My fuck ups, let me count the ways…

I have been mentally composing this post through four hours of driving today. Do you know what that does to my day? It kinda sucks.

I didn’t want to deal with the home school stuff while I was traveling because heavy emotional processing takes a lot of spoons. I’m not all that mentally present with the kids. Luckily they are super into Narnia and that’s been going on the speakers. We are back to The Horse and His Boy.

The fuck up I’m feeling the worst about is the one where I cussed someone out (here) up one side and down the other for something they didn’t do. I had lots and lots and lots of misplaced anger and I feel really sad. That’s not fair. That woman has been very nice to me for years. I was a fucking asshole.

I discovered it was someone else. I suspect I know who. There’s a hiccup here. If it is who I think it is… I can’t be angry. I’m willing to bet she was legitimately scared and she needed her group organizer to know.

Which makes a great deal of the anger I’ve been feeling…. now feel like I don’t have a worthy target and that’s frustrating. It’s annoying. Because all the taint of feelings isn’t gone.

And then I was pissed as pissed as pissed that the group organizer brought it up *now* because I thought it had been brought up by someone who had known the whole time so it felt like a manipulative act and…

That was just wrong. I was just wrong. It was duly reported when it was discovered and then the group organizer immediately send an email to try and address a situation. She didn’t take a side and ban me. She tried to initiate a conversation.

That I’m not capable of having. Which isn’t her fault.

And I… I deal with my feelings by writing tens of thousands of words so that I don’t yell at the people standing in the room with me. This is how I sublimate my feelings. So yes, my blog is sometimes very angry. It is the only place I am allowed to express the anger I feel.

Yeah, I get that my anger is intense. Did you ever read the splash page of my website? The part that says I have extreme mental illness and this is where I record how it is living with that?

Yeah. Extreme anger is one of the classic PTSD symptoms. I don’t threaten people to their faces. I don’t send letters or SMS messages threatening people.

I come to my sandbox and I scream at the top of my lungs and I jump up and down and then I smooth my hair, wash my face, and slap a fucking smile on my face and walk out to face the world.

Because no one gives a shit how I feel. I’m just supposed to look happy.

I will never stop recording the extremes of my emotions. It’s going to be hard to read sometimes.

I’m feeling terribly awkward about a phrasing I used. “A cult of personality without a personality at the top.” I don’t think I adequately explained what I mean and it is terribly insulting without the full explanation.

Groups form in a lot of different ways. Some groups form around activities and the people change frequently. Like, check out your local gymnastics studio. The group of folks come and go but the activity is still there. The folks who work in the building may still be there. You don’t go to the gym (mostly) because Charlie is so awesome. You go because you want to do gymnastics.

Some communities are open. In the bdsm community, anyone can host anything. Just put out announcements. No one clears anything. No one decides who is “allowed” to host an event. You can invite anyone you want to anything you want and still call it a bdsm community event.

Some communities are closed. You have to have all items go through a central person. That person decides what is or isn’t “for the group”.

This group is a closed group.

Usually… closed groups are run by megalomaniacs. This group *isn’t* run by someone power hungry. She doesn’t have desire to set strong parameters around people beyond minimizing conflict. She doesn’t care how folks school their kids. She doesn’t care that there are severely authoritarian parents and very relaxed parents. She doesn’t feel much need to direct people.

Sometimes that’s hard. It means that participation is always… mediated. Not in a bad way. She’s not mean even slightly. I’m not trying to be insulting. She has kept a community going for a lot of years and that is not a task I can accomplish.

But being in a closed group with no one setting the tone is hard for me. That doesn’t make it wrong for anyone else. It doesn’t mean that the group is toxic.

Some people are allergic to peanuts. For them, a Thai restaurant may well be toxic… even just to stand in. Not even talking about eating food. For some people, they just *can’t* be in that environment. I know a woman who can’t be in a room with *celery*. Toxic for her is not the same as for other people.

I have a very hard time feeling welcome. I’m not sure that this woman *could* have done anything differently to cause me to feel more comfortable. I’m *not* feeling like any of this is her fault. She just fucking found out and is getting a shit storm of unpleasantness from finding out.

Man knowing me is festive.

I feel really bad.

I didn’t leave the group as a fuck you. I left the group so I would keep all my stupid dwama right here where it belongs and not involve people who shouldn’t be involved. I’m trying to be as adult as I can manage. I don’t want to ask people to take sides.

Yes, I know a kid just fucked up. But I’m not going to get past “An apology is step one or there is no step two” and I don’t think that is anyone else’s perspective. Not when the opening was, “You can’t be intimidating.”

Uhhhh, I’m only intimidating if you come to my sandbox and look for intimidation.

I’m not just afraid of prosecution. I’m afraid of my children seeing me be someone who attacks people. I never ever want to put that image in their head.

It’s not just jail.

It’s all very complicated. I feel sad. I feel like a popped balloon. I’m going to stop feeling angry soon.

I don’t think I’ll stop feeling sad soon.


My body is so fucked up right now.

I need to stop thinking about things what are broke and ain’t gonna get fixed. I need to think about the problems I can fix.

still need to get lock-tight, Sarah. I tighten the damn nuts on the light at every stop.

I need to get a full night of sleep. I am not happy about how many sedatives I can consume and then wake up 6 hours later already crying. That is *not* enough sleep. And I need to stop fucking crying.

I am happy to report that with maxing out my Kaopectate dosage allotment (although for WAY more days than you are supposed to use it. Call a doctor after two days. Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.) I no longer feel like my entire crotch has been rubbed vigorously with sand paper. Thank goodness for small mercies. I didn’t say I had solid poop. I said it was no longer burning.

I need to email a buddy in Michigan. We are going to figure out how to have a meal together as I swing through. Ok, done.

I still haven’t heard from the MDC friend in Missouri. I’m sorta thinking I might take that leg off. I’m exhausted.

Oh, there was a funny today. The first town we tried to get a hotel there wasn’t *any* rooms available. There is a huge construction project in town and all hotels are fully booked. Ok then.

When we pulled out of the parking lot I turned my head and looked at Shanna and said, “Well.. there’s a KOA down the road.”

“NO. If we go camp tonight you won’t play with us tomorrow. Hotel. Now.”

Uhm, wow. Heh. Ok. So we drove another 40 miles up the road to another town.

Thank fucking goodness we are out of Wyoming. In Wyoming you don’t get towns conveniently every 40 miles. They are HOURS apart.

Yay Minnesota! It reminds me strangely of Oregon. The way the houses/properties look.

Ok I think that is it for now. Blergh.



3 thoughts on “My fuck ups, let me count the ways…

  1. Pam

    > Did you ever read the splash page of my website?

    Yeah. In case anyone reading needs a review:

    Second and third sentence:
    > If you are a sensitive person, the whole rest of my website is probably not a good place for you to poke around. Consider this your trigger warning.

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