I was talking to a boy in our life. He’s in foster care. I was explaining a little (tiny) bit about my story. His foster parents asked me what the happy ending of my story was. I said, “Some day you won’t be a kid any more. That’s the happy ending.” I don’t think that was what they were hoping for.

I feel like I was doing great until about 10 minutes ago then my anxiety flared like a motherfucker. I don’t know what is up with that.

I had self control for a week? Who thought I’d actually be able to make it a week? Ha.

It has been a good week. I have spent a lot of it watching Outlander. I think they did a good job with the story. Yes, things were changed from the book but not in such a bad way. I think that if this were my first exposure to Claire and Jaime I wouldn’t love them so much. The actors do a fine job, but… they aren’t what I imagined. What I imagined is better. I’m happy to watch it several times though. So I’m not complaining. I’ll learn to love them.

One of my favorite parts of the show is the fact that Diana Gabaldon has spent a lot of time snarking George Martin who does Game of Thrones. She throws shade like, “I don’t miss deadlines.”

=====================

When we were on the road trip the kids and I negotiated that we would do trades and each get a week off of chores. I have done my part to give the kids time off. I haven’t gotten a week off yet. I’m thinking next week. We don’t have babysitting (the babysitters family is going on holiday) and from Sunday to Saturday of next week we only see Aunt Sarah and Aunt Pam for social. For classes we have Krav Maga, Tae Kwon Do, ballet, and gymnastics. And a pediatrician wellness check.

For us to only have only that many things scheduled (no doctor visits for me) is the lightest week we’ve had…. I couldn’t tell you when. That is a non-scheduled week. With 2 social visits (one overnight) 6 physical skills classes and one doctor trip. Non-scheduled.

No wonder I’m so god damn tired. Going outside to garden until the kids are off to the park. Tired of the noise.

===========================

My city has banned the delivery of cannabis. I’m writing nasty letters to my city council members. This will not decrease the number of illegal grow sites you asswipes. The people who are already operating outside the law don’t give a flying fuck that you banned deliveries. Guess who is impacted? Legitimate medical patients. Fuck every person on the city council.

==================

It is occurring to me that I should probably stop scheduling dinners with people. I need to develop a night time routine. It’s going to be hard enough that two nights a week will have martial arts classes to wake me up. I need to not stay up late. I am struggling to find a rhythm. And Noah is having a hard time sleeping and I feel kinda guilty about that. He gets out of synch real easy and I’ve jerked him around too much lately. He does better when we are very consistent. Yeah, we all do. But it’s easier and more fun to look at him than me. He’s more charming.

Ideally we’d go back to eating dinner at closer to 5pm than 7pm. Doctors tell me I should be taking baths pretty much every night. Meditating is going well. It would be great if we turned the screens off after dinner and read/played with each other. We get plenty of screen time. It makes it harder for us to go to sleep if we have the screen on until bedtime. Yes, I’m as guilty as everyone else. I’m bad at moderation. The switch has to go on or off.

That is sounding like the kids and I can use screens between lunch and dinner and not really at other times during the day. That would limit me fucking up my arms. I’m doing better! I am!

======================

Oh! I touched base with a friend. She needs side work. I need someone to type for me so I don’t permanently disable myself. We are going to figure out (I am going to figure out) how to do voice recordings. I’m sure it isn’t complicated. I just need to google it. But I haven’t done it yet. I’ll do it. Noah has a nice microphone. Then I’ll send her the files and she will transcribe them and I will give her money and everyone will be happier. She has done this professionally and is fairly skilled. My squee is huge. I know so many competent, talented people. Want to know something funny? Pretty much all of them feel useless or incompetent. Y’all crack me the fuck up.

=========================

Recently I’ve been asking women why they love themselves. I wrote down a list (ok two things) first. The first thing on my list and the first thing every woman has said so far: “I’m a good listener.”

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Ok. Dudettes. What is up with us. Why do we define our lovability in our ability to outwardly focus? WHAT IS UP WITH THAT?!

I mean… yes. It’s an awesome trait. I’m glad I have it. I’m glad y’all have it (hey… maybe that’s why you’re here) but! BUT! BUT!!!!

Why is that the first thing?

I deserve to love myself for something better than the fact that I listen carefully to people. I mean, yeah it’s a good thing to do and I’ll keep it up and all. Just like I don’t want my life to be devoted to my children I don’t want my life to be devoted to listening to other people.

Even though I want to grow up and listen to more stories about incest than anyone has ever listened to in the history of the world.

Even then.

That can’t be why I love me. No. I have to be bigger than that. I have to be something different than that. No. No. No.

That is not what I’m going to love about myself. I am not just a vessel for supporting other people.

