Category Archives: adult-only
Hiding
Today was one of the most intense therapy sessions I’ve had in many years. I don’t cry at therapy much. Ok, a few tears will flow while I talk. But I don’t break down sobbing. I have too much control for that. Today I sobbed and rocked and felt pain that scared the ever loving shit out of me. My father raped me from when I was a baby. He harshly rejected me if I was anything other than an eager whore. How can any person absorb that? My father molested me constantly in public and I was not allowed to show signs of it. I was trained.
I don’t know how to feel that inside me as true and let my daughters touch me. I feel so disgusting.I feel so soiled and degraded. So insulted. My therapist asked if there was anything that would make me feel whole. I told her I have a broken compass. I can never save myself. There is no saving me. I have to live with that. My three year old self is gone. Never to be loved. Not by anyone. It hurts so much. So many years of my life. My mother and my sister were too far gone by then to really love anyone. They loved more companionship in shame and misery so they didn’t feel so alone.
It is hard to shake off the shame that was fed into me with the very air I breathed. It is hard to believe that I could possibly do good. For anyone. I feel small and mean and disgusting. I don’t want to hurt my babies with this evil inside me. How do I find patience to not pass on cycles of silencing. How do I show them who I am without making them know things that are wrong for them to know?
I miss my mother. And I can’t stop crying.
About that muse
He has decided that he needs to be celibate for a while because he is using sex in unhealthy ways. I think that is a great decision for him given what he has been up to in the last year. It’s hard being the girl who teaches guys what they don’t want. We talked about how awkward things have been on the past few dates. No, he can’t fix me and I’m not ok with him being mad at me because he can’t. I feel like telling people these things about my past puts up a brick wall between us. The phrase “I don’t know what to say” makes me want to break things. I would much prefer that people sit in silence than say that. Noah says, “Wow. That sucked.” As simple as that. It’s why I married him. He gets me.
broken
The last two days have been writing about my life up till the age of four. I don’t like thinking about my family. I don’t like thinking about how I was treated. It’s weird to talk about systematic abuse. Why did I believe that everything bad in the world was my fault? Partially because little kids are dumb. Mostly because I was actively told it was. Over and over and over. It was my fault things happened before I was born.
I don’t know how to shed this feeling of guilt. This feeling that existing poisons the people around me. Things with muse are a lot less smooth. Welcome to crazy girl territory. I feel like I should go home and lock myself in the garage for a few years. Maybe Sarah can pass me food through the cat door. I feel so dirty and polluted. Like there is no redemption for someone like me. Too much poison was put in me before I was even verbal.
I am just a hole. I am nothing. I have no worth. No merit. There is nothing in me worth acknowledging. But I had better be willing to lie still and open my legs. And shut up. Just lie there. Don’t move. Because I am nothing. Nothing.
I have had the Dixie Chicks song “Top of the World” on repeat for two days. I can sing along with it in the background while I type and cry. The last two days have been a lot of crying. I feel like I won’t ever stop crying. I feel like there is no end to this pain. The pain of being absolutely worthless.
Why do I want to give away so much money? I’m trying to find a way to do something in the world. Something real that no one can take away from me. Something I can point at and say: See! I am not a dirty, worthless, bad kid. I am good. I do good. I am good.
How do I teach my daughters to love themselves when I loathe myself with such intensity? How do I teach anyone how to feel joy when I feel such despair? I don’t know. “Everyone is singing, we just want to be heard. Disappearing every day without so much as a word, somehow.” I feel like every day that I do not write, that I do not say what I believe to be true is a day that my family has effectively silenced me. I feel like any time I do not stand up and scream at the top of my lungs that I am NOT FUCKING BAD, DAMNIT I am agreeing with them. If I am not actively arguing I am agreeing.
I don’t know how to resolve that. I don’t know how to just take up space and just be. I have to aggressively take up my space and batter the people standing near me or I feel invisible. There is no middle ground. I am invisible and toxic or I am screaming and hostile. I don’t want either extreme. I want to feel like I am just ok. That life is just ok. That it is ok that things happened. They are over.
Other than glimpses out my window when he was stalking me, I haven’t seen my father since I was 13. 17 years have gone by. That’s most of my lifetime. He’s been dead for 13 years, one month, and five days. Not that I’m counting.
This hurts so much. I wanted a daddy. Why am I not allowed to have a daddy? Why do I not get to have a mommy either? The last time I saw my mother was when Uncle Bob died. I don’t know if I will see her again. “I wish I had showed you all the things I was on the inside.” My family doesn’t know me. Not really. They know this construction of misery and pain. It’s not me.
