Alllllllllll the feelings

Howdy. I’m having a week. I’m not going to be able to do that once a week thing this week. I’m flipping out.

I think I partially know why: I slowed down.

don’t slow down. That’s how I manage a lot of my crazy. I keep myself so busy I don’t stop and look at me other than during blogging time. I’m looking at me a lot this week but I’m not typing much and I’m not in a good place to write much. As a result I had two panic attacks today. I think I had three on the roadtrip. Otherwise I’m getting to the point of having 1-2/year which is a big deal because for a long time I had them weekly if not daily. I have improved.

I’m hitting this point where it feels like it is not ok that I’m still fucked up. If this much help can’t help me I should off myself and just get it the fuck over with. I should stop wasting so much god damn money and resources on a worthless whore.

Saw a new woo practitioner (the nutritionist–turns out that is part of what she does but not really the best description for her practice). This one found lots of different detoxes, cleanses, and supplements to put me on. She says my liver is full of parasites and that’s a big chunk of the problem. (It is fairly well proven that intestinal health and mood are incredibly linked. The chemicals that control your mood are largely created in your gut and uhm, my intestinal issues are already well documented.) The next few weeks aren’t going to be a lot of fun for me. I get to do castor oil packs on my belly to heat up the intestinal parasite eggs so they hatch faster so I can take pills that will help flush them out of me.

I can’t wait to see what is going to come out of my butt.

If it is gross enough… I might even post pictures.

Aren’t you looking forward to that? Ha.

This woo lady asked me what my biggest emotional problem was and I burst into tears and said I would like to stop feeling like a worthless whore who should die. She nodded sadly and said, “We have stuff for that. I’m glad you’re here.”

So. We’ll see. It is horribly expensive. I spent $800 today. I feel like I just bought a full trunk of snake oil. But I’ve paid a lot of money for “reputable Western doctors” and just left with a law suit. I’m willing to try the snake oil now.

Repeat after me: HEALTH CARE SHOULD NOT BE THIS EXPENSIVE. HEALTH CARE SHOULD NOT BE THIS EXPENSIVE. HEALTH CARE SHOULD NOT BE THIS EXPENSIVE. HEALTH CARE SHOULD NOT BE THIS EXPENSIVE. HEALTH CARE SHOULD NOT BE THIS EXPENSIVE.

This woman learned this stuff because she was treating her own physical/mental health problems. We have some overlap. Enough. She says she has felt really good for over 20 years following this stuff. Fine. I’ll try it. No one else offers me any hope.

Every one else says, “Go see a psychiatrist” and I go see the psychiatrist and they say, “Stop the only effective medication and go on this huge pile of pills that will make you really sick or I won’t talk to you.”

And so it goes.

I do woo.

Why? Because woo doctors don’t act like I’m a bad person for being outside the statistical norm. They may not be able to help, but they try and are at least fucking nice to me.

It’s better. Less traumatizing. As time goes on I have more positive stories about doctors to balance out them doing things like suspending my drivers license or taking me to court.

A long time ago I decided that if you have the same problem with people over and over again it isn’t always someone else’s fault.

I know that I’m the problem.

I’m having all the feelings because I don’t know how to see myself as someone who has a lot of problems instead of being the problem. I feel like I’m at a point where not figuring this out is bullshit. I’m out of time. The test is here. I failed.

This is what school teaches you. You are preparing for a test. Did you do well? No? Then you are a failure.

Feelings.

Is life about how you did on that one test or is life about how you do as an aggregate?

Does it matter if you actually feel love for yourself or does it matter if you act like you feel that love?

I don’t know. I don’t know how to love myself. Other people they see things worthy of love.

I see how much damage I’ve caused. I see how many people I’ve hurt with my thoughtlessness, my selfishness, my rampant anger.

People have told me four times in the last week (within an hour of meeting me), “Whoa. You are going to do something in this life, aren’t you?”

Four fucking times.

This gets kinda weird. What the fuck do you expect me to do?

