I found AtP's blog in April 2006. I read for about a month, then I finally began commenting. In general, if I comment more than once on your blog it's because of at least one of the following reasons:
1. I like your writing style.
2. You've commented on mine regularly.
3. I'm interested by what you have to say.
If I haven't commented on your blog, but one of those reasons apply it's because of one of the following reasons:
1. I'm backed up at work and am not currently browsing blogs.
2. I haven't decided if I'm comfortable with you yet.
3. Everything I wanted to say was already said by another commenter.
4. I'm pretty sure what I say will be offensive to you.
AtP's blog was unpretentious and largely conversational. He has a way of making you feel that he's actually speaking to you. There's little editing and the occasional typos that find their way in seem to add character rather than annoyance. Also, you can tell a lot about a person if you analyze their typos.
I was charmed by what this young man had to say, so when he began reciprocating my visits, I was somewhat alarmed. At that point my blog was uncensored and had many extremely personal posts about my counseling visits, people I know, even my sex life. I was sort of amazed that he was able to read through those and not only emerge unscathed, but still continued to visit. As time went on and more people began visiting, I moved many of the posts to a different blog and closed it.
AtP and I began emailing in early July of 2006. I was even more charmed by him as our personal correspondence evolved to the chat venue. By August I knew I wanted to meet him, and in September I finally did. He has the distinction of being the first blogger/online friend that I have ever met in person (Well, technically, I met Smurf and Pinetree first, because AtP and I ate at the restaurant where they worked. But I didn't really meet them until the next day). I have the distinction of being the oldest blogger/online friend that he has ever met in person. One might think we would have nothing in common--and I suppose that's possible--all I know is that I have loved being with AtP from the first time we met for dinner, and that his presence and friendship bless my life. I love him.
Tomorrow is AtP's birthday. I am leaving for another trip today, so I am posting this a day early because I definitely want it to be on my blog when his day arrives.
Ten things I adore about AtP:
1. He can laugh at just about anything.
2. Sometimes he reads my mind.
3. He has an amazing smile.
4. He gives really wonderful hugs.
5. He has empathy for others.
6. When he tells me he loves me, I believe him.
7. He listens even when I'm being dramatic and unreasonable.
8. He doesn't seem to understand that I'm ancient.
9. He lets me be myself. When I am with him, I can be spiritual, silly, serious. It's all good.
10. He brings beauty to my life because he is beautiful inside and out.
I love you, AtP. I hope your birthday is wonderful and memorable--just like you!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
Counseling - bleh
It's been almost a week since my last therapy visit. I haven't talked about it here because it upsets me. I recorded some of our conversation in my stupid super secret blog because I wanted to process it. I was hoping I'd feel better about it by now. I don't.
Her: It sounds as if you feel you've worked through the abuse in your past and are ready to concentrate on dealing with any lingering after-effects.
Me: Yes. I've done a lot. I don't really feel that the abuse is an issue anymore.
Her: Okay. Let's talk about anorexia.
Me: I don't think it's anorexia. I just have trouble eating sometimes.
Her: Why is that?
Me: I don't know. I feel overwhelmed sometimes. The thought of eating makes me feel sick. There's no room inside.
Her: No room. Can you tell me what that feels like? When it happens?
Me: There's really no pattern. Sometimes I just can't eat.
Her: Usually, when people have trouble eating, there's something their bodies are trying to tell them. There's a huge emotional connection we have with food. As infants it's a source of comfort and security. And those feelings go with us into adulthood.
Me: I'm not sure what you're saying.
Her: Something's happening and you're ignoring it.
Me: I don't want to know what it is.
Her: That's understandable. Have you done a lot of research about anorexia?
Me: Yes.
Her: And have you researched the link between anorexia and sexual abuse?
Me: A little. I know there seems to be a higher incidence of eating disorders in men who have been orally raped. But I'm not a man, and I really don't want to think about that.