That is not why I deserve love.

I mean, it may be related to why I am worth forgiving when I fuck up. Maybe. But it can’t be why I’m worthy of love.

Do you know what the second thing on my list is? (I’m kinda hoping it gets longer as the year goes on.)

I don’t hesitate.

It means I fuck up a lot. It means I do things very wrong and I have to be incredibly comfortable apologizing and groveling. But it means I get to do some tremendously cool shit.

I put an ad on Craigslist looking for women who have spare maternal energy. I found one. She was great. She’s my age with kids my age and she told me everything I would tell someone else. I liked her a lot. The second… wanted sexy times and then was sad when I said I didn’t want further contact even of a non-sexual nature. If that’s your opening I’m not in the place to have the boundaries you require of people. I’ll punch you. The third person is an 18 year old.

She is barely getting out of an abusive family. She’s dealing with a lot of guilt and shame. I spent the phone call trying to carefully phrase things as if I were saying them to myself while I was really trying to give her advice. I’m not going to spill her story. There are some parallels. Not that many, just a few. But it was easy for me to say, “I tell myself ______” when I really wanted to say, “Oh honey. You can’t ______.” I think that is a hilarious way to sidestep advice.

She said, “You really made me think.” She made me think too, not of what I wanted to think about, but she made me think anyway.

I don’t think I’m going to get mothered this lifetime. Do you know what mothering is supposed to do? It is supposed to catch you before you are ready and help you be ready for all the hard things that are going to come up in life.

It’s too late. It is clearer and clearer with every passing year. Giving that up is hurting so god damn badly.

Because you know what? I’m ready. It doesn’t matter what for. If I’m not ready today I can make a plan and be ready in a few months. Maybe a year or two if the plan is super complicated. But… I’m ready.

It is too late to be mothered.

What am I ready for?

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Why do you bring reality into this relationship? Go straight to hell.

I’m ready to be where I am today. I’m ready to handle all of the problems that are going to come up right now. I’m not ready for everything I want to do in thirty years, but I have a plan. I’m in progress. I’m on schedule. In some places… I’m actually a little ahead.

I’m ready.

Oh.

Hey.

Maybe that is something to love about myself. Not just like. Love. Like the solid first thing on a list that will grow.

I love myself because I am ready. I am ready for anything. I can adapt or change or fuck up and fix it. No matter what it is.

Well, not no matter what.

There are relationships I can’t fix. I’m not G-d.

But you know what? I can grieve. I can move on. I don’t spend all of my days worrying about any particular wounding from the past. I can cycle through them. Cause I’m festive. But on most days I think about the future. I think about today. I don’t think that much about the past. Things come up and I’m working really hard on being ok with it coming up when it does. I am so out with people in the world. I’m kinda TMI on steroids. Sorrynotsorry.

Why?

Because lots of people come to me with questions, “So I know this person who has _____ problem”. It’s not that I have all the answers. I don’t. But I’m good at helping people imagine possible reasons why people are the way they are and what kinds of things might go well or poorly.

I don’t have all the answers. But I study like mad. Because I’m hard. I have to explain myself to people or they don’t get me at all.

Sometimes that’s hard. Why in the fuck do I have to write my own users guides?! Because no one else has spent enough time with me to be able to do so. And I’m a picky whiner.

I want to be treated how I want to be treated. So I persevere in explaining myself to the internet. I do not believe in the golden rule. I do not treat others as I want to be treated. Folks would be slapping my face. I try very hard to treat people how they want to be treated to the best of my ability to decipher.

I should hit post. It is time to go to dinner.

I’m going to get it in under the wire. I just went and spent a crap ton of money on a whole pile of tile. The tile guy tried to talk me out of the variety. He said it “just won’t work!” I said, “In whose opinion?” and I smiled real pretty. It took two loads in the van cause it was so damn heavy. I’m super excited about the haul. At the next tile store: no white.

And I finally got in touch with my tattoo artist. It is time for more ink. He’s in the bay area! HE WAS IN SOUTH DAKOTA AT THE SAME FUCKING TIME I WAS THERE. I am so mad I didn’t think to call him before I went on the trip. I know he’s a traveler. Apparently he’s there every summer and I didn’t know. Well crap crap crap crap. He’s a daddy now. That is one of the most thrilling things I’ve heard recently.

I’m not going to spill his secrets. But this man helps me understand that people who have hard lives have a really lot to offer the world and we should be here too. I’ve known him for eight or so years? I… think the world of him. I’m so glad I will get to have more reminders on my body of such a fantastic person.

Ok, dinner.