I am not this angry and bitter person. But I am sad. I am so sad. I am so sad for the little girl I was. It was not my fault my father raped my sister. It’s ok that I was born. I did not cause my sister to be raped for three more years. My father did that. FYI: yesterday’s shirt makes a great hankie. Squeamishness is for people who waste paper.
Sometimes I wonder why I am writing this down. Why in the fuck does anyone need to know what a piece of shit my family thinks I am. How is this making the world a better place? Why do I need to write another 20,000 words about what a fucking piece of shit I am? Why? Technically another 24,000. But that’s ok. It’s only the 11th.
Speaking of which: thank you Veterans. I was too chicken shit to do what you did even though I thought about it.
It’s interesting looking at the differing word counts for different years. Some years I started and got 600 words in and just… ran out of things to say. Some years I’ve produced 4,000 words in a day because there was so much to say. This hurts a lot. It hurts so much to look at all of this so fast and so hard. I feel battered. I feel weak. I feel fragile.
I’m struggling right now. I feel like I am beating the shit out of myself with how worthless my family thinks I am. It’s so hard to be reminded over and over that my childhood was so miserable. I feel like a ghost of a person. I feel so thin I could blow away.
Why do I travel so much? Because I’m running away from myself. Why do I read so many books? Because I want to be in anyone’s head but mine. Why do I have sex with random people? Because then I don’t have to deal with any of my emotional issues–I can keep them in a box. When people start getting closer and they see the box I want to run. I don’t want to even tell you how big this box is.
I don’t want you to know just how big of a box I need for my issues because I don’t want anyone to see how very small I am standing next to that box. I am too much effort. I’m not worth it. Hell, Tom taught me that. It’s not worth it to meet my needs. The balance isn’t good enough. I’m so glad I found Noah. I didn’t know I was getting a knight in shining armor. It was hard to notice through the tacky dry humping.
I have lived with Noah for five and a half years. Longer than I have ever lived with another human being consecutively in my life. Noah is my family. It’s terrifying to even consider trusting someone beyond him. It is so hard to trust him. And he comes through so very very well. I don’t deserve Noah, but I’m keeping him.
Soon I will have lived with my children significantly longer than my parents. Shanna is 3.5. That’s how old I was when my parents divorced. When she turns four I will have lived with Shanna more than I lived with my father in my entire life. And it won’t be much longer before I have lived with her longer than I lived with my mother in a stretch. Calli will be my third longest live-in relationship. Depending on how things go with Sarah, she will be the fourth. That hurts a lot. I’m 30. This should not be my story. This shouldn’t be anyones story.
But it’s mine. And I can’t change it. I can just tell it.
Daily Bible Writing: John 5:51
John 6:51 I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world.
I’m not enjoying the experience of writing about what it was like to grow up in an incestuous family so I’m going to take a break to think about something more pleasant since I did 2,000 words today. So I’m going to write about Occupy.
The only thing we have to give in this world is our energy. Our devotion. Our time. Our resources. Something that people don’t understand is that time has nearly as much utility as money. If you go and perform labor that makes someone else’s life better… you have done a better thing than just handing them money. I don’t mean Volunteer! I mean, what the fuck are you doing with your life. How are you working towards being part of a better system? How are you speaking up when you feel compelled? How are you putting your direct democratic self forward? What the fuck are you doing with your time?
Surviving. That’s what people are doing. Because we have a weird closed system where everyone is struggling to meet their own needs. It’s nearly impossible to do. How do we find more to give…give..give. Everyone is on empty. I’m at a stage of my life I have to ask for help a lot. It feels really humiliating. My children require adult companionship 24 hours a day. That’s honestly kind of intense pressure. We don’t have families. Well, we don’t have anyone local. I have nothing. I don’t know what Noah has. That’s kind of between them.
It’s between them because I don’t seem to be able to do the family thing on any terms other than my own. That’s sad for everyone involved. I’m sorry for it. But I really can’t. So much for an intensity break. This writing is hard. I don’t want to talk about the earliest reasons I am so very fucked up. It hurts. I don’t want people to know how I was treated because then they will look at me differently. I feel so very dirty. I feel like that monster ripped out my soul and filled the cavity with tar. I will forever tarnish everything I touch.
Fuck him. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever. This bread is my flesh, which I will give for the life of the world. I have things to give. I have resources. I have myself. I have my time. I have my energy. I share it in many different ways. I want to make other peoples lives better. I want to be 80 and know that millions of people have been made better by my existence. Maybe then I will believe that my soul is not black.
tomato
A nice person told me I am inspirational and a nice lady. I wanted to say, “Actually I’m smug and self-satisfied but I guess you say tomato and I say toe-mah-toe.