Her: It's true that men can develop eating disorders for that cause. But they don't have a corner on the market. It happens in women, as well.
Me: I don't want that to be the cause.
Her: That's understandable.
Me: I want to be finished. I don't want to work through this.
Her: You seem to be very aware of how to manage your eating disorder. But the problem is that unless you address the root problems, there may come a time when you won't be able to. That's dangerous.
Me: I know.
Her: It's okay to be tired. You've been working really hard.
Me: I guess, maybe, I'm not finished working through the stupid abuse yet.
Her: I was waiting for you to say that.
Me: That doesn't make me feel any better. Am I ever going to be finished? Will I ever be able to live my life like everyone else?
Her: You're the only person I've ever counseled who was not only able to control her eating disorder without outside help, but had it in remission for a very long time. You're the only one I know who has been able to not only change your nightmares, but you've found a way to suppress the flashbacks, as well. You're very strong. I think you're closer to the end than you know.
Me: It feels like forever.
Her: I know. And I have a feeling that the reason the eating disorder is hanging around is because you're using it to cope with more than just abuse issues. There are other things feeding into it. We can address those later. In the meantime, do some research on the link between sexual abuse and anorexia, journal like crazy, and see if you can figure out what's going on inside when you feel the need to stop eating.
Me: Okay. But this feels really awful.
Her: Take your time. And be nice to yourself.
Me: Easier said than done.
I've been half-heartedly doing the research. I really don't want to address whatever it is that's causing distress when I eat. It just seems like I've done enough. And it isn't fair that no matter how hard I try, there always seems to be one more horrible thing to deal with. And lately there have been more and more days when I just don't think I can do it.
I know. I'm whining. Sometimes I do that.
That's all.
Her: It sounds as if you feel you've worked through the abuse in your past and are ready to concentrate on dealing with any lingering after-effects.
Me: Yes. I've done a lot. I don't really feel that the abuse is an issue anymore.
Her: Okay. Let's talk about anorexia.
Me: I don't think it's anorexia. I just have trouble eating sometimes.
Her: Why is that?
Me: I don't know. I feel overwhelmed sometimes. The thought of eating makes me feel sick. There's no room inside.
Her: No room. Can you tell me what that feels like? When it happens?
Me: There's really no pattern. Sometimes I just can't eat.
Her: Usually, when people have trouble eating, there's something their bodies are trying to tell them. There's a huge emotional connection we have with food. As infants it's a source of comfort and security. And those feelings go with us into adulthood.
Me: I'm not sure what you're saying.
Her: Something's happening and you're ignoring it.
Me: I don't want to know what it is.
Her: That's understandable. Have you done a lot of research about anorexia?
Me: Yes.
Her: And have you researched the link between anorexia and sexual abuse?
Me: A little. I know there seems to be a higher incidence of eating disorders in men who have been orally raped. But I'm not a man, and I really don't want to think about that.
Her: It's true that men can develop eating disorders for that cause. But they don't have a corner on the market. It happens in women, as well.
Me: I don't want that to be the cause.
Her: That's understandable.
Me: I want to be finished. I don't want to work through this.
Her: You seem to be very aware of how to manage your eating disorder. But the problem is that unless you address the root problems, there may come a time when you won't be able to. That's dangerous.
Me: I know.
Her: It's okay to be tired. You've been working really hard.
Me: I guess, maybe, I'm not finished working through the stupid abuse yet.
Her: I was waiting for you to say that.
Me: That doesn't make me feel any better. Am I ever going to be finished? Will I ever be able to live my life like everyone else?
Her: You're the only person I've ever counseled who was not only able to control her eating disorder without outside help, but had it in remission for a very long time. You're the only one I know who has been able to not only change your nightmares, but you've found a way to suppress the flashbacks, as well. You're very strong. I think you're closer to the end than you know.
Me: It feels like forever.
