Archive for category Coping
I figure most people are familiar with the Kafka classic tale of disenchanment and disconnection as if waking from a nightmare..except your dream wasn’t the nightmare, reality itself was. It’s funny I remember reading that story around 7 or so years old not even knowing I was reading it. I was a huge weirdo always toting around a backpack full of books and animal crackers. I was a tiny doomsday prepper it seemed. I had this children’s sci Fi anthology book with all these crazy stories of terror and awe. The story I remember was about this teenage girl cheer Captain blonde popular pretty etc.. ans then whining one day over something that should have seemed so menial so asinine at the time because… Oh….suspense.. She wakes up and she’s a lizard!! Laying in her den of lizard siblings or what have you. Her reality was in fact her nightmare. I remember as a child it startled my little bones for some time. A kindergartener uneasily questioning her reality and her truths. Those were dark times for me. Spoiler alert (I do not in fact turn into a lizard). It wasn’t until I attended college and came across Metamorphosis that I rekindled with it. I was like what the heck? I know this! The reason for that antidote I just told was because although I knew there wasn’t some Truman show surprise about to completely anniliate my soul. But I always did have a feeling around me that I just didn’t quite fit into the world. Problems socializing I preferred my books. I was so young yet still felt so alienated like why the hell should a child be understanding the human condition of suffering? I don’t even think I could blame the book. I was always different. And that will send you down a very isloated path of grey skies and disconnected phone lines. I wanted to fit in but I couldn’t even if someone coached me. I was always wondering why people did the the things they did. Why the pain they caused each other the sorrow. I always wanted to know what it felt like for them I was aways having one teenage melodramatic existential crisis one after the other. To be fair I was weird I was not a popular person. Qnd these criseses It’s not like I was throwing a tantrum because I didn’t get cake. My uh.. uniqueness (for lack of offending myself) Only got worse. Death the macabre the end of the world. I shouldn’t have had a care and I’m up at night sick to my stomach worrying about Ebola (and yes this was in the 90s) No social Media putting crazy shit into my head. Sorry to say this was all me. My favorite was the Apocalypse. That’s the weirdest part. We weren’t a church family. Yet my mind would just question and ask as if some sort of answer ..even as absurd as civilization collapsing blood filling the seas even if the answers seemed wrong somehow. I just needed to know I was there. That I existed. So much unnecessary trouble so much sadness in my soul as if I were just passing through and happened to be in a Child’s body. So, this has a point I swear we are going to loop right back into Metamorphosis. I was always kind of kept in my place. Like uh a whipping boy? Nobody ever made me feel like my uniqueness was what made me actually unique. No instead I was shamed and ridiculed and constantly broken ddown. I I don’t know why I was just basically made to feel like I was a stupid and small and that my mere existence seemed inconvenient. Even teachers scapegoated me. Made me feel like I was not worth teaching. Not worth the effort it seemed. I was always like wait.. what?? Where is the part where tell me I have all the potential in the world! And can do anything! No I honestly just thought I was stupid. Like, Forrest Gump stupid. I did manage to make it to college I had a tiny guidance Angel counselor in my side. But now with this horrifying student loan crisis. Debt slavery.. it all seems so arbitrary. But, it was not at all. Every bit of knowledge k could soak up was worth it. Finally I was seen I was valued I had insight beyond my years. Still that never made me happy though. I guess because I never believed in myself. It’s a lot easier to harbor self contempt than human compassion. So, back to Metamorphosis. Due to the lacking and or failing public education system at work I didn’t learn much in school. Except English I always had English. I took a history course my sophomore year 1830 -present some time frame of that nature. My professor was the craziest bad ass professor om earth it seemed. And that’s when it happened when I learned the sick truths about this supposed land of dreams and opportunity. I was in that nightmare I had become the insect I feared. You can’t ever unknow something and once it’s taught, well there is. The genocide the rape the pillaging the slavery the greed the so called “free world” was nothing but what seemed like a fabrication I still tried to believe to understand why. I never could. I still can’t and the government uses these false guises to rule to control to deceive. I used to have these dreams when I was little always me against this impossible evil nobody else was aware but me it was so bad I would hide in the corner of my own dreams. They kind of make sense now. In that history class it was like the Terminator you know? Like professor Carrie Foster existed for the sole purpose to warn me of exactly what is happening now. The fucked up thing wS I wanted to believe she was wrong but.. I knew. And you know what? I’m not even worried anymore. Maybe it was just so gradual I just kind of kept it at Bay. The evil anxiety in my head my imaginary political turmoil and even my psychiatrist just eventually advised me to just stop watching the news. And I did and I grew apathetic and complacent and very distracted for a time and then what do you know 2017 arrives. The nightmare was real and I really was that insect. But hey, the cockroaches outlived the dinosaurs I mean a meteor of all things and there they were those cockroaches in their brave New world. So I just may have a fightin’ chance. I mean it is the meek who inherit the earth? Take me for my word or even as a cautionary tale. But, It’s my truth so maybe that’s what matters. Oh yeah and just the mere act of writing is considered a hostile act. I do feel better now.
