It is fascinating to me how different people prioritize their money. I’m not saying my way is “right”. I make a lot of very wasteful choices. My Disney obsession is expensive and probably not “worth” the money. But I spend it anyway because I want the customer service experience. I understand that other people are not interested in the customer service experience. That’s fine.
So then you get into this position where asking people to go with you is weird and mixed. It’s expensive. It takes a big chunk of someone’s disposable income. This seems like an asshole thing to even ask about.
But not asking means you are discounting people from your life without even giving them a chance. People surprise me all the time with what they will agree to.
I try to only ask if I’m ok with “no”. I don’t want elaborate “no”s. I don’t really want to be told in great detail why my plan sucks in your opinion. No is fine. Not your thing. Not in the budget. Just “no” is great.
Not everyone wants to do the same things as me. I’m used to that.
I read about how the primary way to deal with addiction and mental health issues is to seek connection. My experience of seeking connection is that mostly what it does is dramatically increase the rate at which people tell me they don’t want to spend time with me or do things with me.
We won’t be painting the fence this year. No one is interested. So much for that tradition. It was something we did a few times and then people didn’t want to do it any more. I’m afraid that will be my story on that one.
I’m feeling very paranoid about the home school group in general. I feel like I should go.
Really, I’ve been intensely suicidal for over a day here and that’s most of what’s going on. I did stuff yesterday and I tried to pretend I wasn’t having the movie screens of how I should die in my head. I haven’t had suicidal impulses for a bit. They started on Tuesday, intensified yesterday and are still present this morning. Asking people to do things with me is hard. It opens me up to hearing that people don’t have time or interest in being in my life. It doesn’t matter if it isn’t personal.
I feel like I may drop out of the home school group until after the trip. I feel like shit there. I feel unwanted, like no one gives a shit if I die, and like I’m the problem.
Yes, yes, these are not “rational” thoughts. I’ve never put much claim to being “rational”.
I’m still not dealing well with something that happened there a few weeks ago. There was a specific trigger. I’m still reeling from it. Near death experiences kind of fuck me up.
I was hurt pretty badly. And I’m not going to get much support around that. Because that is how things go for me. Instead I’m the problem.
I’m so tired of being told that when white boys assault me it is my fault and I should be punished. I am not ok.
I feel so much shame. Like I shouldn’t even be talking about it happening at all. Not even in the vague ways I am doing it. I should be tied to a rail road track so I can be run over.
Looking for more connection with people just seems to be a good way to ensure that I’m told over and over that I’m not a priority.
I talked to a parent at the park this week. She was one of the few people RSVPed to painting the fence. She flakes more than 50% of the time on the day of the event. I told her that because she has such a poor track record, if more people don’t show up I’m canceling. She said, “Just cancel now.” The other person at the table started a long explanation of why they aren’t coming.
I know you have 15,000 reasons and it isn’t personal. It isn’t about me. But I need to change my behavior anyway. If I’m looking for connection and people don’t have the time/interest/energy/money I am maybe better off not asking any more. Which is kind of a problem. Because one of the primary ways of treating mental illness is seeking connection.
But I don’t feel I’m worth anything. I feel like connecting with me is clearly not worth the investment.
It doesn’t help that my life is full of a lot of moving parts. There are people who are willing to do some very narrow slices of things with me if I can accommodate all of their needs.
I really don’t know what to do about my needs. I need to stay home and make sure my needs are met in this building without anyone else. I don’t have other options. Not really. I have it inconsistently. Unpredictably. When other people feel like it. Which is how the world works! I’m not in a unique, sad position or anything. I’m not being persecuted.
I just have to decide what to do with the spoons I have given the level of engagement I get from other people.
I wish I cared about people less. My life would be so much better if I cared less about people.
You know what? I’m not served by being vague about this. Only the person who assaulted me is served. So a few weeks ago I was rough housing with a kid (like I’ve done with literally hundreds of children over the course of my career in education) and he chose to kick me in the throat.