Her: I know. And I have a feeling that the reason the eating disorder is hanging around is because you're using it to cope with more than just abuse issues. There are other things feeding into it. We can address those later. In the meantime, do some research on the link between sexual abuse and anorexia, journal like crazy, and see if you can figure out what's going on inside when you feel the need to stop eating.
Me: Okay. But this feels really awful.
Her: Take your time. And be nice to yourself.
Me: Easier said than done.
I've been half-heartedly doing the research. I really don't want to address whatever it is that's causing distress when I eat. It just seems like I've done enough. And it isn't fair that no matter how hard I try, there always seems to be one more horrible thing to deal with. And lately there have been more and more days when I just don't think I can do it.
I know. I'm whining. Sometimes I do that.
That's all.
Monday, July 9, 2007
Monday and Tuesday, July 2nd-3rd
Darrin and I met AtP, Jason (of AnotherOther fame), Leslie, and their baby in Provo. I have to add a little background here. Jason is the first online contact I ever made. I read his blog and emailed him, wanting to know more about him. There were other reasons for my wanting to get to know him better, but the point is that we've been communicating through email, phone calls, and chats for over a year, and I've been wanting to meet the Lockhart family since this time last year. It was an absolute delight to meet and spend time with them, and AtP and I have both fallen in love with Leslie (whom neither of us had contacted previously). We were already in love with Jason, so that was nothing new, and their little girl alternates between monstrous and adorable, as is expected of babies when they're trying to walk, talk, and grow up.
We all walked to the Wilkenson Center to enjoy the air conditioning (what is with the heat here???), and commenced to talk nonstop for hours. Tito joined us around 3:00. About that time Darrin decided everyone needed deep-fried, artery-clogging foods to eat (I did not join in those festivities), and we continued our eternal conversation for another hour or so. Then the married people ostracised the unmarrieds (Tito and AtP, who had discussed finding some female gendered people and getting married just so they could see what we married Mohos would be talking about. However, they decided against it. I call that wisdom.), and headed north to meet two other married Moho couples for dinner. It was fun to spend time with them, but we broke up the party around 8:00 so that the Lockharts could visit other friends, and other people could work/study or sleep.
Tuesday morning I woke up and wanted to just stay in my PJ's all day. I did not want to shower or do anything. I sat around, playing my nieces, chatting with my sister, and finally made a move to get ready around 10:00. We met the Lockharts, AtP, and his friend, for lunch at Costa Vida. AtP, Jason and I became the designated food fetchers. We were standing in line to order when AtP said, "I love how we left all the straights at the table." Hmmm...funny how that happened.
We had another marathon conversation for a couple of hours, then AtP became the shuttle for Darrin and Leslie to move our cars a little closer to the restaurant (we'd parked sort of far away and walked, but it was too hot to do that again). Jason, Baby Lockhart and I were left to sit in the shade, which wasn't really any cooler, but better that the sun. I have to say, there's something wonderful about meeting in person. No matter how well you get to know another person online or on the phone, actually being with that person is so much better.
Darrin and Leslie rejoined us, but AtP and his friend had other plans. We wandered around the shops, ate ice cream and chocolate and tried on shoes (well, Leslie and I did). We finally ended up back at Costa Vida (because it was air conditioned) and just sat and talked. I kept thinking we'd run out of things to talk about, or get tired of each other. I love the fact that when we finally left, all I could think was, "We have to do this again!" I hope the Lockharts feel the same.
AtP and his friend joined Darrin and I back at my sister's house. I love my sister. She told me to be sure to invite AtP to stop by and visit. She has baby ducks (one of them pooped on my hand when I picked it up!) and a great lawn and she's just a really amazing person anyway. AtP and friend left after about an hour. My sister and I went to get dinner and Darrin and I spent a really nice evening with she and her family. We even got to bed before midnight...oh, maybe that was just me. I crashed around eleven. I have no idea when everyone else went to bed.