And do you want to know why I will never use twitter much? Because the fucking thing told me the above wasn’t clever enough. Well fuck twitter.
Cheese factor.
Laugh at me if you will, but after having my religious conversion at the General Strike I’ve been having daily bible verses sent to my phone. I’m altering them slightly as I think about them through the day. I like my version a lot.
Psalm 5:11-12 (almost): But let all who take refuge in you rejoice; let them ever sing for joy, and spread your protection over them, that those who love your name may exult in you, Occupy. 12. For you bless the righteous; you cover him with favor as with a shield.
I’m so glad my heart was Occupied.
I miss g-blog.
Without g-blog I have no community on the web. I have never really found another one. Sometimes I intensely miss it and then I feel stupid. I really loved our conversations.
Accountability
Just to keep the time line up to date: offered money as compensation for damages during the General Strike. Roundly ignored. Go to morning meeting, mild interest but mostly apprehension about what it means. Go to General Assembly, get told No! You start chaos! Ok. Post on internet. Receive emails. Have phone calls and email discussions and one really exciting in person meeting.
Here is what I am looking at:
“A few friends/local (small mom and pop) business owners and I have come together to put organize a “black friday” event/shopping day. We are working to put together a map of local shops in the area and making it a fun day of shopping, food and music in Oakland. I’ve reached out to someone at Occupy so that we can include this day as part of our initiative to boycott corporations and bring Oakland’s local economy in the black. I can call on Thursday and discuss with you further if you would like. We are hoping to also get vendors and folks that do not have a store front to join in. A few business have opened up their doors to adding tables for local vendors to be able to participate in this.
I actually do not need a lot of money for this initiative because our only major cost is printing of flyers and posters. I have found many people to volunteer their time, as I have, to help support our local economy. I was trying to figure out who I can get these posters printed by and hoped to find a place that would donate that as well but have had no luck thus far. Then I saw your email and figured I would send you a note in case you would be interested in supporting this effort.”
That is the kind of thing I want to fund. It’s going to be a few hundred dollars at most.
Another person is in communication with me about a separate fund for repairing damage done to small businesses so they can petition for redress. I’m willing to contribute to that too. I’m less sure of the dollar amount.
But the big one? The individuals who pushed the General Strike through want to buy an RV and make a mobile clinic. They have doctors and nurses who have already volunteered to staff it. It’s going to be a logistical nightmare and a fuckton of money beyond what I have. I’m so excited I could pee my pants. This is something real. Medical care for people who can’t afford it? Yes. Yes. Yes. If my money can provide that, please dear god take it. My medical care is covered. Noah spends a fucking insane amount of money on my medical care. (don’t ask.) I’m not a special fucking snowflake. Everyone should be able to have the support I have. I won’t be able to ensure that everyone gets what I get, but they can get better than they have right now. They should.
I’m not real enthusiastic about national healthcare, I’ll tell the truth. But I’m fucking enthusiastic about people in a community saying, “Hey! We want to help our neighbors get healthcare.” Washington DC isn’t going to save us. We have to do it for our selves.
Everything you choose to learn about as you go through life compiles in a fairly unique way. No one else has your exact family, socio-economic experience, friend experience, food experience, etc. People are unique. There are patterns, but there are always sub groups from the sub groups because it’s hard to generalize.
Why don’t I feel like I can have a community? Why do I feel like that isn’t available to me? Why?
NaNoWriMo
16,408. I’m not done with high school. Drat. I got distracted by this hot boy I slept with in sophomore year. He says it’s ok to write about him. Yay!
I’m going back and forth on where and when I’m using pseudonyms. Mostly I just don’t bother. I’m telling my life story. I think that’s ok. I’m trying to not piss in Cheerios, but I’m being blunt about what I experienced. We’ll see if more people hate me in the end. Cheers. Back to writing.
I love planning
I’m in the middle of 1993. I hope to finish through high school today (class of ’99). I haven’t done pre 1988 yet. The early stuff is slightly speculative because my memories are hazy. I feel guilt writing something down as true when I have a less than crystal clear memory. I will do it. But I’m going to do the first pass through the older stuff first. I think I should reserve next Monday for the early bits. It will need to be done in a big burst.
Ok, that’s a good timeline for me. I want to get up to 2010 this week. Then I can do the earliest bits on Monday of next week. That means I will have the first pass of the whole story done by the 15th. I’m already feeling frustrated with myself for the bits I have missed. I’ll need the whole last half of the month to reread and add stories in here and there.
