Crystal - Let the Mountains Shake
Crystal : Let the Mountain's Shake

I HATED those other themes. They weren't me at all. I couldn't stand it, but Twenty Twelve is back. Lets hope things go better this time. I so missed you Twenty Twelve. I don't like change that much. This theme fits my needs. I like it and don't want to give it up.

You may still have to come to my site to leave comments because the comment option may not appear on the WP feed. Just know you are always welcome to the webpage.

Now I can stop obsessing over this site. The comments on the WP feed may not get fixed. I have no idea how to do it and my web mistress isn't available right now. Shoot. I was starting to wonder if it's even worth going all out to get a nice theme and arrange it. If people basically read from WP then they can't see updates to pages or that there's new information on the sidebar. I'll still update it though.

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Holding Back the Light - unavailable
Holding Back the Light - unavailable

I hugged the lady very tight. She knows my sister. She gave me an update. My sister has locked herself in the apartment and there is still no movement, no contact, nothing has changed. They do know she was last seen in there. No phone activity, no FB activity.

I hand wrote a letter to her. I said nothing negative at all. I said she doesn't deserve to die and that I understand a lot of what she's going through. I asked her to rethink things, to let her support system do what she gathered them to do. She sought out good, solid supporters.  I know 2 of them personally.

Of her friends, I asked them to have patience with her. She's a 50-year-old woman who doesn't know what to do with herself. She has to be told what to do and when she's told, she will do exactly as she's instructed. She won't do more or less. The lady kept looking at me like it should be simple for her to function because she's a 50-year-old woman. I said, she's not a 50-year-old woman who has matured. Being on her own is culture shock. She has no clue what she's doing, none. I shared the story that tells exactly how she thinks. I told the story about the garbage bag that my mother told her to get. She got the bag and then waited to be told to put the trash in it. Her friend put her hand over her mouth then said, that's exactly what she does. She waits to be told what to do.

I asked that they be gentle with her and understand that her eye sight is limited, ...continue reading

The Last Laugh - available
The Last Laugh - available

Content: Spiritual abuse. Emotional and psychological abuse, homelessness, covert sexual abuse

Mother taught me that if I do the little things right I'll do the big things right. She taught me that a strong foundation must be laid but that all foundations start with a grain of sand. Their grains packed together to support materials much stronger than a grain of sand standing alone. To build up a solid foundation we must do the small things right.

My mother taught me that I have no foundation and that my presence was like a sledgehammer against her house.

My mother taught me a scripture that says, "By my God I can climb a wall" and a scripture that says, "If a tree gets cut down it will sprout again."

My mother placed walls around me I felt I could never escape. Inside those walls she did her best to root out willfulness, individualism and hope.

My mother taught me that I can only trust her and that I don't have the intelligence to live without her. She said I'd never survive out here in the world, that she alone could protect me.

She said to tell her if anyone ever touched me wrong. It was her hands around my mouth, my neck. She touched every aspect of me and left me ruptured.

My dear mother, my poor mother is food for worms. How undignified. I hate that.

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I keep going back and forth between anger and anguish, but I have not felt depressed over this. I realized something some time ago, when I'm angry I'm active, when I'm depressed I'm down for the count. We talk a lot in my therapy sessions about how I respond to my emotions. It appears that anger gets the most physical action. I stand up and gather my guns, my resources.

When I feel lonely I become desperate and irrational. Fortunately I haven't had the feeling of chronic loneliness in many years. Loneliness can break bones.

When I'm embarrassed I kick into humor but humiliation makes me rage against myself which leads to wanting to die. Feeling humiliated is a strong trauma trigger that I don't do well with at all. I stop hearing what's real and want only to bury or destroy that feeling. This is an ongoing issue.

When I'm depressed I stop taking care of myself. Everything seems to be a huge ordeal, including taking out a frozen dinner to put it in the microwave. When depressed I over think everything. The longer I feel depressed the more my environment and appearance deteriorates.

When I feel vulnerable or feel as though I have lost a certain amount of control over my life I begin to obsess. Obsessive thoughts are accompanied by obsessive cleaning and organizing. I start trying to control every little tiny aspect of my environment.

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The dream where I was found guilty of neglecting my child self as well as not protecting my siblings still haunts me. I go back and forth about my sister, one minute managing okay and the next minute standing still in a locked stare. I've sketched, painted, cleaned, eaten and slept feeling vulnerable and strong enough for that vulnerability. What was before the feeling of 'strong enough' can only be described at chaotic, second to second existence.