We all walked to the Wilkenson Center to enjoy the air conditioning (what is with the heat here???), and commenced to talk nonstop for hours. Tito joined us around 3:00. About that time Darrin decided everyone needed deep-fried, artery-clogging foods to eat (I did not join in those festivities), and we continued our eternal conversation for another hour or so. Then the married people ostracised the unmarrieds (Tito and AtP, who had discussed finding some female gendered people and getting married just so they could see what we married Mohos would be talking about. However, they decided against it. I call that wisdom.), and headed north to meet two other married Moho couples for dinner. It was fun to spend time with them, but we broke up the party around 8:00 so that the Lockharts could visit other friends, and other people could work/study or sleep.
Tuesday morning I woke up and wanted to just stay in my PJ's all day. I did not want to shower or do anything. I sat around, playing my nieces, chatting with my sister, and finally made a move to get ready around 10:00. We met the Lockharts, AtP, and his friend, for lunch at Costa Vida. AtP, Jason and I became the designated food fetchers. We were standing in line to order when AtP said, "I love how we left all the straights at the table." Hmmm...funny how that happened.
We had another marathon conversation for a couple of hours, then AtP became the shuttle for Darrin and Leslie to move our cars a little closer to the restaurant (we'd parked sort of far away and walked, but it was too hot to do that again). Jason, Baby Lockhart and I were left to sit in the shade, which wasn't really any cooler, but better that the sun. I have to say, there's something wonderful about meeting in person. No matter how well you get to know another person online or on the phone, actually being with that person is so much better.
Darrin and Leslie rejoined us, but AtP and his friend had other plans. We wandered around the shops, ate ice cream and chocolate and tried on shoes (well, Leslie and I did). We finally ended up back at Costa Vida (because it was air conditioned) and just sat and talked. I kept thinking we'd run out of things to talk about, or get tired of each other. I love the fact that when we finally left, all I could think was, "We have to do this again!" I hope the Lockharts feel the same.
AtP and his friend joined Darrin and I back at my sister's house. I love my sister. She told me to be sure to invite AtP to stop by and visit. She has baby ducks (one of them pooped on my hand when I picked it up!) and a great lawn and she's just a really amazing person anyway. AtP and friend left after about an hour. My sister and I went to get dinner and Darrin and I spent a really nice evening with she and her family. We even got to bed before midnight...oh, maybe that was just me. I crashed around eleven. I have no idea when everyone else went to bed.
Saturday, July 7, 2007
Sunday, July 1st
Even though Darrin told AtP Saturday night that I'd make him late for church the next day, I was ready long before he was. We drove to Provo to meet AtP and then go to Tito's apartment, where Salad and Drex were supposed to meet us and we would all caravan to Ken Gobiddles' ward. It was not to be.
AtP did not answer his phone when I called him. I called so many times that his phone would not record any more messages. I pounded on the door of his apartment several times--no answer. Finally, Darrin and I left and went to Tito's. No Salad and Drex. The three of us left for the church service (Tito was wearing the Moho uniform, I wasn't). I was a little worried. I've spent a lot of time with AtP. He's never stood me up, and I'm usually the one who's late. I'm not sure that I've ever left a message on his phone when he hasn't called or texted me within a few minutes. So this was just odd.
Ken sat behind me at church. He was on the end of his bench. I walked over to him, perched on the arm rest, put my arms around him, cuddled up and started whispering in his ear. I've never felt someone freeze up so fast! I let him sweat for a few seconds before telling him who I was. He pointed out Tito on the bench in front of us and asked if we'd met, suggesting I sit with him. I laughed, told Ken that Tito and I had come together, and showed him my husband sitting near Tito. I know--not nice of me to surprise poor Ken like that, but very fun.
At some point during church AtP, Salad and Drex texted us, letting us know they were coming/already there. AtP had slept in (bad friend!!). We gathered after church, briefly, then went our separate ways. AtP, Salad and Drex joined Ken and family for dinner, Ty had other commitments so we took him home, and Darrin and I went to visit other friends and family, ending up at Ambrosia and Bawb's house for dinner.