The first pass is just giving the skeleton. Where did I live. What kinds of schools. I haven’t gotten into too many awful bits. I’m saving them. I don’t want this story to be, “Krissy’s shitty life”. So much happened and a lot of it was amazing. It feels important to be true to the scope of the story and not overemphasis the trauma.
We’ll see.
Occupy your heart.
When I wandered around the Strike on Wednesday my favorite sign was the one that said Occupy Your Heart. I think a few different people made them. That one appealed to me because it seems at the root of what needs to happen, in my opinion. Occupy Wall Street/etc is about being upset about financial stuff. That’s true. But it’s also about our country’s desperate need for hope. We thought Obama would fix everything. Unfortunately he’s just one man.
What I saw on Wednesday changed my life because even though everyone didn’t understand exactly what they were doing, they were motivated to action. What can we accomplish with this much emotion? That many people showed up for the General Strike because they want hope for a better tomorrow. They feel like their needs are not being heard nor met.
And this all started with some anarchists, near as I can tell. Or at least people with different ideals than me. I don’t mind. I’m grateful that the punk kids have had the balls to get this started while I hide at home. I absolutely respect the fact that they have more courage than me. I owe them a large debt of gratitude. They have more nerve, and more anger. I’m not sure if they have more vision. I don’t understand much about the end goal of the destructive parts of the Occupy movement. I’m waiting.
I’m more interested in the building side. I don’t think I am the enemy of the anarchists. I think I am the other side of their revolution. They have things to say. They have things they can accomplish. I don’t agree with all of their methods, but I accept that revolutions have unintended consequences. That is why I originally thought to just repair the damage. Not because I want to shame the anarchists. But because I accept a few broken windows as the cost of business and I want to be on the business end.
I am frankly terrified of what is going to happen in Oakland over the next couple of years as the city recoils in horror from the shock of the financial impact of the Occupy movement. Millions already diverted. This is going to hurt the city. I’m sure that services will be cut. I don’t know which and that scares me. I worry about who is going to bear the brunt of the unintended consequences of this movement. I wonder which innocent children will be affected.
I wonder and I feel deep guilt. Because it won’t be my kids. I’m not in the 1%, but I’m in the 5%. My kids will be safe. That isn’t true of everyone’s kids. I feel so bad that some other woman’s children may suffer because I was one more freakin body at the General Strike. Money is not an infinite resource. The problem with socialism is eventually you run out of someone else’s money.
I believe in the principles of democracy in a small group setting. I believe that my voice should be able to be matter. Not more than other peoples, but just as much. I was told that offering this money to the movement is a way of trying to gain power, and I guess it kind of is. But a freaking small amount of power in exchange for me feeling like I did the best thing I could do. Other people have time, energy, and manpower to spend on bettering the city. I don’t. I think those things are more valuable than the money I have, quite frankly. That is what will get the work done. The people who care. Not the money. But the money helps. The money can make or break the movement because money appearing at the right time means that the right strategic things can happen.
I want someone to be building. I don’t care who. If you want to build, please come talk to me. I believe in you Occupy Oakland. You Occupied my heart. You showed me how much power you have. You showed me that you are mighty and influential. How can we do things to help other women’s children be as safe as mine? It’s not fair that so many children are unsafe. Please, I want this Occupation to make the world a better place. Not a place with less money to spread farther.
We have to build.
Every sperm is sacred.
So Noah slipped into the middle of his conversation about play that he didn’t orgasm. All of a sudden a switch flipped and I was just fine with it. Did you have a nice game of racquetball with your friend? Sure I can have sex with you. That seems kind of passive aggressive and controlling, doesn’t it? If Noah is having a lot of sex (and we’re doing well right now) he doesn’t orgasm easily. There is a much larger piece of me than I should cop to that feels smug that I can do it.
Ok, of all my hang ups, I think I’m going to forgive myself for wanting to be better at getting my husband off than other women. It’s not excessive. It’s silly. But it’s not destructive or bad or mean. It’s ok. It means that Noah can have sex with someone else and then come home to porn star sex because I’m very interested in proving that *I* can get you off. Damnit. I’m an idiot. But I’m an idiot who is not chanting in my head that people hate me.