I shouldn’t be typing right now. But I have a weak will. I have a ridiculous need to be understood. I understand that mostly the only people who “understand” me through my writing are Noah, Sarah, Pam, and a handful of other people who seriously show up in my life and have put in years of time. The writing supports their understanding of me and gives nuance I am literally not capable of providing in other way.

I get that I’m pretty fucking confusing to everyone else. That’s ok.

Why did I check the referrer to Reddit? Because the last time I got posted there it was in a positive way. I wanted to see if I should ban it or leave it. That was probably foolishly optimistic. The one positive posting to Reddit was a fluke. That’s not what Reddit is about. Ha.

Ok, onto this “She thinks she is a Strong Black Woman even though she is a white stay at home mom in the suburbs” thing.

This is something I have super complex feelings about. I worry like fuck that actual black women will think I perceive myself this way. Holy crap for Crisco I don’t and I don’t want to be one more white bitch appropriating in this fashion.

I don’t care very much if random white people want to perceive me that way, that’s about them being twats. I worry about actual marginalized people perceiving me as appropriating their struggle. Because crap I’m trying to not do that.

I talk a lot about racial issues. Throughout my life I have found most of the wisdom I needed for enduring the traumas I have experienced have come from black women. Not black men, which is something I feel feelings about… black women. I feel like a racist piece of shit for not wanting to hear how black men endure. I mean, it’s not that I don’t want to hear it. I read books from their point of view. I actively seek out black male writers for their opinions on current events.

But I don’t usually feel like what they have to say about managing existing in their bodies is relevant to what it takes for me to live in my body.

It’s different with black women.

Now, do I think that I understand what it is like to be a black woman? No. No. No. No. No. No. I don’t. I do not in any way shape or form understand what it feels like to live under institutionalized racism. That is a form of understanding that is forever denied to me. Not because I’m stupid, but because it is just not for me. It hasn’t happened to me so I *can’t* understand.

Just like other people who have not been raped for decades starting in infancy will never understand what that feels like. It’s an experience you have to have in order to understand. I feel that many things in life work this way. I will never understand what it feels like to grow up with loving parents. That is a door that is closed to me. There are doors of understanding that are closed to everyone. Life works that way.

I don’t think I am a Strong Black Woman. I think that is a really damaging stereotype, as an aside. I think that black women are sometimes strong and sometimes weak and in their human variance they have many lessons to teach people who want to learn. Does that mean that any particular black woman owes me an education?

Uhm. No. That’s creepy and gross. I have no right to demand that anyone educate me. Boundaries, people.

But what I can do is seek out black women who have deliberately and consciously put themselves into the position of Teacher and I can pay them gobs of money for sharing what they know.

I perceive there to be a lot of shaming in this country for anyone who says that black women have something to teach. I think that is shitty. I think that is partially about the fact that from an intersectional point of view, many black women have to be able to cope with many kinds of bad all at once.

If I say I’m happy about the trolls not descending on me en masse, a troll says, “I’ll fix you! I’ll put you on Reddit!”

If I say that I learn a lot from black women and I am deeply grateful for the opportunities I’ve had to learn from black women…

Obviously that’s the same thing as pulling a Rachel Dolezal. If I admire black women and I think they have something to teach me… I’m appropriating. I’m saying I’m the same thing as them.

Nope, check your reading comprehension.

I think I have benefited from white privilege in ways many and varied from small to huge. From not being followed in grocery stores when I was a kid while I robbed them blind to being expected to go to college. To being able to pass as “just another person at a VC event in silicon valley” despite having…. uhm a troubled background. (VC means Venture Capital. It means some of the richest people in our society.)

I don’t think I understand what it means to be black. I think many people who are black have suffered in ways I can’t even wrap my head around.

I try to not be a using piece of shit. I try to do anything I can to make it so particular black women have one or two less pieces of shit to carry on one given day. But I’m very limited in what I can do like that. When folks post, “I’m about to lose my home” or “I can’t feed my kids” I can help in a teeny tiny way correct what society is completely failing to do. But I can’t carry everyone. I can’t fix every problem. I can’t pretend I am “part of the struggle”.

I’m kinda doing my own struggle here. There are ways that my struggle overlap with the struggles of black people. In those ways I try very hard to be an ally.

But I don’t get cookies for that. I’m not doing it for cookies. If no one says “Good job” I show up and do it anyway.

Because I’m trying to be someone I can love and respect. It isn’t about you. I’m trying to do what I think is right as a person with growing privilege so that I can look myself in the mirror without feeling contempt.

Yes, it is kind of gross that I need to write in front of an audience for validation. I know. But I’m not really doing it for your validation. Especially if you are a stranger.