Darrin and I picked up AtP and went to the Matis Home Evening. List of people we met (not for the first time, necessarily):
Baker's Son (so good to see you again)
Bro and Sis Matis (best people in the world)
Borealis (yay! I got to have dinner with you and your wife the next day!)
By a Thread (whom I love to hug--and I'm not a hug person, really)
Danish Boy (I love his smile)
Elbow (Yay! he came!!!)
Gimple (but we didn't get to talk much either)
Greg (briefly met, sigh...)
Hybrid (a new person in the bloggosphere--I invited him to come because I wanted to meet him)
Hybrid's friend (a lurker in the Queerosphere for nearly two years)
Mom of Danish Boy (I told her I was gay--maybe I shouldn't have?)
NakedNative (I haven't seen him since September)
Online Friend Andrea (we keep missing each other and I really want to talk)
Original MoHomie (Yay!! I love him!)
Parents of Attempting the Path (AtP wants me to be in love with his mom)
Playasinmar (Thank you for the hug :) )
Salad and Drex (of course), and Salad and I Riverdanced on the trampoline
Tito (one can never get enough Tito--ever!)
Wolfie (He plays the organ)
Okay--I KNOW there are more, but I was a little overwhelmed by all the people. So if I met you, please remind me--for instance, I'm certain that Baker's Son introduced me to someone, but I have too many people in my head right now. So don't be offended if you're not on my list--just remind me, please. There were lots of people there.
We took AtP home and Darrin told me he had really had a wonderful time meeting all the people we'd spent time with over the past two days, but he was exhausted. I laughed. He needs to do this more often.
AtP did not answer his phone when I called him. I called so many times that his phone would not record any more messages. I pounded on the door of his apartment several times--no answer. Finally, Darrin and I left and went to Tito's. No Salad and Drex. The three of us left for the church service (Tito was wearing the Moho uniform, I wasn't). I was a little worried. I've spent a lot of time with AtP. He's never stood me up, and I'm usually the one who's late. I'm not sure that I've ever left a message on his phone when he hasn't called or texted me within a few minutes. So this was just odd.
Ken sat behind me at church. He was on the end of his bench. I walked over to him, perched on the arm rest, put my arms around him, cuddled up and started whispering in his ear. I've never felt someone freeze up so fast! I let him sweat for a few seconds before telling him who I was. He pointed out Tito on the bench in front of us and asked if we'd met, suggesting I sit with him. I laughed, told Ken that Tito and I had come together, and showed him my husband sitting near Tito. I know--not nice of me to surprise poor Ken like that, but very fun.
At some point during church AtP, Salad and Drex texted us, letting us know they were coming/already there. AtP had slept in (bad friend!!). We gathered after church, briefly, then went our separate ways. AtP, Salad and Drex joined Ken and family for dinner, Ty had other commitments so we took him home, and Darrin and I went to visit other friends and family, ending up at Ambrosia and Bawb's house for dinner.
Darrin and I picked up AtP and went to the Matis Home Evening. List of people we met (not for the first time, necessarily):
Baker's Son (so good to see you again)
Bro and Sis Matis (best people in the world)
Borealis (yay! I got to have dinner with you and your wife the next day!)
By a Thread (whom I love to hug--and I'm not a hug person, really)
Danish Boy (I love his smile)
Elbow (Yay! he came!!!)
Gimple (but we didn't get to talk much either)
Greg (briefly met, sigh...)
Hybrid (a new person in the bloggosphere--I invited him to come because I wanted to meet him)
Hybrid's friend (a lurker in the Queerosphere for nearly two years)
Mom of Danish Boy (I told her I was gay--maybe I shouldn't have?)
NakedNative (I haven't seen him since September)
Online Friend Andrea (we keep missing each other and I really want to talk)
Original MoHomie (Yay!! I love him!)