Be careful what you say to your kids. If you tell them they are worthless, they just might believe you.

What can a worthless whore do? Move through the world as if I am untouched by fear. Because every day the act of rising from my bed is so hard that everything else is easy. Dealing with people isn’t harder than getting out of bed.

Getting out of bed hurts a lot. I don’t want to. I don’t want to do anything much lately.

I am doing my best to fill my brain with thoughts of my children. How much I love them. How worthy of love they are. How entirely loveable they are.

As they drive me batshit crazy.

Something I said recently, “Being annoying is a mixed bag. It gets a reaction out of people. But a lot of the time you are going to find out that you don’t like the reaction.” As I walked out of the room because I wasn’t willing to play with them any more.

I am subversive. It is one of my most defining character traits. Is that the same thing as being a problem if I annoy lots of people in the same way? I annoy people because I’m not willing to follow the rules that most of society follows. My attitude is: I didn’t agree to those rules so I am not bound by them. Other people don’t have that attitude. They think the rules are the rules and you follow them.

I’ve moved too much, buddy. I’ve seen a lot of different rules. I do not adapt to the environment I’m in. I tell the environment how to adapt to me. Ok, I follow some rules. I have been a public school teacher. I know the rules. I know what the basics are. I do teach and follow some things. (Let me tell you, we can queue like a motherfucker. Thank you Disney.)

I more mean in a bigger way. I ran out of ability to subsume me into the dominant culture a long time ago. That ship has sailed. I tried too many times. It doesn’t work any more. I’ve done it with too many disparate cultures. I am what I am. I have the damage I have. I have to accommodate my issues now. I can’t pretend like I don’t matter and only care about other peoples comfort.

Is that the same thing as loving myself?

I do it with impatience and ill grace. Maybe that’s part of why it bothers other people so much. I know I don’t deserve this accommodation, but I need it so motherfucker give it to me any way.

I feel so bad.

I do not always have the spoons to flatter as I demand. Yup. That’s true.

Jenny reminds me that she has seen how far I’ve come.

I’ve been thinking about that lately. The foster kid in our neighborhood moving… that triggered me in a big way. He hasn’t moved like I did–nothing like. But he’s really sad about having to move again and start over learning a new set of rules.

I understand. I’m so sorry.

I can’t fix every problem. I can’t take in every kid. I can’t take in that kid.

will not take in a foster child who is older than my children. I will not have that dynamic in my house. We will probably foster someday. But it will be for a child who is much younger than my kids who can be influenced by my kids instead of the dynamic going the other way.

I know it sucks being a young, injured person who doesn’t mean to be hurting people. But I’m responsible for these two people. I brought them into the world. I didn’t promise anything to anyone else.

I feel really bad.

Why do I deserve safety and love and he does not?

There is no deserve. He is loved. He is moving to a place where he will hopefully be more emotionally safe than he has been in the past. He has been physically safe for a while now.

Things are so forking complicated.

He is loved. I love him.

Now I understand how people felt when they saw me as a child. Oh that poor child. I’m so sad for her. La di da back to my life.

Now I am one of them.

I do not like myself very much. I do not see very much to like.

I’m being really really selfish with Pam and I’m feeling really ashamed of myself. It is by specific verbal agreement and that doesn’t god damn matter. I feel really bad.

I’m having a week. Usually this doesn’t happen while I’m bleeding. Usually it stops when I’m bleeding and that’s so weird.

Today is my sister’s birthday. She is turning 47. I love you Sissy. I hope you are safe. I hope you are loved. I hope you have learned self control and some god damn boundaries.

Most serial predators don’t. And I know you are up to three. So I worry.

I can’t keep these secrets, Sissy. I just fucking can’t. I’m sorry. I love you. It doesn’t make up for the fact that I cannot allow you to pretend to be who you want to be.

I see you. I love you. I can’t have you in my life.

This hurts so much. I love you so much. I miss how funny you are. I miss how hard you try to make people feel built up. I miss the fact that you saved my ass more than once. I’m a selfish bitch and I wish I had gotten to have a big sister to save me a lot more times. I needed you. And you needed to get laid.