I want my kids to validate me solely by continuing a relationship with me–I don’t get to ask for more. I want Noah and Pam and Sarah and Jenny and a few other people who might be less keen to be specifically named to validate me in actual words and they do. But I absolutely cap it at a dozen people.

These people are my judge and jury. These are the people I’m courting in this lifetime. This is my inner circle. These are the people I substitute for my sense of self. They are the people I’m consciously trying to turn into my inside voice. These are the people who need to think I’m not a piece of shit.

If Reddit likes me… I’m probably doing something wrong.

If random people want to get together on a troll site to feel better about themselves by putting me down…

I’m sorry your life is that bad.

By the way, I do see psychiatrists. And psychotherapists. And counselors. And acupuncturists. And chiropractors. And GPs. And I’ve been through a huge variety of other specialists. I jump around between doctors for lots of reasons related to money, health insurance, and personality conflicts. But I’ve seen probably close to a hundred doctors in my life (adding in surgeons and ER Drs). Between therapists and psychiatrists I’ve seen more than two dozen.

But go ahead and sit at home and decide that I’m just working with a dealer and I’m a loser who isn’t actually trying.

I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that people who are like me are like this because they aren’t trying. I understand that it makes you feel better to believe that if you had x happen to you then you would do the right thing and you would be over it by now.

I get that. I really do.

Part of the reason I write about racial stuff the way I do is because I am hyperaware that I have gotten more support and aid than is standard in this country. And I’m still this fucked up. Even though the system was designed for people like me I’m still falling through the cracks. It is much worse for people who aren’t white.

I’m not going to stop talking about that even though assholes on the internet want to shame me for caring about this racial disparity. I want it to change. That means I’m going to talk about it.

I really hope I can do so without acting like this issue is about me. It isn’t. It is standing near my issues. Fixing it would also fix many of my issues and that’s convenient. But they are separate.

I am not a strong black woman. I am a white woman. It is all I can ever be. Whether I am strong or not depends on the day.

But I get to be weak or strong from day to day. That is one of the gifts given to white womanhood. Black women are by and large completely and totally prevented from being as open about being crazy as I am, even when it is true. They get punished in ways I have escaped.

Please, don’t think I speak for the black experience. I don’t. I speak about what I’ve seen, which is 100% through the lens of a white woman.

I know that nuance is hard.

In the past few months I’ve read comments on multiple websites from people who say they have been following me for years because I’m such a trainwreck and they hate me.

You know… you really need to work on your life. That’s not healthy. I’m pretty sure I have never in my life fixated on someone in that way and I’m one of the most broken people I know. This does not say good things about you, my friend.

If you hate me and think I’m lying, how about replacing my influence with someone you like and respect? Wouldn’t that improve your day? I mean… how is deliberately filling yourself with contempt for a stranger improving your life? I don’t understand. That must mean I somehow remind you of someone in your life. Someone who has hurt you. Someone you really want to think about/not think about so reminders just… feel addictive.

You really should rethink what you are doing. Find things that make you want to be a better person rather than feeling contempt for people you feel better than. That’s not a way to have a happy nor a healthy life.

I understand. Many years ago I followed people on livejournal because they were connected to my community and I felt I had to be along for the ride. I’ve since decided I can opt in to as much of other peoples lives as I choose to.

I find it fascinating how many people have said in the past few months, “If you don’t password protect your writing you deserve what you get.” It strikes me that I’ve been told “If you don’t ____ you deserve ______” for my whole life.

The metrics move around a little, but the story is the same. It is always my fault that other people do things. If I haven’t done _____ then I deserve what other people feel like doing to me. It’s pretty interesting.

I no longer believe that story and I feel grateful down to the soles of my feet.

There is nothing I can do or not do to deserve people deciding to send a crew of assholes after me. Yes, I could do things to hide in my house and not communicate with the world. It’s true. Women have been trying to make themselves smaller so they would receive less abuse… since the beginning of time.

It doesn’t work out though. The smaller you cringe the more they kick you.

Until they kill you.

Do I feel victimized by people being assholes to me on the internet? No. Does it make me throw up sometimes? Yes. Does that make me pathetic? Probably.

I know the difference between victimization and people being assholes. If you don’t, that’s on you. People being assholes is allowed to bother me. I mean, I’m happier if I can ignore it…. but it’s ok that it bothers me.

It’s not ok if it derails my life. But it isn’t. So yeah. I am allowed to have feelings.

I don’t think the kid who kicked me in the throat victimized me. I think he was a kid and he did something stupid. I don’t think his mom victimized me. I think she has behaviors I don’t want to be around and I’m personally angry with her. I don’t think my children victimize me by being kids or by hurting me.