I’m going to have a hard time with the hostility I incur due to the money. It’s going to shake me hard. I keep saying over and over, “Always be sure you are right, then go ahead.” I think that even though it is hard for me in the moment, I want to work on being more ok with Noah being nonmonogamous. Even if I do always have this squeeing and jumping up and down internally if he doesn’t orgasm with other people. That’s ok to be happy about. I’m not hurting anyone. But I need to not make it a thing. I need to not tell him that he should can’t do that with other people. I need to not go to bed in armor when he has sex with other people. In my defense, I was freakin cold earlier and the footey jammies are warm. They do make sex impossible though. Luckily Noah is a large, warm, smelly primate and I often do not need clothing in his vicinity.
Err, I need to stop whining and go do NaNoWriMo.
non-monogamy has down sides
I’m feeling highly avoidant. The funny thing is, I wrote that sentence down and went. Hmmm. Am I? Yes, yes I am. This non monogamy stuff is complicated. I feel extreme jealousy. Mostly I try to keep my tone civil and ask for my needs to be met and just deal with the fact that I have strong emotions.
Gah. This is mom stuff. This is her picking kids and liking one at a time. But it’s not just that. Noah has a lot of need for space from me. It’s kind of hard for me that part of why I want to be non monogamous is because I spend a lot of time alone and sad. Because Noah is busy. Noah’s response is to take some of that time that was previously mine and want to go fuck other people. It’s kind of hard not to take it personally. I feel always like I don’t see him enough. Yes, I choose to go out. I choose to go out because I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I don’t. But meeting my needs elsewhere means that he takes away from me. I can never tell if it is a net gain or not in terms of energy.
Why am I doing this? Why is this important to me? I got very emotionally invested in my muse very quickly. Now I’m starting to feel like I should shove him away from me as hard as possible. I hate that I have this constant niggling fear that he won’t really want the month. I’m too much trouble. I’m too annoying. I’m too hateful. I’m too… bad.
I’m pretty sure that’s not his thought process. And I don’t think Noah wants to hurt me by using his rare possible time to play with other people. It’s not like I maximize my time with him. But I’m feeling avoidant. It’s really annoying. I dislike the fluctuations between feeling good about myself and loathing myself. This month is going to be intense. I need to get a better handle on this. I’m having a hard time keeping perspective. Ok. hackhackhack
Noah wants to go off and sleep with someone else because he has been feeling invisible too. He hasn’t gotten to go hunting on his own like that in years. Go him. He’s going to come back and try not to look too happy because he doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. I hate that I do that to him. I don’t like that I have this emotional response. It feels like it is actively nasty to him. But it’s not. It’s just a lot of acid in my stomach. It’s ok that I feel insecure. I don’t need to. I have no reason to. But it is actually ok. Noah is the only person in my life that I can actually count on. Of course it scares me to think of him not wanting me.
But he doesn’t sleep with other people because he doesn’t want me. He sleeps with other people because it lets him feel like he’s impressive again. He’s a show off. It’s not the same with the same person year after year, I know. I want him to have that feeling. I just kinda wish one of his other hobbies supplied it. I’m a lot less dramatic than I used to be. I feel bad saying that. Because I was dramatic. Do you know why I try to deal with it? Because if this is so important to Noah that he is willing to deal with year after year of me being kind of an asshole about it… he can have it. Really. He lets me go off and do my thing and have my tantrum. I come back and apologize. He pats me on the head and we move on. I think he’s earned the right to prove, once again, that he’s coming back.
It wasn’t as intense with muse, but it was there. Mostly I was just freaking out about the Occupy stuff, but I felt kind of weird. I didn’t want to do the cuddly make out thing right before he went off on a date with someone else. I can see the appeal of getting more of that touch at any moment possible. I can. I feel really raw right now though. Our sex feels really personal. A quickie before you go to work is great. A quickie before you go fuck someone else… makes me feel like just one more hole. I want to be special, damnit. I don’t even know what that means.
One of the guys I dated a long time ago had a habit of picking a girl up when we were out on a date. We only dated for three months. That means if this happened a lot… uhh… it was a high percentage of our dates. It’s not that I minded the sex. It’s that I didn’t feel like I was much of a focus any more. I was an accessory to the experience. Hm. That’s about the objectification line. How and where am I willing to lay back and be someone else’s fantasy without complaining about my needs. That’s an important thing to think about. That’s a boundary line I’ve never been good at defining. That’s the difference between doing this in a healthy way and an unhealthy way.
I can’t do spur of the moment objectification all the time. I have to be in the right mood. It’s a sometimes food. I should just go to bed and stop whining. See, avoidant. I probably will feel better tomorrow. It’s hard to be present with the fact that I have these intense emotional states… and they don’t mean much. I don’t think other people should change their behavior based on my moods. I may need to change my behaviors based on my moods though.
