Do you know the worst part?

“Do you know the worst part” I asked my friend… “It’s not that I know it’s coming… that I know he’s going to contact me. That shit, I can stuff down. Way, way down. It’s that I know I won’t be able to stop myself from responding.”

In the words of Ron ‘Tater Salad’ White: I had the right to remain silent, but not the ability.

And this is how I end up flaying my left arm open on a Thursday night. Because when I can’t scream, I cut.
So if I can’t take it out on someone else, I will absolutely take it out on myself. And believe me, the latter is always far better.

Things I Said To My Cat Today

Things I Said To My Cat Leia Today:

Oh no, is it going to be one of those days?

(In response to incessant acting up and complainant meowing because she wants to play – she wants The Favorite Toy – a long string attached to a stick.)
I don’t know where the Toy is. You know, if you’d stop hiding it from me, we wouldn’t have this problem.

(After she jumps on the bathroom counter and knocks a bunch of things over while I’m brushing my teeth, then bats at her own reflection in the mirror.)
That’s right, you TELL that naughty girl how bad she is.

NO!

Can we please not have another All Day Naughty Kitty of the Universe day? Please?

Why are you trying to fit your entire butt inside a tissue box?

Could you please not?

I said NO!

(After catching her eating something which is clearly not food.)
Please don’t eat that. It’ll give you the shits. And then we’ll both be unhappy.

I told you, I don’t know where the Toy is. (I stand up and talk with her…) Come on, show me… (I wait, follow her… I look for the Toy where she stops, but no luck. I try to explain…) I’m sorry! You put it in a really safe place… so safe that I can’t find it.

(While petting and praising her for being sweet and snuggly with me on the couch while I’m working.)
Aww, you’re being such a sweet girl… I love snuggling with you. You’re being so good… I love it when you’re… OUCH!!! WE DO NOT BITE MOMMY!!!

(After finally discovering the Favorite Toy.)
Okay, baby girl, let’s go. I have a Zoom meeting in 15 minutes and I need to wear you out so that you’ll take a nap instead of creating complete and utter chaos the entire time that I’m trying to talk to other people.

(After trying to steal some of my lunch.)
Are you sure you like broccoli? …Yeah. I didn’t think so.

NOOO!

STAAAHHHHPPP!!!! WHAT is your OBSESSION with that LAMPSHADE?!

The Struggle Is Real.

I struggle with myself. Daily.

I’m an ambivert, which means that I am both an introvert and an extrovert, depending upon the audience. About 90% of the time, I’m an introvert. Add alcohol and a few other people, and I become a performer – a full extrovert. But the struggle between the two is both eternal and infernal. I am an introvert for many reasons; I could say that I’ve been beaten down over decades of life events and circumstances, and perhaps that’s true. But I think mostly it’s because I live in a family of extroverts and there really just isn’t room for one more. I become an extrovert on occasion strictly for approval: to receive praise, to be noticed and feel loved, to receive accolades and attention for a few fleeting moments.

Where I struggle is that I know I should be quiet more. I don’t spend enough time listening to the “SHH.” Instead, I try to participate. I try to regale. I try to impress. I try to be someone other than the natural me. And I become an embarrassment.

What I need to do is listen more to that voice that tells me that I don’t need to do those things. The voice that tells me that I don’t need to act out to be worthy of attention or love. The voice that tells me it’s okay to quiet myself, tells me it’s okay to be still, tells me to listen, and to simply SHH.

I’m preparing to die.

I’m over 50, and never thought I’d make it this far. Hell, I never thought I’d make it past the age of 24. I have severe self-harm tendencies. I’ve survived cervical cancer, had other serious recurring health challenges in my time, and am forever immunocompromised as a result.

All that being said, I don’t believe I’ll make it through the end of this year. Not of my own doing, and not because of my deficient immune system. What I feel coming is some sort of accident… a stroke, a heart attack, an unplanned and fatal accident.

When I was a toddler, I would blurt things out of the blue to my mother. One such occurrence: “We’re going to see Yemi today!” Yemi was a family friend that I had never met, and that my mother hadn’t seen since before I was born. Sure enough, later that day, Yemi showed up on the doorstep, unannounced. This gift has always been with me… prophetic dreams about people’s arrival, people’s healing, illness, and death, the gift of future sight and the ability to read tarot. Normally when I try to read/see ahead for myself, I fail, as either I see exactly what I want, or exactly what I’m afraid of. However, in this case, I haven’t been doing readings or trying to see ahead. And it’s not a catastrophic feeling… just a sense of… “hey, this cycle is coming to an end. You might want to wrap this up.”