I don’t think that when I agreed to one rape scene with my husband that I was victimized. (No, asshat Redditors it isn’t a frequent occurrence. We had something a year or two that was really hard for me in terms of feeling like a violation of consent but it wasn’t. It was a cue that I was ready to learn new behaviors that had not been previously part of my life.)

I was victimized when a friend pinned me to a rock and sodomized me when I was a child.

I know the difference between victimization and not. If you don’t… that’s not my problem. If you think I don’t then you are ignorant and that is really not my problem.

Also: I love how people on the internet feel qualified to say things like “She needs lithium”. And you complain about how I self diagnose and medicate with pot?!

Only I use pot under the supervision of a variety of professionals. Every doctor I talk to knows about my usage and we debate the merits and problems.

My shrink tells me to take this feeling of defensiveness and feel down to the base of the tendrils and somewhere in the roots in the ground I will find my self-love. She says my ability to go through what I am doing to improve and why is part of what I need to base my self-love on.

I do not brag about beating my children. I have never beaten my children. I have slapped one child in the face once and it was a mild slap. It was not a beating.

It was a fuck up. It is not justifiable. I need to never ever do it again.

You know what? I’ve never lost it and hit their feet for kicking my chair while driving again after losing control once. Even though I just had six months of my kids kicking my seat all day long.

I document so that I can get one fuck up. After that it isn’t a fuck up. It is a pattern and I need to be removed for the safety of other people.

That is not bragging.

Once again, I understand that nuance is not part of the life of the average Redditor. (This is why I say I’m an asshole. Was this dig *really* necessary? – edit 2/2)

I don’t care if you come here to read. I care if you leave a referrer link so that I see you being an asswipe. Which is why you did it. You wanted to say, “See! I can be disrespectful to you!”

Uhm, congratulations? You have many peers in this life. I hope you are proud.

I really don’t understand people. What do you get out of saying, “Here is this crazy person. Let’s laugh at them. huh huh huh huh.”

Seriously. What in the hell can you get out of that?

For the 18 months my brother lived at home after the car accident there were always kids waiting near our yard. They were waiting around to shout insults at my brother. “Hey retard.” He wasn’t retarded mentally. He was physically disabled from having his head go through a car windshield at full speed on a major highway.

But kids are uhm charming.

Reddit reminds me of those neighbors. It is not a positive association.

These are the people who are going to line up to throw insults and nastiness when I eventually get to the point of seriously speaking publicly about incest. These are the people who are going to work like maniacs to try to silence me.

Really this is good practice. The hatred and devotion I’m inspiring now is… kinda nothing compared to what I’ll get once I’m seriously into the incest research. Brace yourself, EppieKrissy.

On a positive note: I loved the chiropractor I talked to today. He had a lot to say about different treatments and approaches based on my incredibly complex history. He was optimistic but he did not make promises. That is such a perfect balance.

He said he really doesn’t know a trauma informed GP to recommend. I’m going up to meet a new psychiatrist soon. I’m working with someone who knows my primary therapist. Which means Berkeley. Sigh. I am not looking forward to the drive. But I need the specialties I need and they are hard to find.

I should try to schedule with preferred northern acupuncturists while I’m up there. If I ask my friend to babysit and she says yes. Ok, more to do.

Made more progress with local developmental psychs for parenting stuff. It’s still phone tag though. I made more calls.

After this burst of defensiveness I feel strangely better.

One of the things that is exciting about this chiro today is he is normally a sports medicine specialist. So he’s a little freaked out about me. Ha. His eyes went big more than once in alarm when I brought stuff up. So… it’s going to be mixed. But! He is super interested in helping me figure out how exercise needs to be reintegrated. He is well informed about how exercise and injury are really tricky because it is a fine line between helping yourself heal and hurting yourself again.

I feel like I could tremendously benefit from someone who is experienced at dealing with that line. He’s really enthusiastic about me getting back to running. He also said emphatically not yet. That… feels like the kind of support I want and need right now. He wants to help me get where I want to get and he has specific skills to help me.

A lot of the problem with personality conflicts and Drs is, a patient has to be helped to get where they want to go. Not where the Dr wants someone to go. So you need to find a Dr who likes to help people get where you want to get. Most people aren’t that honest about that process so it’s tricky to find a good match.

I’m weird. I know that. I’m ok with it. The places I want to go… aren’t places most people even think about let alone want to go there.

I have to believe it takes all kinds. Or I need to die for the good of the herd. So. Hey troll-tastic followers. I know I lose my temper sometimes and I say I want you to feel a lot of pain. In that moment I sorta feel that way about an abstract you.

I can pretty much promise you that if I actually met you I would step in front of danger so that it doesn’t hit you. Because I think you need to be here and I’m pretty sure I’m expendable.