Under a sheet of rain in my heart; I dream of home. -Bat For Lashes
Hi, whoever still reads my blog and my ridiculous ramblings that seem to make sense at the time, but when I revisit them it feels like an awkwardness I would feel watching a Grindhouse movie with my parents. Anyway, I have been neglectful and it bothers me. That is what I do in my real life. Get real pumped up and passionate about something…. then, I just duck out, hoping nobody sees me. Well guess what? I am sick of doing that. The only thing I ever felt like I could do right was constantly letting others down. Hell, nobody would want to visit the rabbit hole abyss that are my conscious and unconscious thoughts. They even scare me and they are mine! Because of the lack of faith I had in myself the constant doubt always creeping around in my head and my own parents didn’t seem to even care if I lived or died. At least, that’s how it felt to me. My mom loved her phone calls more than me. And my dad loved alcohol more than me. Because of this I have been wandering this earth feeling like I have no purpose while more and more suffering continues. It’s like Job’s story (Bible) he doubted God’s justness and graciousness because all this messed up shit kept happening to him and his family and he was a good man. So, I always thought something would tell me what I need to do because I will die alone in my room if I don’t move forward. Forever lost in this recurring nightmare scared and lost and alone. I felt I never had my own identity, my own dreams, my own core SOUL. I was just so broken all the time that the foolish behavior I exhibited in my earlier years was so I could escape. I didn’t even care if I died. I mean I have seriously been at death’s door ventilator tube down my throat in a coma.. and to this day I still don’t understand what happened. 29 okay health, went to sleep… didn’t wake up. So, in essence I guess I feel a bit like Job as well. The doubt in God when I didn’t understand why it was always me? I never was envious of anyone else never spiteful. Only a tiny teary eyed girl who just needed someone to believe in her.
Life for me was all about tangible things, what I could see or hear or smell. I went along with scientific answers for a long time, then became terribly obsessed with psychology. That was mostly because I had a compulsion to find answers to NEED answers, tangible answers I could rip apart and put back together and analyze them until I would get sick. Throughout all that, even though it gave me horrible anxiety literature was pretty much my only friend the only thing I thought was hearing my sadness and confusion. But, again there was always an answer a diagnosis a skeptical douchebag an inadequate human being that just shits on everyone else for no reason. I had to have answers. It wasn’t out of arrogance or condescension to always have to be right. My parents sure gave me hell for that for whatever cycle of dysfunction their families were wrapped up in. My mom always saying I was trying to make her feel stupid. What?? I just wanted her to know things I knew and that never went well. Anyway, I never had faith in anything even my own self even the answers I read over and over again. Was I just some inadequate worthless speck in the universe?
So, this is not a pity post I promise. I never believed in prophetic dreams or shamans that restore souls to peoples bodies. How devoted people are to their faith to something not tangible not even fathomable! I have always been fascinated with every theological text or song or art or influence in culture we still see today. You know, in trying to find my purpose thinking I could be a social worker I had a panic attack just imagining being trapped in a cube all day dealing with God knows what. So, I scratched that off the list as well. Then I thought I had the perfect solution! I will be a therapist! that excited me for about a week until I thought about all these emotionally damaged people just handing me their emotional luggage while hightailing out of the country with real luggage! But, that’s not really why I couldn’t be a therapist. I am hypersensitive and maybe it was from my family growing up just kind of developing a new survival skill. If I was a therapist I could not handle taking all pain from those people because I take it home and somehow make their fucked lives my fault.