And so I am. I have been working on tidying my condo, clearing out the clutter, the extra clothing, the unnecessary items, trying to pare down as much as possible. A few years ago, my sister and I cleared out our mother’s condo after she passed, and it was a huge undertaking, as she was a borderline hoarder. It horrifies me to think about leaving any sort of mess behind for anyone else to clean up.

I have prepared a living will in case an event leaves me alive physically but not mentally. I’ve also slowly been filling out a book called “I’m dead, now what?”, which will have a list of all my financial accounts and passwords, what I want done with any assets, etc.

Again, my passing – whenever it shall take place – is not something that I actually have planned. A few years ago, yes. On January 18, 2018, I gave myself 10 weeks to live; until March 31, 2018. I posted both my birth date and my intended death date on Facebook, if I was not able to exit my current living situation. Three days before the deadline, I achieved my goal. I have no such deadline now – it’s merely something that I feel inside me. I hope I’m wrong. I must still prepare.

Sharpen Your Knife

There is a song by Hozier, called Take Me To Church.

It’s not a new song, and there has long been some disagreement on what it represents.

To me, it represents the ultimate supplication, the penultimate submission and vulnerability.

“I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies. I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife.”

This is a person who is willing to bare their soul to someone who is not willing to do the same. This is the ultimate act of love. To know that you are possibly exposing yourself to rejection, to ridicule, to shunning, to hatred, for being who you are… and choosing to do so anyway.

It also represents those of us who seem to find ourselves outside of normal society. Those of us who know that no matter what parts of ourselves we share, even to those who we’ve been told that we can trust, that we will always and forever risk rejection in doing so.

You’re Fired.

Have you ever had to “fire” someone from your life? I have; most recently, about 6 months ago. Energetic walls up, shields at full force, mirrors outward. I reject the pull most days, and successfully. “You Shall Not Pass!”

But sometimes….
No matter what I do, no matter how much I remind myself what poison they are, I’m still drawn to contact this person, because I still feel their energetic tendrils reaching out to me. Most of why I want to reach back is to tell them to FUCK OFF. The small remaining percentage is because I will always feel love towards them. I’m so lost for what to do, here. I’ve “fired” people before, and been fine with it… never a single second thought thereafter. This one person, however… <sigh>

This public service announcement was brought to you by the letter F.

I Have Nightmares.

I have nightmares.

Bad ones.

Ones where I’m being chased, accosted, attacked, assaulted… by both strangers and people that I have known. These PTSD reveries are based both on reality and distorted imagination.

Clowns surrounding and closing in on me. Figures shrouded in black and looming overhead. Hands grasping me from out of nowhere.

It’s become increasingly clear that I have these nightmares regularly. Until recently, though, I didn’t realize just how often.

Twice in the last couple of weeks, I have essentially beaten the shit out of my ex-husband when he stayed overnight. First, because yes, I have nightmares. Second, because I’m absolutely NOT accustomed to having someone else share my bed at this point.

No wonder we’re divorced. Just sayin’.

No, you’re not responsible for my feelings.

I own my feelings. Fully. I’m deeply ensconced in them, and they are absolutely familiar territory. I know every off-the-beaten-path trail, every mossless tree, and am able to forge my way through with all the confidence of an expert tracker. Navigating the tumultuous waves of my emotions is where I live, every single day.

I have never hidden this. Even if I tried, I wouldn’t be able to. I’m simply incapable of lying in any convincing manner. It shows up in my facial expressions, my tone of voice, my posture, my body language. For good or for ill, I’m not at all adept at hiding how I feel. I am not Machiavelli.

I am always clear that how I feel is my own responsibility. I cannot change others; only how I react. To my detriment, I’m unable to shroud these reactions.

So listen up, my dear Ex-Boyfriend. This does not absolve you of your part.

I am responsible for my own feelings. You are responsible for not being an asshole on purpose, and you have not held up your end of the bargain. So put that shoe on the other foot and see how ugly it looks.

There Are No Accidents

I have to believe that there are no accidents. I’ll give a recent example, and then one from a few decades ago, which I hope will support the theory.