Parents of Attempting the Path (AtP wants me to be in love with his mom)
Playasinmar (Thank you for the hug :) )
Salad and Drex (of course), and Salad and I Riverdanced on the trampoline
Tito (one can never get enough Tito--ever!)
Wolfie (He plays the organ)
Okay--I KNOW there are more, but I was a little overwhelmed by all the people. So if I met you, please remind me--for instance, I'm certain that Baker's Son introduced me to someone, but I have too many people in my head right now. So don't be offended if you're not on my list--just remind me, please. There were lots of people there.
We took AtP home and Darrin told me he had really had a wonderful time meeting all the people we'd spent time with over the past two days, but he was exhausted. I laughed. He needs to do this more often.
Friday, July 6, 2007
Friday and Saturday, June 29th-30th
Friday:
Darrin and I left later than we expected, but our seven hour trip only took six. I'm not asking Darrin why (he drove), I was just grateful to hit my sister's house before midnight. I think she was glad, as well. Darrin and I spent the drive reconnecting and talking about a lot of things we just haven't had time to talk about. There's also a chance that I slept a little.
Saturday: We met AtP around 11:00, talked with Elbow and arranged to meet for lunch. Darrin, AtP and I arrived at the designated restaurant before Elbow, sat near the front door and played the "Do you think that's him?" game. AtP got endless entertainment out of watching people try to enter through a locked glass door. He only knew it was locked because we had done the same thing. Finally AtP said, "That's him." I told him he wasn't playing the game right. He's supposed to ask me if I think it's him, but he was right--it was Elbow. We had a really nice lunch together and, wanting to see him again before I left, I pressed Elbow to meet us at the Matis Home Evening the next day. He said he'd think about it.
Elbow left us and Darrin decided he had to be prove that he wasn't the gay half of our marriage. He took us to Harbor Freight Tools. Naturally, AtP and I love that store (AtP loves it more than I do). However, we opted to browse through the other stores in the mall and leave Darrin to his own devices. We looked at food in a natural foods store, lingering by the hemp waffles (AtP wants to smoke them) and looking at odd shaped imported bottles of water. I like the red and blue glass bottles.
We decided to find out if Darrin was finished shopping. No such luck. We tried to be good sports by trying on the welding helmets, opening the cute little drawers on the tool chests, and avoiding the urge to take down the red wagons and give each other rides. But we left again, partly because we were causing a spectacle by laughing so much (apparently, people in tool stores are very serious about shopping), and because the cashier ladies looked like they could bench-press AtP and I at the same time. Scary.
We went to a Mexican market which had interesting stuff in it, and AtP got olive juice on him. It was purple. I keep wipes in my car, so we cleaned up and went to Sierra Trading Post to check out the clearance items. AtP almost bought a large punctuation mark, but thought better of it. We examined ugly ties, I talked AtP out of buying any girl pants, and we crashed on the comfy couches, wondering if Darrin would ever stop browsing in the tool store. Eventually he found us and we tried to figure out where to meet Tito for dinner. The helpful clerk who was wondering why we kept sitting on her couches gave us a good restaurant suggestion, we called and arranged things with Tito, and went on our way.
Dinner with Tito was fun, as always, because he is one of my favorite people. AtP and I weren't particularly hungry, so we split a wrap, sort of. I think we picked out the chicken and AtP ate the fries, but we'd both drunk lots of water that day and at dinner, so mostly, we just visited the bathrooms. I have never been at dinner before and said, "I need to use the restroom,' and had a man say, "I'll come, too." Women, yes, often. Men, no. New experience--that happens often with AtP.
We picked up one of AtP's friends and got to meet another new person. She was adorable, of course, and closer to AtP's age. The four of us went to AtP's house to meet his nephews and niece (also adorable) and to visit with his parents for awhile. I spent some one-on-one time with his mom, whom I absolutely love. We left after awhile and went a park to swing and play on the jungle gym. Then we went to visit Salad and Drex.