I know I need to be less of an asshole here when I’m in a bad mood. Because I sure give the impression of wanting you to suffer.

You know what? The world already suffers enough. I’m ok with less of it. Even if it means that you don’t suffer for being an asshole. I’m an asshole. I’d prefer to suffer less. I guess that means I need to be ok with the same for you.

I forgive you.

Maybe if I work on that, I can make it easier to forgive me.

Somehow it occurs to me that even though it isn’t part of self-love for other people to forgive outsiders, maybe it is for me.

I don’t know. I’m sure that is backwards and broken. But I carved the word forgiveness on my body. It is, specifically, what I am searching for in this lifetime.

I’ve never been sure for whom.

If I were the sort of person to hold on to notebooks from my own childhood you would see that my main doodle for years was to write the word forgive over and over and over in cursive. It’s prettiest that way.

I am working on forgiving my mother. I am working on forgiving a lot of people.

It’s funny. When I was 18/19 if someone said or implied that I should forgive my mother I responded like an enraged mountain lion.

If I had tried at that point in my life I would have opened the door to more problems. I had to get that angry. I had to break those bonds.

But I did. And now I need something different.

Life is change, Highness. Anyone who tells you different is selling something. (Yes, I know that I changed the quote. That was on purpose. -edit 2/2)

Plagiarize, plagiarize, that’s why God gave you eyes.

How do I learn to love myself? For me it involves learning the difference between being victimized and people being an asshole. It means learning what kinds of feelings are appropriate in which circumstances. It means forgiving people who are mean to me because of what they were taught.

I, too, have been a monster because I was told that was who I was supposed to be. I am not in a position to judge. Not ever.

Man, this has been one of the most interrupted pieces of writing I’ve done in a long time. Why in the fuck am I persevering in 5 minute chunks?!

I’m talking to myself. Shuddup.

Ok, that means Friday is the day of the week I’m allowed to blog. It’s decided.

Shiiiiiiit. Who wants to make a bet on which day of the week I’ll crack before next Friday? I’m taking odds…

I have massage work scheduled! I’m getting a hair cut with Youngest Child. I get to drive north to visit some of my dearest friends. I will visit the home remodeling recycling place in Berkeley on the way. (Tile!) I see chiropractors bunches.

It occurs to me that I’m at a good stage of life for developing boundaries around sense of self that I’ve never been ready for in the past. That’s awesome.

Ok. That’s gotta be enough for today. Let it go, Krissy. Let it go.

If you post that you are happy about not seeing a flood of people coming from one place you anger the trolls of the internet. They say “you are not supposed to have control over people being assholes to you without being inside a locked box. Here. I will send Reddit to you”.

 

if you are a person who spends your time being nasty to mentally ill people … I will pray for you. Obviously your life hasn’t had enough actual strife. You must spend your time kicking people who have already been kicked a lot to prove that you deserve to be a kicker instead of someone who gets kicked.

 

I get it. I don’t like being someone who gets kicked either. But I’d rather be like me than like you.  It strikes me that your adult life is probably actually a lot less happy than mine, even though I am the crazy one you want to feel better than.

 

Well, whatever makes your socks roll up and down I guess. I’m going to go see another Dr now. Since all y’all casual visitors first say “she needs help” rest assured that I am doing my best to access help.

 

Obviously your comments are based on your deep well of human compassion. Hahahahahahahahahaha

 

i will address the “she thinks she’s a strong black woman” idiocy later. I really don’t. But you are so cute. Or not. Does even your mama think you are cute for being a mean piece of shit?

Therapy this morning was intense. It is rare I sob hysterically for half a session. I’m really struggling with feelings about my mom. It is fascinating how it is working this season. It’s different than previous years. I pretty much didn’t think about my mom till December 26th and it’s been a sob-fest since. It has been especially brutal during the t-break.

My shrink is very strongly urging me to back off on blogging for a bit and write some books. She believes there is more catharsis for me there than the shorter form brain dumps.

I had an acupuncture appointment today. The woman I saw was incredibly motherly, gentle and kind. She also does some form of massage (Tui Na–whatever that means; ok fine I should look it up) that she says is especially good for PTSD because it is good at working on releasing emotions as opposed to muscular pain. That sounds like a big claim. I need to research. I’m also willing to try just about anything once. She did wonders for my shoulder pain. The low back stuff is so tricky.

I have a chiropractic appointment in 2.5 hours. Then Eldest Child has a gymnastics class.

I’ve also called several contracting companies. Some are busy. Some are checking in. Some haven’t called me back yet. I have to get on it though. We have 179 days till the permit expires. I should probably call more people today…

I’m tired and sad. I don’t want to fix me. I want to lie down and never get up again.