So tonight I left the party way earlier than necessary. And I left Noah there. I went home alone because I knew I would rant and rave and cry the whole way home whether anyone was with me or not. I put on my awesome footey pajamas. I made ramen. Now I’m eating ice cream. Comfort foods = awesome. I do feel better. Less intensely self-loathing. Less like, obviously Noah wanted to go have sex with the nice, pretty lady because I’m a terrible person. Right. Heck, I’m even glad that muse had to get off line and go get ready for his date. It means I stopped the whiiiiiiiiiiiine at him as well. I feel less guilty about whining in my blog.
Part of that is I feel like whining in my blog has a higher chance of making me feel like I’ve reached a conclusion. I control the flow of the conversation. I don’t have to stop and listen to someone else talk. I am so terrible awesome. I feel like I have too many things I want to say stored up in my voice box. I feel like I don’t get to speak enough. Sometimes it is hard for me to say the important stuff when someone else is around deflecting the conversation because I never get down to the deeper layers of stuff.
The thing is, I feel just as bad when Noah stays out all night programming. It’s really and truly not about the sex. It’s the time. When people want to see other people it means they don’t want to spend that time with me. I feel like the only way for me to get through Noah having dates is to stay home alone. Because I’m not great company on those nights. Cranky. Hopefully the morning will be better.
I hate nonmonogamy because it proves there is no glitter in my hooha.
The money
I was attacked by a pit bull when I was 5. I’m not going to tell the whole story because it’s going in the book. But suffice to say, I spent my entire life knowing that money was coming. I dreamed about it. I thought about what to do with it. I wanted to make sure that I got the absolute maximum usefulness about it. I preplanned how to pay for college, a house… I had financial planning till I was 30 done by about 12.
Then I married Noah. And the whole game changed. The monthly stipend was my money through our marriage. I never felt bad about buying the random shit I wanted because it was my money any way. Then I got the $35,000 and I couldn’t figure out what to do with it. I haven’t been able to bring myself to just pay off the time share. It feels like an insult to who I was and what that money meant to me. That settlement changed my life. It was a gift from the universe. I didn’t earn it. It’s not like it’s proof that I deserve to be where I am financially.
I feel like the only reason I survived was because I benefit from enormous privilege. I have enormous survivors guilt. Whenever someone tells me that I should have died I think about all the girls who did. Did they die because they didn’t have the hope at 18 of getting out for sure no take backs? Did I only have the strength to fight every day because I knew that no one could take my freedom away from me. I was god damn financially independent with $1200 every month. That was more than my mother often made throughout my life. I knew how to be poor. That was easy. If I was poor for a reason because I had a goal post in sight of when it was no longer true… that’s easier. If you have no hope of things improving, why should you bother having self restraint when you see something small you want?
This is a big part of my issues with my mother. She has been robbing Peter to pay Paul for so long that she is incapable of managing money. Poverty will do that to you. I don’t even think it’s her fault. But I can stand back and look at how she cycles and know it’s a bad idea.
At this point in time I have no plans to go make money. Indefinitely I am dependent on Noah entirely. Noah makes such an obscene amount of money that I feel staggered by it. We could survive easily on less than half of it. And it’s going to go up. All of a sudden my money seems… so small. Cheapened? In the scheme of my life all of a sudden $20,000 isn’t very much money. In three years we won’t be able to tell a difference in our life because of it being spent. That’s kind of disgusting.
I feel kind of disgusting. And yet, this is the American Dream, right? Whenever people express bitterness that everyone can’t be in the same position as me I feel kind of bewildered. I don’t think I’m happier at this income than I would be at half this income. I do more stuff. I travel. I fund a very comfortable retirement. But I’m not happier. I don’t feel this magical I’ve arrived that I expected to feel. I feel like a trespasser. I feel guilty. I feel like I have done something shameful.
I’ll say frankly that a lot of the reason I feel so ashamed is the response of disgust when I say that I want to donate $20,000 people look at me like I just took a shit on the sidewalk. Yes. I have that to give. This is the very last money in the world that is mine and I want to do something with it I can feel proud of.
I feel really guilty when I admit out loud that I keep having the parable, “If you give a man a fish he will eat for a day. If you teach a man to fish he will eat for a lifetime.” Err, or some phrasing like that. I think it would be wrong and short sighted of me to give the Occupy movement this money for things like blankets and food. Local people with very little money to give are supplying those things. It would improve the quality of the food and I honestly believe that’s not something I should be funding. I am not going to feel like I have made the world a better place because I spent $20,000 on high price snacks for stoners in the park, sorry.