Actually, we went to pick up a movie AtP had left there, and I don't think they were expecting us to stay, but dropping in and forcing my company on someone is a necessary component of any Utah trip I take. In December Darrin and I crashed a Moho gathering at Tito's apartment, in March I overstayed my welcome at Tolkien Boy's house, in April I surprised By a Thread more than once...it's a tradition, so be warned...next time I might be rude in the place where you live. This time Drex and Salad were the recipients of our uninvited presence. We stayed past midnight and I think Salad and I are now bonded for life because of the red plastic fish.
Darrin and I dropped off AtP and his friend after making arrangements to crash the ward where Ken and Barbie Gobiddles would be blessing their baby the next day. Then we headed back to my sister's house to get some sleep.
Darrin and I left later than we expected, but our seven hour trip only took six. I'm not asking Darrin why (he drove), I was just grateful to hit my sister's house before midnight. I think she was glad, as well. Darrin and I spent the drive reconnecting and talking about a lot of things we just haven't had time to talk about. There's also a chance that I slept a little.
Saturday: We met AtP around 11:00, talked with Elbow and arranged to meet for lunch. Darrin, AtP and I arrived at the designated restaurant before Elbow, sat near the front door and played the "Do you think that's him?" game. AtP got endless entertainment out of watching people try to enter through a locked glass door. He only knew it was locked because we had done the same thing. Finally AtP said, "That's him." I told him he wasn't playing the game right. He's supposed to ask me if I think it's him, but he was right--it was Elbow. We had a really nice lunch together and, wanting to see him again before I left, I pressed Elbow to meet us at the Matis Home Evening the next day. He said he'd think about it.
Elbow left us and Darrin decided he had to be prove that he wasn't the gay half of our marriage. He took us to Harbor Freight Tools. Naturally, AtP and I love that store (AtP loves it more than I do). However, we opted to browse through the other stores in the mall and leave Darrin to his own devices. We looked at food in a natural foods store, lingering by the hemp waffles (AtP wants to smoke them) and looking at odd shaped imported bottles of water. I like the red and blue glass bottles.
We decided to find out if Darrin was finished shopping. No such luck. We tried to be good sports by trying on the welding helmets, opening the cute little drawers on the tool chests, and avoiding the urge to take down the red wagons and give each other rides. But we left again, partly because we were causing a spectacle by laughing so much (apparently, people in tool stores are very serious about shopping), and because the cashier ladies looked like they could bench-press AtP and I at the same time. Scary.
We went to a Mexican market which had interesting stuff in it, and AtP got olive juice on him. It was purple. I keep wipes in my car, so we cleaned up and went to Sierra Trading Post to check out the clearance items. AtP almost bought a large punctuation mark, but thought better of it. We examined ugly ties, I talked AtP out of buying any girl pants, and we crashed on the comfy couches, wondering if Darrin would ever stop browsing in the tool store. Eventually he found us and we tried to figure out where to meet Tito for dinner. The helpful clerk who was wondering why we kept sitting on her couches gave us a good restaurant suggestion, we called and arranged things with Tito, and went on our way.
Dinner with Tito was fun, as always, because he is one of my favorite people. AtP and I weren't particularly hungry, so we split a wrap, sort of. I think we picked out the chicken and AtP ate the fries, but we'd both drunk lots of water that day and at dinner, so mostly, we just visited the bathrooms. I have never been at dinner before and said, "I need to use the restroom,' and had a man say, "I'll come, too." Women, yes, often. Men, no. New experience--that happens often with AtP.
We picked up one of AtP's friends and got to meet another new person. She was adorable, of course, and closer to AtP's age. The four of us went to AtP's house to meet his nephews and niece (also adorable) and to visit with his parents for awhile. I spent some one-on-one time with his mom, whom I absolutely love. We left after awhile and went a park to swing and play on the jungle gym. Then we went to visit Salad and Drex.