I tried talking to the kid. I tried talking to the kid’s mom. It turned into “all my fault” and I’m “scary and dangerous”.
Your kid almost killed someone and *I* am scary and dangerous? I couldn’t swallow without pain for five days. Breathing wasn’t fun in the first 24 hours.
I have *lived* with someone who had to have a tracheotomy due to a swollen throat. Not an experience I want for myself.
This is really triggering me all over the place. Doesn’t matter how good or bad anything else might be, this takes away basically all of my good “cope” abilities.
Another fucking white boy almost killed me and it’s no big deal. I’m the problem.
I feel so much hate I don’t know what to do. I am super thrilled to have this family out of my life and I will never say another neutral or positive thing about them. I think only bad things. Maybe that isn’t what their friends want, but I don’t give a shit.
The kid commits assault and the mom defends him and blames the victim. I have no good to say. That’s not a “mistake” any more. It could have been a mistake. Now it is a coverup. I feel nothing but hate, scorn, contempt, and disgust. What pathetic, horrible people. But that’s what being rich will do for you. You can totally be like that and get away with it.
I do not have good luck with upper middle class white people. It’s like being back in Los Gatos. It’s like when that fuckwad Justin climbed on top of me and tried to rape me and only was pulled off because I screamed loud enough to wake other people up. Nothing happened to him. HE’S A FUCKING MIDDLE SCHOOL TEACHER NOW.
But I’m sure he learned how to be a nice person along the way. Not.
I feel like I should just stay home forever. Otherwise I have to deal with little piece of shit white boys assaulting me and I have to be cheerful and fine with it or I will be the problem.
I can’t go to the park and be angry. That’s not “appropriate”. I’m not allowed to get angry that I was assaulted and almost killed.
I went flying backwards and landed several feet away. This was a fucking serious kick from a kid who is the size of a small adult.
So instead I will spend my days with movie reels running in my head of all the ways I should die. And I won’t offer to host anything for the home school group. And maybe I’ll stop going entirely.
The group would much rather have this other family. They fit in better. They aren’t a problem. After all, him assaulting me isn’t a problem. I’m the problem.
I want to slit my wrists so fucking much. It feels like I’m lying to myself if I think things will ever get better. I will never fucking matter. It will always be ok for white boys to damage me. I am not important.
Probably didn’t help that the asshole at the speech knew literally nothing about me, invited me to speak, then proceeded to interrupt me and tell me I’m not allowed to say that, or that, or that. After I spent weeks in advance asking him for guidance and he blew me off. I felt so insulted and angry.
I hate white men so fucking much right now. Which isn’t fair at all. It really isn’t. I fucking know it isn’t fair. But most of my life isn’t fucking fair. Right now the not fair is being spread around. Sorrynotsorry.
Sometimes I honestly wish that I would get assaulted by a woman or a black person or someone of Hispanic descent or Asian or whatever just so I can stop hating white people as the sole recipient of all my bad feelings towards the world. Surely there are bad people in other categories.
I only have problems with white men and boys. No, I don’t like white women much either.
Maybe I’ll go to India and change that. Maybe I’ll leave the rape capital of the world going, “Yup, still hate white men more than every other category put together. Weird.” Most likely I will get through the India trip without being touched. Which will feel kind of ironic. If I go to the rape capital of the world and I manage to avoid being raped… it’s going to be a pretty fucking big deal in my world. Like, whoa.
It is hard to explain how terrifying it is to live with a swollen throat. “Oh god. Am I going to have to go to a hospital (which is a big problem for me from the word go) and have people I don’t know, like, nor trust stab me in the throat to put in a tube so I don’t die?” Tracheotomies are no joke. Tommy’s scar looked like a gunshot wound. People would recoil in horror when they saw him. It made him unable to ever speak normally again. Too much damage to his vocal cords.
I feel so disposable.