I read an essay today on rape.  I feel conflicted about this. I have had trouble with the “rape is about power” narrative for years. It has always felt like it ignored a lot of possible motivations.

I’m going to go backwards in time. Because I want to today.

When Noah raped me (my final rape) it was… complicated because we had previously negotiated that at some point it was ok for him to ignore my no and have sex with me anyway. He had permission to do that once. He picked a very traumatic day (I had just hung up the phone from calling CPS on my sister and I was highly distressed) and I’m cranky with him over that… but complicated. I had previously consented. So is it rape? Good golly My body processed it as rape whether it was legally or not. I had no desire and I have no desire to prosecute him for it. I gave him permission.

Paul. Was that about power or wanting sex? We were at a sex party. I was happy to have sex with him with a condom. He didn’t want to wear a condom. I was on drugs and not physically able to push him off of me. It was only a few penetrations anyway. He didn’t orgasm in me. I feel pretty confident that was a power trip. A power trip he can’t remember because he was on so many drugs so his friends say it didn’t happen. He’s kinda famous. He puts on childrens shows.

Kevin. This is one I really struggle to define as rape. He licked my cunt when I explicitly told him I was not interested in sex with him. He didn’t use his penis or fingers. I struggle to believe I’m allowed to call this rape. But it was sexual contact I had repeatedly refused. Was that about sex or power? Why was I naked around him if I didn’t want to have sex with him? He was a massage therapist. I hang out with a lot of people who are naked when they aren’t at work. Only one has broken my boundaries so I don’t think the problem is being naked with your friends.

Dan. We were on our second date. I meant to have sex with him. With a condom. He got me so drunk I blacked out then had unprotected sex with me because he knew I was on birth control. The funny thing is: I was way way way way sluttier than him. He was really stupid to want to have unprotected sex with someone who was as promiscuous as me. I think that pushing someone to drink way past their comfort level falls squarely into wanting power.

The guy I picked up on match.com when I was 18. He spiked my drink. I had a shot or two and remember nothing. I found condoms the next day in the trash. My friend (who was hosting the party) said I had been acting really weird and I went to sleep early. Was that about sex or power? I don’t know.

 

You know what? I can’t keep doing this. This is hurting like fuck. Those are the people who raped me when I was an adult. When it feels different. I can’t go back through the childhood rapes and debate them with myself. Not right now.

I can’t. It all feels like my fault. It all feels like if I hadn’t been so stupid. It all feels like what I deserve for being stupid and for wanting to be around people.

If I had just stayed home like a good girl…

But at home I had to face my family. That wasn’t better. If I had spent more time around Tommy he would have eventually been successful in raping me. Maybe it is better that it was outside the family, at least.

I find myself choking on trying to decide if these rapes were about sex or power. My throat is closing.

What about the attempted rapes? God so many of those. I have had attempted rapes be prevented by bystanders. It is part of why I am pro bystander intervention.

If Cameron (Kameron?) hadn’t pulled Justin physically off of me… but they remained good friends afterwards.

My dad raped everyone. Was that about sex or power? He started when he was a kid with his siblings. He continued on. I know about 6 victims and I’m fully convinced there were more.

Why am I doing this to myself this morning?

Because it is better than cutting.

It is actually… grossly comforting to me that I’m less and less likely to be raped as I get older. I’m less appealing. *phew* I may not let my kids leave the house unsupervised at 15. That’ll be jacked up.

Part of the reason I think about these things as much as I do is because if there is a pattern that is my fault, I need to figure out what to change. I want to be to blame. Because that way I can make it stop. If it isn’t my fault then I can’t make it stop. It is just… what happens.

Do you know that at this point I work very hard to ensure I am rarely alone with a man? Just about never. So close to never you could probably say never these days. I think that is fucked up. I think the fact that I look at every man as a potential rapist really sucks. But if you’ve been burned 12 times and you stick your hand right back on that burner it is your own god damn fault.

It isn’t fair of me to paint all men with the same brush.

But it is my own god damn fault when I’m around the wrong men and they rape me.

Don’t you see how there is no winning here?

Given that our society works very hard to ensure that girls can’t pass around knowledge about the rapists…

How are we supposed to protect ourselves?

We aren’t. We are supposed to shut up and accept however people feel like treating us. You don’t believe me? Watch how children are indoctrinated in school. Don’t talk back. Don’t resist authority. Don’t be belligerent. Don’t have your own opinions or thoughts. Don’t argue with the status quo. Don’t stand up when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t sit down when you aren’t supposed to. Don’t go to the bathroom unless you have permission.

There is no room for autonomy there. We are supposed to just do as we are told.