No really. What the fuck is Occupy Oakland doing? I want to know what concrete things people want to get started in the community. What outreach? What types of demands are being made of the city? What do people want to have happen? I can’t be one of the people out doing the work in the street and I know that. That’s not something I have to give right now. I would have another messy nervous breakdown and that’s fucking stupid.
But I’m really good at thinking through long-range planning. And I have a very good idea of how money is most effective. Ok. I think I’m ready to write some emails now. You were right, Noah. I had to write about it.
I really hope Noah manages to hit the 1% like he thinks he will. I will make a fucking good philanthropist. Other people won’t agree with me, and that will be ok. This is the hard part. That people are going to disagree. But people disagree with every powerful person. You have to stick to your guns. I have a vision in my head of what it means to make the world a better place with money. It doesn’t matter if other people agree with the specifics of it. What matters is that I take action on making the world a better place. That is what matters from everyone.
If I dilly dally and take too much advice I will never get the satisfaction of really attaining self-actualization. If I want to take up the most space in the world I can, I can’t worry about the fact that other people occasionally have to bend for me. That has to be ok. The balance is in finding out how much space I can take up without pushing people too far. I don’t want to shove people away. But I do want to take up as much room as I can. When I feel like I can’t take as much room as I want to, I feel small inside. Like I’m stepping on all the dreams I had as a child.
Why the fuck can’t I shoot the moon? I married a rich guy (I swear to fucking god it was on accident) and we are both ambitious people. Why not? Why can’t I play a whore for a few years to push Noah up the ladder. That’s what builds him up the most from me. I can do that. Sure I’ll trade sexual favors for performance reviews. If that makes you smile while you work like mad, why not? What’s the problem?
And our needs are met. If Noah never got another raise we would be fully on track to have a perfectly stable and comfortable life forever if he can work for another 10 years. He’s 35. I’m pretty sure that’s going to happen. That means that everything from now on is extra. We don’t need it. Noah likes to say, “And what do we call things we don’t need? A luxury!” My entire life is about luxury. I will be honest and say that I feel kind of embarrassed about the amount of luxury in my life. But I’m trying to own it and be up front about it. It’s complex.
I don’t know how to explain what I feel right now. Watching the crowds stream into the port felt like a religious experience. All those people cared so much. And they pulled that off with very little money. Actually, now they pulled that off partially with my money. Because I paid for the buses. I feel really good about that. I feel like that is the first victory for this money.
I want this money to make a big impact. I want it to be part of the big picture, not the stupid small details that will be handled one way or another. I want to start learning what it means to be a big person. I’m not there yet and I know it. But I want it. And that’s how you start. I don’t have much influence with $20,000. But I have enough. I can decide which parts of Occupy Oakland I think will have the biggest long-term impact. I can make a choice about something happening that is for the good of other people. Yes, the argument can be made that absolutely every single part of the operation is Just As Important. Whatever. We disagree. That’s fine.
Now how do I do this without being an obnoxious cunt. Because it’s not my goal to make people pry this money out of my grasping fingers and that’s totally how I’m making it sound. I don’t mean to. Ok, here’s an example:
One person spoke about trying to have the actual dirt removed from the public areas and have it replaced with organic soil for growing food. That’s an interesting idea. It will require working with the city though, because if the city ignores that you did that and comes along and does business as usual next week… err… that was wasted fucking money. Dead serious. I’m not interested in funding something that make hippies feel good about themselves for a few weeks. I don’t care if that sounds bitchy. I want to know what agreements can be reached with the city for continued maintenance. I want to know how that will be handled going forward. And then that sounds like the kind of thing I would fucking love to pay for. That aligns so perfectly with my value system it isn’t funny.
More blankets… not so much.
But the movement is just getting started. Right now they are still focused on short-term logistics and they feel resentful of me having a different timeline. I get that. But it’s my money and I have to feel good about how it is spent. When I feel good about how it is spent my response is, “Oh you spent your rent money on those buses? If you walk with me back to my car I can give you a check for that. I’m sorry I left my check book in my car. That was kind of stupid of me.”
I don’t want to haggle forever. I want to haggle until I am satisfied. I want to feel like *I* receive the maximum joy from spending this. Too much haggling means it isn’t fun any more. I want to haggle just enough. Ok. That’s awesome. I think I know what I want to do. I want to send an email saying that at the next GA I would like someone neutral to say that this crazy lady wants to hear proposals for concrete things Occupy Oakland can start doing in the community in the next couple of weeks with $1,000-$5,000 start up capital on a given idea. How would the money be spent? What are the long-term implications of using the money this way? How would it be maintained after Occupy moves out of the park (if that happens)? I will accept them via email. I need to have a form I want filled out. Hmm. Ok, what is that going to look like.