I went on vacation with my best friend in early November 2018. Overall, it was an amazing experience. That being said, there were a few things that I initially saw as hitches. This trip was a 4-day retreat, backed on either side with a day or two to rest/absorb/decompress. This is a retreat where I was familiar with the leader and material, and was just dragging my friend along for the ride. I never dreamed that it would matter, but wow was I wrong. She and I ended up being separated into two different ‘breakout’ groups. My leader was amazing; hers was less so. I know that she ended up with this leader for a reason, but wow, was I pissed off at the time.

Flash back to Junior year in high school. I was 16-17 years old and living in a 1B-1BA apartment with my mother on Forest Avenue in Laguna Beach, California, just a few blocks from where the school was. My best friend at the time had the combination to my locker. I don’t remember what prompted it, but I had left a note taped inside at lunch one day that I was leaving, and wasn’t coming back. I left school early, went to the local drug store and bought a box of sleep aids, went home and mixed the whole pack of crushed pills with a cup of applesauce (omg, it tasted like ASS), waited about 15 minutes, then ran a full bath and crawled in. My intent was to simply fall asleep in the tub and drown. I was halfway there, but inhaling water fucking HURTS, even drugged up. I had taken several breaths of water when I could no longer stand it and groggily grasped the edge of the tub to cough. I fell asleep with one arm draped over the side of the tub, and my face resting on my shoulder. Meanwhile, my best friend happened to open my locker to put something in it after lunch, and saw the note. She came to my apartment and let herself in, and literally dragged my body out of the bathtub.

If there had been no intervention that day – if I had not had the initial burst of strength to resist the pain of drowning, or if my friend had not come by when she did in order to prevent an unconscious drowning – then I would not have been present 30 years later at the retreat in November 2018.

I can tell you that some things happened during that retreat in late 2018 which once again saved my life. Revelations and surprising insights from the retreat sessions, raw and vulnerable moments shared with my best friend, the whole introspective experience. What I do know is that, had I not been present and participated in the retreat, that I would not have been able to save myself and be the person that I have now become.

And it is here that I will point out again that there are no accidents. On the surface, I happen to think that my best friend was completely and utterly mis-matched with her particular retreat leader, but I have to trust that it happened for a reason.

I was paired with a group who had a sincere desire to see me for who I am, not who or what I constantly pretend to be. I think maybe it was the first time I had shared my deepest phobias and doubts about myself with anyone outside my tightest, innermost circle (and certainly more than one person at a time), and was told very clearly, “that’s not who you are.”

The upshot is that I think we all go through very different experiences, based on what we each need. I believe we are all here to learn about ourselves – sometimes those lessons are delivered with kindness, and sometimes they are far more harsh.

There have been times, so many times – STILL – when I’ve stumbled, fallen, broken, intentionally injured, and mutilated myself, and I’m still here. Despite my best efforts, I’m still here.

I have to believe that there’s a reason, that for all our flaws and foibles, there is something that keeps us here until we have accomplished what we need to; either for ourselves, or others.

Hungry, Hungry Hippos

I began to notice significant hearing loss around 2010. For as long as I can remember, I have always had slight tinnitus and a weird condition where, if I am in a noisy atmosphere, everything in the room is the same volume level; the sound from the legs of the chair scraping along the tile floor on the other side of the restaurant is just as loud as the person speaking directly next to me. Loudy, crashy-type noises, if unexpected or lasting for any duration of time, will send me straight into panic mode. That part of it is really quite annoying. The gift aspect of this whole thing is that I tend to mis-hear things that are said to me on a regular basis, and my brain works in such a way that they are perceived in a far more humorous light than the speaker intended.

Case in point: The Hippo Incident.

Somewhere in what I’m estimating is 2015, I’m working late on my home computer, and my (now ex) husband comes into the room, heading toward the blinds and reaching to close them. It’s approaching dinnertime. He says something to me in passing, and I hear it incorrectly.

Me: …Did you just call me a HIPPO?

Him: What?? NO!!

Mind you, I’m laughing too hard to be even remotely mad. Meanwhile, he’s positively  mortified.

He claims that he said something akin to “Are you hungry honey?” But what I heard was “Who’s a Hungry Hippo?”…. a reference to a popular game from when we were both kids. I relay this to him, to explain why I find it funny.

He’s still completely taken aback; I’m still laughing too hard to be the least bit upset. I think I finally ended the exchange by managing to squeak out “Why yes, I AM a very hungry hippo” in between snorts of laughter.

There are so many other occasions when I’ve heard far funnier versions of things that were said to me, or even just in my vicinity, but this is definitely the most memorable and concise example. All I can say is, thank goodness I have a healthy sense of humor.