I have been in patient psych over 150 times since 1992. Two hospitals are designed to treat dissociative disorders, one was a state hospital in Kentucky and the others were short-term stays in across Indiana, Texas, Michigan and Kentucky. Early on I was in a group home and then bounced around from apartment to apartment in an unstable existence. I had zero control over my personality disorder, zero coping skills to help with self harm of cutting and abuse of food. For the first ten years or so of therapy I was clueless about caring for myself physically or emotionally.

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I'm working on getting my comments to show up in WP feed. I messed up the comment code for my other template. This is template is temporary and may change through the course of the day.

IF YOU CAN SEE the comment section from the WP feed please leave a comment.

Here's the problem, on WP feed my comment section wasn't showing up, however, if you come to my website comments can be left...... that is until I messed up the comment call for that template, dang it!

I need a template that isn't flashy and that shows my pages at the top so that art gallery titles can be seen and accessed. I don't want a template with thumbnails above new entries.

I'll work on this issue. Until then please be patient with my mess.

how do I fix this?

 

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That's a better title than this entry is going to be. Don't get your hopes up. This is an ah ha moment entry on my ....... yes........ my French studies. lol

Yeah, it was that bad. It was a total fail but I realized something, I only heard a limited number of people speak this language and hardly ever could I distinguish a single word. What happened was that I had a closed view of what French sounds like. In other words, I had a bias.

The language I heard is what I called ugly. There was no beauty in the sounds, no grace in the words and therefore no life could be heard...... ah but then things changed. I know I said I'd pick up Spanish after the great French train wreck and epic fail but I can't let myself do it.

While wallowing in life issues not related to schooling, I binge watched Hercule Poirot and I actually HEARD beautiful French. The thing is, I've seen all those before. There's nothing new except for how open my ears were to hearing what was said. I'd never heard the language sound 'beautiful' because I've always passed it off as ugly. Before people get too mad, consider how many people say German isn't a beautiful language. I say it is. It's all in how our bias lets us hear it or not hear it.

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Today's therapy discussion focused on family matters: mother's thorough brainwashing and effective divisive tactics, scapegoating, emotional boundaries between myself and all birth family and a recap of nightmares from a few days back. After writing this entry I was reminded of the paintings "Resilience Tree," so I included them in the entry.

Resilience Tree

I was awake all night and until around 10:30 this morning. I had my session to go over the graphically violent and blood dream about cannibals and going to a psychiatric prison for the mentally insane because I was guilty of murdering my child self, the inner child of my sister and the inner child of my brother. I'll pick up more on that topic later.

We talked about the complete lack of protection from my mother: physical, emotional and spiritual responsibilities were ignored or out right withheld.

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Content: Suicide, strong emotion. This entry may not be considered politically correct. Comments and likes are off.

I slept well and hoped to have a better day but my head is still spinning, this time with anger.

As much as I don't want to see things go in the direction, they're going, I can't do anything about it. I have zero ability to contact her now. Showing up to where she used to work or anything like that is a terrible idea. Seeing the face of someone she hates isn't going to make her change her mind. The more I think about it, the more upset I am. I think it's cruel to watch and count down and not be able to do a single, solitary thing. The truth is, if she wants to, she's going to. Can someone else talk to her, they have, repeatedly and she's made up her mind. She left and is no longer answering calls. No response to anyone, at all. SHE HAS A THERAPIST !!!!!!

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Content : Suicide, abuse, held captive
Comments and likes are off.

I have to remember the bigger picture. I can't get distracted or tangled in the limbs of one tree and forget the forest.

I'm going to scream. I'm going to drown. I'm going to fall. I want to say I'll never ever become suicidal again but I can't promise that, but I can promise that I will seek help. I will reach out. I will not take my life.

I wish she knew that I understand the feeling of abandonment and confusion. Where do you fit in without our mother? How do you go about your life without her commanding each step? I even wondered if I'd stop breathing if I crossed states lines. Would I just poof and disappear? It was like I'd crossed over the invisible line that kept me alive. The only thing that made sense was that I'd disappear, poof, gone. Sister, I've crossed many state lines and set my own boundaries, never once did I stop living. You can live without our mother's influence.

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