What need in the community do you see that you would like to fill:
How many people will be needed to see this through:
How much money do you think you will need? How will you spend it? Be specific:
How will this project be able to exist in six months? A year? Five years:
Do you believe this project is one that is likely to find funding in other places when I run out of money? How do you plan to pursue that issue:
And I will decide which ones sound like things I want to fund and which ones are not well thought out. I won’t be the most popular person there, but oh well. I don’t want to be popular. I want to be effective.
You’re up then you’re down
I’m feeling very emotionally volatile. Between writing, this affair, and Occupy Oakland I have a lot inside my head that feels too big to be felt and understood. I’m feeling like there isn’t enough of me to go around. I feel conflicted about what I should be doing and where. What is actually a good use of my time? Ugh. So tired. Emotionally tired.
I’m having a hard time finding balance. I wish that I could manage to get the grief struck look off my face. I’m not thrilled with how deep the lines are.
It’s kind of hard to donate money to the Occupy movement.
This morning I went to the Mayor’s office and I requested an appointment. The kind gentleman who forcefully told me to go away and someone would read my letter some day was really a sign of things to come. I then wandered off to my therapist’s office for that appointment. When I explained to her what I was doing her eyes bugged and she actually said, “Give the money to me!” It was hilarious. In the end she said she understood why I felt compelled the way I do and if it really isn’t a financial problem… she totally supports me. That was nice. She almost choked on her drink when I explained Noah’s salary and why I’m not worried about $20,000. It is very uncomfortable for people when I talk about money. It’s a hard thing on pretty much everyone.
I wandered back over towards the encampment. I spent a while sitting around and feeling awkward. I’m good at that. Eventually I found the morning meeting. When I asked if I could speak the facilitator first tried to tell me no but I interrupted and blurted, “I want to donate $20,000.” He blinked hard and added my name to the list. He had me go last. I did my little blurt thing, not the letter. I was too chicken shit. Gah. But I blurted something that was less than eloquent and I was somewhat surprised to have people muttering about how I should go buy some blankets. I responded that I’ve already donated multiple tents, sleeping bags, blankets, air mattresses, several food drops, and other items. No really. I’m giving. She looked down and kept muttering. Ok.
I had an earnest conversation with a few gentlemen who gave me a little bit of their perspective and that was interesting. The big sticking point seemed to be finding someone on the finance committee to talk to. I wandered around a bit. I met JP Massar, who decided to mention me on dailykos, thanks. Another gentleman thanked me for being so generous. It was really sweet. Other than that… folks didn’t talk to me. I wandered around. I read. I typed a bit. I watched the large group of Muslims praying. After a while one of their members started uhm, it sounded like preaching. Am I allowed to use that word for Islam? I don’t mean to be an asshole. Anyway. That was nice. I liked what he was saying.
After a bit I went and sat in the Tully’s and managed to hook up with a few more people who had heard of someone on the finance committee. I talked to a woman on the phone even! It was exciting. I did not manage to run into her later. I wussed out on being on site for a bit and had to run away. I felt lame, but I just had to get my anxiety under wraps. I was shaking and hurting. I came back in time for the General Assembly.
I asked around about speaking. When I finally figured out who the facilitator was and asked him if I could speak he told me that was a bad idea. It would create a shit storm of controversy. He’s not wrong. I did manage to give one check away! I felt so proud of myself. One man used his rent money to cover the buses used in the General Strike. I didn’t think he should have to carry that load. He has enough of a burden. The joy on his face was the highlight of my day. That was a real thing to do. It’s not what I mostly want to do with the money, but that’s ok.
I haven’t heard back from anyone connected to the city. I’m less than shocked. I think that instead I am going to ask Occupy Oakland to think of me as a fairy godmother. I would like to know what their needs are and I will decide what I want to fund. It’s my decision. This is my money. It probably is going to piss off some people and that’s ok. I will be giving a high priority to any project that is designed to increase the positive relationship with the city of Oakland. I think the city is bearing an unduly high cost for this protest. That’s my opinion and I don’t care if anyone else agrees with me.
By the end of the night I finally met a few people and exchanged contact information. I hope they will contact me tomorrow because I am a lazy bastard. But I’d really like to give them some money.
Why I’m spending the money this way.
I stood there at the Well’s Fargo
Open letter