Have you ever noticed that there are differences between how teachers punish boys and girls? Girls are sat on faster and more efficiently but with less violence and hatred. Boys are allowed to break rule after rule after rule after rule until they make someone so angry that they freak out and over react on a stupid unrelated punishment that doesn’t teach boundaries.

Boys and girls are not socialized to the same rules.

I find it interesting how many people in the psychology world believe that talking about old stuff isn’t helpful. You need to just focus on the here and now.

But the thing is, your past helped create who you are. Ignoring it means that you can’t understand why you have some behaviors. I don’t know about you, but it is a lot easier for me to change my behavior if I understand why I adopted it in the first place and why it is no longer serving me.

Why do I think about my own rapes so much? Partially because I deal with rape survivors more than average for non-therapists. I think about the patterns within my own life so I can help other people figure out patterns in their life so that we can all figure out what is actually better for us.

I don’t know how to do that without thinking about history.

I woke up to really brutal diarrhea. I’m pretty sure my body is done with carbs as my main food source. When I feel really bad, my body doesn’t want to process vegetables at all so I eat very little. Protein makes me feel bad. Yesterday my protein and vegetable matter was a combined ~ 1oz. So of course my body flushes. This is what makes folks suggest that I have celiac. I don’t think I do. I think that when I’m feeling really anxious and I can’t eat my body purges like fuck out of panic. Kind of like how birds have to poop every time they lift off to lighten the load.

Tonight we all have our first martial arts classes. Oh this should be entertaining. Wake up at 2:30 in the morning, have difficult physical skill class at 7:30pm. What could go wrong?

I think I need to nap today.

I also need to force myself to eat. I’m on day four of the medication withdrawal. I have to god damn eat. In the previous three days I don’t think I’ve consumed a day of calories. No wonder I feel like shit.

I love pot so much. You have no idea.

I haven’t eaten a day of calories in three days. I went on a challenging walk yesterday. Day before was the test for the martial arts class.

Well, that means a weight drop is about to begin. Sigh.

I don’t do this on purpose.

I don’t think Dark Garden will be very happy if my measurements change substantially in just a month. Oh well.

If I knew of something I could eat without feeling worse I would eat more. But right now everything feels crummy. I did manage some cheese when I woke up this morning. Maybe if I go eat right now instead of waiting for Noah I can get ahead of the curve. My belly only hurts at like a 3 right now. If I wait till “breakfast time” it is going to get worse. That’s how it goes.

It is kind of like that horrible stage of pregnancy where you have to keep something in your stomach at all times or you get sick. That’s my life.

I can’t think of a single thing I actually want to eat. Crap.

Everything sounds disgusting. Even ramen. You know things are bad for me when I can’t bear the thought of ramen.

Ramen is what I eat when I can’t eat anything else. This has been true for over 30 years. But I just can’t today. Shit.

Whoa. Weird. I went to the kitchen and poked around. Do you know what I want? Beans and cheese. I’m pretty sure that has never been true before in my life. I’ve definitely eaten it before, but wanting it is weird. If my body wants it, I’ll eat it. Wow. These taste so freakishly good. What is wrong with me!?

Bodies are so weird.

Ok, the beans are delicious and the cheese is meh. Oh well.

Oh, as far as weight goes: I weighed myself at the chiropractor’s office. 172! I’m thrilled. I didn’t know it was that high. *happy dance* That was before the med break. Let’s see where I am in a week or three, enh?

Why is being heavier better than being lighter? I cry when I hit 152. I try to avoid it.

My clothes don’t fit. I don’t have the physical leverage to do a lot of things I want to do. 20 lbs is a big difference in strength for me. I cannot lift my children when I’m at the bottom of my range. I will fall down. I can at this weight, still.

Yeah my kids are getting too big to be carried. I’m not ready to give it up. This may contribute to my back problems. And my neck problems. And my shoulder problems.

Yes, I know that my physical problems are my own damn fault. As I type and type and type and fuck up my hands.

Noah has been expressing concern. He’s worried about the level of disability I will hit. That’s just cause he has to listen to me cry from pain.

I am so aware it will be my own damn fault. Just like everything else.

I know.

I don’t feel as suicidal as I did yesterday. Well, that’s good at least. My shrink sent me a rec for a med doctor I can probably get into see fairly quickly for more Lorazepam at nights. If I am going to have a snowball’s chance in hell of doing a month I need nighttime help. Don’t know if they will have a stop-gap day time option. I doubt it. Most things I’ve already tried to horrible effect. But meds change all the time. Maybe there is some spiffy new short term anxiety med that doubles as stomach pain medication.

A girl can hope, right?

Ok, I let Noah get a reasonable amount of sleep. Now I can go cuddle him.