I understand. I got laid too.

It’s a fucking weird biological urge. I don’t really understand it but I’m ruled by it. I’m kind of glad I’m stuck fucking an infertile guy for the rest of my fertility. That’ll be useful. Cause I’d be stupid. I just god damn know it.

One baby daddy for me. No offense, Sissy… or Mom. Uhm. Yeah. WE’VE HAD A LOT OF PROBLEMS.

I need to have a home that comes without baggage because I have so much of my own. I don’t have the spoons to be nice. I wish I did. I really god damn do wish I had the spoons for dealing with other peoples baggage.

I would probably have figured out the multiple parent thing and that could have improved my life a lot. But I…

I’m too hard. I require too much accommodation. I don’t have much accommodation to give any more. That makes me a bad partner.

I don’t god damn get why it is worthwhile for Noah. I have exactly 20 minutes to cry. Then I get to wash my face and take YC to class.

I managed to make sure I didn’t have to go see the woo doctor on Tommy’s birthday next month. That would have been ridonkulous.

Oh Tommy. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for antagonizing you. I was a real cunt of a sister. I mean, you did beat me up a lot and have your friends beat me up and try to rape me. So can I be blamed for getting you in trouble with the grown ups?! WHAT RECOURSE DID I HAVE?!

You thought the only reasonable response was to shut up and do as I was told.

Yeah. I’ve never been good at that.

I tried. It almost broke me. Then I got as loud as I possibly could. I’m getting much better at moderation. I no longer terrify autistic people when I walk into the room because I crackle with anger.

See, she can be taught.

Fuck, fuck, fuck a duck

Screw a kangaroo

Finger bang an orangutang

Support your local zoooooooo!

 

Cross my heart and hope to die. Die. Die. Di…..

No, I do not “have a plan”. No I am not in “immediate distress”. This is existential distress motherfucker.

It’s just… there. I think they call this “depression”. Can barely get out of bed. Can’t stop thoughts of extreme worthlessness. Tunnel vision. Blah blah bla…

I can’t even be bothered to finish that.

I feel really stupid for buying two gigantic bags of stupid fucking woo woo supplement bullshit. I should just go in the bathroom, lock the door, slice myself up and deal with my problems like a cheap bitch should.

None of this comes from Noah. None of this comes from anyone in my life. This is trigger stuff. This is…

This is brain damage. This is hard. This sucks. This hurts and I’m fucking tired of crying.

I get why this family had to have the boy move on. I’m not upset with them. I just… have feelings about my own life.

Don’t tell me God. I’ve barked up that tree.

I’m California Woo. That means I’ve studied most world religions to some degree and I’m super happy there are so many different guidebooks to help people not be assholes.

But they aren’t for me.

I was baptized a Catholic. That hasn’t gone so hot. I was a 7th Day Adventist Missionary. That was uhhhh mixed. Apparently I kinda “should” be Mennonite.

ha. haha. hahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahaha

No.

Yes, there are liberal sects. There are Unitarians! I know. Ask me offline about my Unitarian experiences.

I don’t feel like ever saying anything bad about those people online. They were super good to me and even though I haven’t spoken to any of them in over a decade I would love to again some day. They are good people.

But fuck Facebook so probably not.

The stories aren’t bad. I’m just not telling them online. And I probably won’t join the church. It’s all good.

At this point I believe that Western medicine with it’s focus on “pills and hormones” is about as much of a witch doctor as any and every form of healing.

Bodies are fucking weird. Why do they heal sometimes and not sometimes? Fuck if we know.

I’ve had a few interactions lately that are bothering me. I’m over sensitive and I’m taking everything that happens in the absolutely worst light.

I need to go climb into a dark hole and lick my wounds until I don’t feel like I’m a disgusting piece of shit and everyone is just waiting to do something awful to me for sport. I know that isn’t true.

But right now it is true.

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