when she walks through the door. Give me a break. Not going to happen. If there’s any pouncing to do I’ll need my rest. I may even go to bed early so I can pounce hard and fast but I’ll be damned if I stay up all night and I’ll be damned if I go looking through pockets to for numbers to “strays.” Even more unlikely is me going out to look for her or calling around to look for her. Not gonna happen. My theory has always been, I don’t beg and I don’t chase but most of all, I don’t take leftovers.
If you can’t stay true then please expect your shit to be on the porch when you drag your scraggly ass home.
Interesting is that I had this conversation BEFORE my therapy session on my submissive behaviors in relationships.
That’s all the rant/rave I have today.
Joan of Arc – rarely the alpha cat but sometimes the claws just have to come out
Your Shit’s On the Porch
Thursday, April 03, 2008-3:54PM EST
I Feel
Angry Alone
Invisible Insignificant
Abandoned Foolish
Fake Afraid
Agitated Worried
Regret Shame
Rejected Mournful
Addicted Plagued
Evil Wicked
Sick Worthless
Crazy Broken
Disgusted Lost
Men vs. Women Part 1 of 2
The subject has come up several times in the last week on blogs that I visit. It also came up in therapy Monday so I figured I’d go ahead and put some thoughts down on paper, mostly in jumbled format. First of all, Dr. D and I discussed gender confusing messages that I got from my mother. We talked about how she kept asking me if I was a little boy and if I thought I was a little boy, are you gay, all of that since I was very little….like around age 4 until I was a grown woman. Of course there’s the sexual abuse from her, the sister and two males but what was most confusing for me was the mother and sister. I was raised to believe that men are bad and little boys are nasty. So when my mother asked me if I was a little boy or if I wanted to be a little boy she pretty much asked me if I was the very thing or wanted to be the very thing she despised. But it occurred to me early on that the safest sex to be was male. I figured that being a girl made me a sitting duck, a target. I thought being a girl was part of why I was being abused so often and by so many. I figured if I were a boy life would be easier because I figured they’re despised, disliked and therefore left alone. But that wasn’t true either because I had a brother and a male cousin who were abused. In my mind though, girl equaled hurt and boy equaled hated but safer.
Men vs. Women Part 2 of 2
My distrust for women is more specific than it use to be. Before a heck of a lot of growing up and observing and seeing most people as individuals I lumped all women together. I trusted them only when necessary and that wasn’t often. To be more specific about my level of trust, I distrusted black women more than I did any other race of women but white women followed very closely behind them. Since my main abusers are black females (two sexually abusive and the rest emotionally, physically and spiritually abusive) then it makes sense that my first fear is black women. On this very subject I explained to a friend that we as humans see with limited sight. When we’re hurt by a person we don’t see them as an individual we see their race and their gender, their height, hair colour, ect and we connect everyone with those same characteristics with the one that hurt us. It’s not that we want to dislike people that look like the one that abused us; it’s just a natural human thing. We reduce people to what they look like. So that’s what happened, I didn’t trust women because I was abused mainly by women. And I nearly hated black women because the women that abused me are black. How on earth does one come to grips with the fact that they hate the very gender and race that they are and how does that person get to a comfort level in their own skin?
Frazzled and Frayed
Friday afternoon I moved a small China cabinet and an entertainment center from two doors down inside my fence. I then dragged both up the stairs with a tad bit of help from Barney. He’s too frail to really be of assistance but he did try. So I got them up the stairs and into the house. We then got in the car and hit three stores. I came home and moved my large hutch from the living room to the office then moved the two pieces of furniture into my living room. After that I was pretty tired so I didn’t do any cleaning up. I had to move a few things around to get the two new pieces in but I figured I’d do a better clean up job the next day. It didn’t happen. I slept most of Friday, just hung out in bed and smelled the rain through the cracked window. It was nice. Since it was Morton that moved all that furniture around the rest of us don’t feel any pain from it. It’s funny though because if the kids get on the floor and mess around we all feel the affects of it but you let Morton move big furniture from one house down alone then have little help getting it up three stairs then alone move it to the back of the house and place it…it would seem we would have a bit of soar muscles but we don’t. We never do when he does stuff like that.