Supposedly a family from the home school group is coming over today. How much you want to bet that they will cancel? Doesn’t matter. Not folks I can talk to about the reason I’m upset anyway.
I know I should “just get over it” and I will. But this is going to take a while, I think. It doesn’t help that I’m having a lot of other big emotional events around it at the same time. It is making it hard to process the assault. It is making it more complex and layered and picking out which pieces are upset about what is hard.
Eventually I’ll figure out how to turn off the movie reels. This will not be the assault that causes me to commit suicide. Fuck that little bastard. He isn’t that important. Neither is his mother. About whom I would like to unleash a torrent of swear words the likes of which even this blog has never seen.
But I won’t. I will call him a little bastard for kicking me in the throat. Only in my blog. Never to his face. If he grows up and feels angry with me because I said that I can live with that. I’m pretty fucking angry he kicked me in the throat and doesn’t even have to apologize. It’s apparently acceptable for him to do. If it is acceptable for him to kick me in the throat it is acceptable for me to call him a bastard in my blog and in my blog only.
My fucking sandbox. I’m allowed to be pissed here. I could swear about the mom more. Frankly, she’s the grown up making decisions here. I’m afraid that if I let myself get more angry at her she will become a lightning rod for all of the anger I feel towards every white woman in her position and that’s… that’s actually not ok. That’s dangerous for me. I don’t need to focus that much hate on her.
She only deserves as much as she earned.
Why am I less worried about conflating the hate I generally feel towards white men towards the kid?
Honestly because I’m less likely to do something to the kid. If the mom ever verbally started something I might feel a much stronger inclination to punch her in the face. I wouldn’t hit the kid. Not even if provoked. He’s a kid. I have that kind of control down pretty well after years of practice. I don’t hit kids. But the mom? She’d deserve it. But I don’t deserve the amount of jail time I would get so I’d best work on that self control.
I honestly believe that if you defend your kid almost killing someone that you deserve to be punched in the face.
I come from the kind of background where both of them should get the shit beaten out of them for their behavior. I understand I no longer live in such a world. Things will continue to be unfair. Rich assholes have always and will always be allowed to get away with assault and mostly with murder. I will continue to hate them. I will continue to hope that bad things happen to them. I won’t spend much time or energy on hoping that. Bad juju is bad juju and the more time you stew in it… the more of it you get. I understand that.
But getting really angry about being assaulted is healthy. I need to not just sit here feeling like a disposable whore. Better that I get upset. Better that I get angry in my own self-defense than internalizing their message that I deserve what happened. I don’t deserve it.
Unless I was actually assaulting the kid I don’t deserve what I got. I was tickling him after he pounced me on a trampoline. That does not deserve a fucking throat kick that launched me backwards multiple feet. No fucking excuse under the sun.
I hope I never talk to the kid again. Even if I do, I won’t call him names. I’m allowed to blow off steam here. It is appropriate *here* and only *here*.
It isn’t his fault he is one of a long-line of abusive pieces of shit I’ve had to deal with. I continue my pattern of not fucking liking blondes.
(Sorry to friends who are blonde who have been nice to me. I do like *you*. I’m really sorry about these gross generalizations. I don’t truly mean them in every particular case. Big feelings are big. I’m married to a fucking white blonde guy. It is like how sometimes people in interracial marriages are still huge fucking racists.)
I would just say I’m a misandrist but that’s not even all of it. I don’t have problems with men who aren’t white in the same way. And I have truckloads of issues with white women so it isn’t just misandry. I’m a race traitor. Not really. I married a white guy and had white children so I’m not a race traitor. I’m just incredibly self-hating. No, that’s not even it.
It is hard for me to not project my bad former experiences onto new people. All white people look alike. It’s hard to treat them like individuals who deserve individual treatment until they behave in a way that makes them individual and nice enough to me to fucking deserve me being nice to them. White people have a much higher bar to jump over before I will be nice to them. I default to as much courtesy as I can manage with people who aren’t white. With white people I’m defensive and pissy from the first word.