No, but seriously I am not turning my back from my true purpose. I am not hiding anymore pretending the world isn’t spinning and things aren’t growing or dying. I am enrolling in Chicago Theological Seminary School. I need to advocate for those without voices and comfort ones who feel as alone as I did. To listen and not judge to give but not want. I am going to study Chaplaincy because that way I can be objective in every faith but comforting for those who are lost or confused. I have a way of connecting with people and it’s time I stopped keeping that gift or purpose, I guess to myself. I’ve never been so terrified in my life but something is compelling to be a former lost soul helping out other lost sad human beings. I am scared because that doubt and mistrust has made me lose my way too many times.
Yeah, a lot of fucked up things happened to me in the past and I am 33 with two diseases that are meant for someone who is 80!! But, I am just done asking why. I’m done drowning in my parents mistakes and I am done trying to help people who just don’t want to be helped. Anyway, I am so sorry for going so long without a post.
Thanks for reading.
Yeah, that title isn’t a me original. It’s from this cool book I got that basically goes against most popular culture or should I say popular occult? culture? Witches and vampires and even the crusades apparently all delusions caused by chaotic crowds or vice versa. I haven’t really read it yet.
Anyway, I digress. I haven’t updated in a hot minute.. or months. Turns out I do not have avascular necrosis which I wish my ass of a doctor didn’t assume that I did and tell me prematurely before the mri. Which left me scared to death that my bone was just going to collapse on me one day with no warning, at all. But it still doesn’t make my overall condition any less severe. If anything it bought a little bit more time before the hip replacements go in. Which, in my case still about 35 years too soon. I hate going to pain management though. they treat me like I am this criminal because I have chronic pain at a young age… it happens?! Like hey bub, you’re staring right at my mri!! I then I start to get these crazy thoughts wondering if HE is wondering if I went through all this trouble to fake my mri’s so that I could be scrutinized like I was about to go deal my medication on the street! Sorry, same as I am not supposed to act on emotion, that should probably go for the written word too. Although usually the case being not so brutal but still extremely hostile!
So, yeah it seems I have been a little emotionally unstable lately. Honestly, I didn’t think I would have made it this long in this house before now until I totally lost it. I lost everything that I had been working for years in regard to never feeling those insane intense feelings of sadness to the point of hopelessness and anger to the point of rage. I never wanted to feel like that again. I hated it. It felt awful. But yeah, my brother was my trigger. He went for my head and I swore I would punch him in the head the way punched me so hard and lacerated my scalp. Conveniently for him. he has no recollection of such events and I guess I really went into a frenzy when he had such a complete total lack of such self awareness (which I had made great strides in forgiving him for, well, a lot) that finally I even felt myself feeling sorry for him. But no, no, no He called ME delusional. Yeah, that about made feel like I could have gone into a murderous rage. And here I was this whole time like the embarrassed little person I was when I would get like that growing up and for some gosh darn reason nobody seemed to know why?? 33 explaining myself to my mother that it must have just been my PERIOD. I mean seriously?? I mean my brother is married and moved out of the house and I felt somewhat better , but that doesn’t stop from always showing up and when he is back, nothing has changed he still doesn’t understand boundaries or what he put me through. Anyway, not on here to rehash all that. Things just, well, I can tell myself all I want that I let go a long time ago, and maybe even believe it? Nope. It stayed bottled up and the cap just went exploding off.
So in more positive news I will be attending an audition on April 25th for an improv troupe in Cincinnati and it actually pays money, real money. And comedy is a really healthy outlet for me. How bout that? I just hope I don’t blow it.