Which may be part of how I confine my bad experiences to white people. Would make sense, yo?
Which is kind of funny because more than 50% of the people in my life are white. Am I a raging asshole to them at all times? I don’t think so. I can learn to treat people as individuals.
I’m nice to Noah the vast majority of the time. But I’m nice to Noah because he said, “What happened to you?” and then he sat there and listened respectfully and remembered things and altered his behavior to fit my preferences.
I haven’t had that experience with any other white men. They don’t give a shit about me. They just want me as an audience for how cool they are or to wait on them or to have sex with them. They aren’t interested in me.
Which might explain my level of hostility. White men don’t know shit about me unless I beat them over the head with the information. They don’t ask. They don’t want to know. Between the beatings and the rapes and the fact that most white men act like I’m a blow up doll… what’s to like?
I am not interesting because Noah likes sticking his dick in me. Fuck you. I am not fucking impressed with being told that I am interesting because I’m married to an interesting man. Go straight to hell and do not pass Go and do not collect $200.
You know what though? I’m probably going to be an asshole about backing out of home school stuff. I will probably leave a lot of “yes” RSVPs just in case I feel up to coming. That way I have options on a given day. But I’m going to start canceling a lot more often. And at the last minute.
I’m going to stop acting like I owe anyone anything. I don’t. I have tried really hard to honor commitments to the group like they were serious commitments. That isn’t going well for me. Fuck it. I would benefit from being intensely more selfish for a while.
And that asshole who told me I was only interesting because Noah wanted to marry me? The only god damn question he had about home schooling was the most stupid, contemptible question, “What about socialization?” Oh fuck you with a pogo stick. Know how you are wandering the globe playing at being a cool guy instead of raising your kid? Don’t talk to me about socialization. Sticking your kid in school and day care isn’t socialization. Socialization is what happens when your children interact with people of all ages and learn how to manage different situations. For kids with good parents who go to school they learn socialization on the weekends. My kids have the opportunity to learn how to deal with diverse people of all ages all day every day. Fuck your ignorance.
I wouldn’t be so pissy if he wasn’t generally insulting in my direction. But if you condescend to me that much in a five minute conversation fucking watch me hand it back to you.
My stomach hurts. I feel like I’m going to puke. I’m not sick. I’m angry. I’m anxious. I’m afraid I will be punished for writing all this. It’s not ok to be such an angry person.
It’s not ok to get so angry about someone almost killing me.
What the fuck is wrong with the world?
I have post traumatic stress disorder. What that means is my brain was altered by my life experiences. It is difficult for me to stop feeling fear and/or anger when they come up for me. My brain was altered by my life experiences. It isn’t something that is a choice. I’m not angry because I think it is fun or awesome. I’m angry because my life has been in danger many times and getting angry is what got me away from danger and kept me alive. It is a survival trait. It is not bad. But boy howdy it is shamed.
It is important to get angry when someone tries to kill you. You need that anger to get the fuck away from them. You (general you) feel that kind of anger because your body wants you to know that you should not be near people who make you feel that way. They are bad for you. They are dangerous.
In our modern society we conflate “people who have opinions I disagree with” with “people who assault me” and that creates a lot of problems. We treat arguments as if they have the same weight as physical assault. (But only if it is a white person who is getting their feelings hurt.) We treat physical assault as if it only matters if it happens to select classes of people. You have to be socially higher up than the person who assaults you.
I will never stop being white trash. Doesn’t matter what my fucking bank balance says. I’m not poor white trash any more. That’s very true. Social class is a very complicated beast.
That, “I need to stay away from her because I want to punch her in the face” thing? That’s why I will never stop being white trash.
I will not punch her in the face. I don’t think there is much verbal provocation she could give me that would cause me to risk jail time. She isn’t worth it. I would only actually strike her if she hit me first. I’ve learned my lessons about punishment quite well. My superego is well developed and healthy and all that. I’m not going to jail over a bitch like her.