And in other positive but I am finding it’s a lot to process after reading what it all entails. I just applied for a volunteer job as a CASA. For those who don’t know what I am not talking about and it’s not a Latin house. It is a Court Appointed Special Advocate. It’s for children usually taken from their parent(s) due to abuse and/or neglect. So bad in fact, that the state gets them. A lot of them already turn out to be foster kids placed in a bad situation. Don’t get me started on unfit people obtaining foster licenses for money. Anyway, I would be speaking on one these children’s behalf. They don’t have a voice and if they did they would be too afraid or worried or thinking nobody would believe them and try to help. Because that’s how they felt at one time. So, hopefully I answered the application as diplomatic as I could without imagining why someone would hurt children and then asking for them back??? Anyway, my opinion doesn’t seem to mesh well in authoritative worlds. I did assure that I would keep the child’s best interest at heart. So, yeah I basically wind up spending a year trying to advocate for whatever child I am assigned and I speak for that child and I make decisions and have to talk to social workers and judges and parents and foster parents and family members and teachers and whoever else finds interest in the child’s welfare, I guess. It sounded a bit overwhelming and uh, not gonna lie, I am still quite overwhelmed. But, I couldn’t stomach the thought of another innocent suffering child, especially when there is help, but the child has no idea. So, I wanted to make a difference. I am sure sane people probably would have went out and planted a tree on Arbor Day or something. But, although I am sane, um, I can’t let any child feel the way did growing up. I want to empower them and let them know it wasn’t their fault and they did nothing wrong and they are not worthless and they are not disposable. And they sure as hell aren’t commodities or checks. Ooookay, I am relaxed now, well as relaxed as I can get, ever. I wanted to say, good night. I wish I wouldn’t have let bad people lorde such power over me. I wish I knew differently. But I didn’t.
I hate feeling so old. I will be 32 on March 3rd. I feel as if I am nowhere near any of my goals I’ve had in mind for my future. But, on the other hand, when I entered residential treatment I didn’t think I had ANY more fight left in me. Now, I am feeling that strength again. Still not as resilient as I used to be, but, nowhere near as weak and dead as I had been feeling. I just had left hip surgery, the surgeon got rid of this horrid bone spur that had been killing me for YEARS. I couldn’t remember what it felt like to NOT FEEL PAIN. It was a miracle I tell you. However, the ghastly arthritis in my knees is still aching to the bad brittle bone. Sad. Oh well, I will not let that crap get to me like it used to. I don’t see an end anymore, just beginnings in site. I even had this dream that I was a child again, maybe 5 or 6 years old starting first grade. However, in the dream I had all the knowledge I have now but at that age. It really was like I had a chance to start over again. So, I am just trying to stay positive get through the winter (sad face) and, oh, totally looking forward to sinus surgery in February. I am getting a Septoplasty and Turbinate Reduction surgery. The doctor said I have a bone spur in my nose MY NOSE!! I will be so happy to be able to breathe again and not get drainage caught in my middle ear (feels like I am under water). Oh, yeah, I have a pretty bad deviated septum, again, something I just put a “band aid” on for years. Well, this is the year for preventive care because who knows what’s going to happen with our healthcare coverage in the future. Anyway, I have been working on my absurd amount of anxiety with my therapist and I still go to IOP three days a week SAMI (Substance Abuse Mental Illness). I have been becoming more aware of my triggers and how to stop them before I get out of control. I have been practicing mindfulness a lot and for the first time in my life I am at peace with my spirituality. I used to not speak of it because others always had such strong views in their faith. I do not have particular faith but I do believe in energy and change. Okay, arthritis is hurting my hands now! Take care, everyone.
Jk, I took those earlier in the evening with my computron.
Hello, Around the world onlookers. I look at my stats. I see that a lot of my posts are viewed from Europe. That’s awesome! I never felt like I belonged in America anyway. I think I want to live in Australia, or hell, anywhere that’s not here. Where would someone who does not fit the typical American stereotype thrive well? I would love input on the subject. I am ready for big change. I can’t withstand another day in this filthy country of barbaric selfish assholes. I am not materialistic, I am curious, and adventurous, and maybe too trusting? Even though I don’t trust anyone? Yeah, thanks psychotherapy! But, I just know I don’t belong here. I need a world of knowledge and art and culture and advancement and compassion. I can’t find that here. I think I have been looking in all the wrong places. I am not saying that if I move I will be happy; that’s up to me. But, I will find happiness somewhere other than this midwest hole in the universe that thrives on negativity and gossip. I just need a new beginning, a fresh start. A new life.
These demons that engulf my soul. Why do they want it so bad? I am changing the title of my memoir to “What The Hell Did I Do?” It’s more suiting than “Sad Clown” anymore. And, that publisher from NYC keeps haranguing me for my manuscript. I don’t even even have and editor! First off, I can’t even afford a fucking editor.But, yeah, tonight I talked a young Pakistani girl out of committing suicide. So, that was an accomplishment, I guess? Putting my years of free therapy into use. I am not good at editing my own work! I need it to be looked over and polished and primed and whatnot. When I can’t even manage to take care of myself. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. I am useless in a sense, but hopeful in a naive way.