She isn’t worth it.
But I think that ranting about this in my blog will turn out to be a good thing for me. It will make it a lot easier to put it down. I think I should stop reacting with shame and silencing when I have these experiences. I really wanted to put this in a box and not write about it for years. Not until it feels safe. That’s how I have handled most of my traumas. I don’t write about them right away… I can’t. This is actually really quick turn around for me. Two weeks? That’s rapid turn around.
My shrink suggested that part of the reason I am as upset as I am is because I am watching that mom be a very bad parent. That is an anxiety producing thing for me. I’m a teacher. I’m an abuse survivor. Bad parenting is really really hard to watch and not do anything about.
She suggested that I have enmeshed with the kid and feel upset because the kid is not getting the necessary and appropriate parenting and that fuels some of my despair. I can’t fix every broken family and that is really hard for me.
I think she’s sweet to suggest it but I’m not sure I deserve quite that much benefit of the doubt. Heh. Maybe. Empathy does seem to be my superpower.
My assumption is that I will be gardening alone today. If someone decides to show up, bonus. I’m not waiting for it and I’m not looking for it. I invited people. Folks are busy. They tell me frequently that they want to come, but the reality of modern life is everyone has too many obligations. I get it.
I’ll get my work done. I’m not building the garden for anyone else. Not really. I’m building it because I’ve always wanted to live in a place that had a big, nice, garden. I used to walk past this house on my way to the bus stop from Auntie’s house. The elderly woman who lived there didn’t mind me detouring off the road and walking through her garden on the way. It was so wonderful. She died when I was in middle school. A different family bought the house. They cut down the garden to make more parking spots.
I want connection with people too much. I spend too much time and energy looking outward for my worth and meaning and value.
Yes, my children need to have friends. They do have friends. Maybe I don’t need to worry so much about this home school group. Maybe I’m not a good follower and it is necessary to be a follower in order to keep silent about abusive behavior in a group. I don’t know.
I stopped hanging out with the dancers when I learned who all the rapists were. I couldn’t be in the room with them any more. I stopped going to bdsm events alone when I was raped there too even though it was supposedly “safe” to be there. I stopped trying to work at Fair when a guy raped me and no one was going to care.
Should I stop hanging out with the home schoolers because it really isn’t very important when a kid almost kills me?
That is my pattern. I stopped hanging out with the Los Gatos High School people much because they all picked Justin. They hang out with him a lot still.
No, I’m never going to forgive him for that “little mistake”. He will never apologize so there is nothing to forgive. There is only reason that I know he is not safe to be in a room with.
But I’m irrational, they say. Oh fuck your rational. I’ve been hurt enough.
And you know what? Each time I’m told it is my fault. Completely fucking consistent reaction.
Thus I sit here thinking about swimming out into the Pacific Ocean until I can’t possibly make it back to shore. Then stopping. And waiting. I hope a shark doesn’t eat me. I’m really scared of sharks.
I hope I drown fast.
How come the Zen feeling and the suicidal feeling coexist like this? I started out yesterday morning feeling very calm. I knew I’d had the flashes of ideation, but it felt under control.
Then the rest of the day happened.
I like my house. I like the people in it. I like that I get to be here. I like what I am doing with my days.
But I’m a disposable whore who should be put down for the good of the herd.
I’m trash. And trash can bring down the general value of a population. Cull the outliers so they don’t mess up your system.
I want to beat my head so fucking much my neck muscles are locking.
But I’ll write about it and purge it and probably go have a good day with the kids. I have four hours off this morning. I suspect I will sit very still in a dark room. Maybe it won’t be that dark. Maybe I’ll read. I do have a bunch of interesting looking new books. I’m also in the middle of Battle Magic and Dataclysm. I should finish both books before moving on. I could totally read.
No chat room today. Arms hurt like fire.
I should stop.