Actually, we went to pick up a movie AtP had left there, and I don't think they were expecting us to stay, but dropping in and forcing my company on someone is a necessary component of any Utah trip I take. In December Darrin and I crashed a Moho gathering at Tito's apartment, in March I overstayed my welcome at Tolkien Boy's house, in April I surprised By a Thread more than once...it's a tradition, so be warned...next time I might be rude in the place where you live. This time Drex and Salad were the recipients of our uninvited presence. We stayed past midnight and I think Salad and I are now bonded for life because of the red plastic fish.
Darrin and I dropped off AtP and his friend after making arrangements to crash the ward where Ken and Barbie Gobiddles would be blessing their baby the next day. Then we headed back to my sister's house to get some sleep.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Thinking again
On Easter I wrote a post about Christ--just like everyone else, I suppose. But my thoughts at that time have not left me. When I wrote the post I was spiritually wanting in many ways. I was experiencing horrible nightmares and flashbacks once again, and I was beginning to weaken. About a month later I ended up in the hospital, wondering what was happening to me. I have had to reevaluate many things in my life, and in doing so, have had to rely on God and Christ more than ever. I've realized that there is hope for me, but only through the atonement. I can become mentally healthy and strong if I continue to work, but I can't be free, truly free, on my own. I've spent some time talking with my Father about the things that are required of me. I've told him I don't want to do them. I've asked for a different way. And in the end, I've realized that there is no other way that will bring me the peace I desire.
So many times in my life I've partaken of the goodness of the atonement. Often, I haven't even realized it. There were times when I was alone and aching, my child-body bruised, my mind reeling with horror and confusion, when, in my heart, I called out to anyone for relief. I remember vividly, occasions when I felt peace wrapped around me like a blanket, and I was given rest for a moment. In my journey to adulthood, there was always some force that carried me forward, certain that the next day would be better and that I could continue on. Even when I knew that there was no God--for what loving Heavenly Father would stand by and watch while his daughter was repeatedly raped, abused, and discarded?--I wanted to believe. I wanted Him to come to me and tell me why. I wanted an explanation. I felt that I was owed that. It didn't happen. And for me, the why's eventually became less important than the what's. What will I do next? What will I choose? What if I live? What will I become? What will I make of myself?
I reread, recently, the accounts of the atonement in the New Testament.
I read the words and find such interesting ideas. Jesus knew the importance of what was about to happen--and he took two friends to be with him. Christ, the Greatest of us all, didn't want to be alone. He didn't isolate himself, or tell his friends to give him some space. He wanted to be with those who loved him and whom he loved. I need to learn from that. He expressed his sorrow to them. He told them how he felt. He wasn't afraid that they would think less of him, or belittle his feelings. He trusted them to sorrow with him, and uphold him. He felt dread and he was afraid, so much so that he fell on his face and asked God to take it away from him. In Mark it's stated a bit differently:
According to Luke, a loving Father sent angels to strengthen and comfort his son as he bled from every pore and did for me what I cannot do for myself. Had I known then what I know now, I would have begged to be among those angels who were with my Savior. Had I understood how much I would need the atonement in my life, how many times I would use it, how there would be times when that was all I had left--nothing would have kept me from standing beside my beloved Lord, giving him every ounce of strength I could give, knowing that in the incomprehensible act of the atonement, every part of me could one day be healed. I know it probably wasn't so, and that I was not among those blessed angels privileged to be with the Savior in his moment of agony. But if I was not allowed to be a part of those chosen to be with Christ at that time, I believe that I must have looked on, praying for strength for him, filled with gratitude that he would perform the act that would save my soul. And, because I am who I am, I'm certain that I wept because my life would cause him pain--but perhaps my understanding then was greater than it is now.
I am slowly giving in, giving up, allowing all things to go to their proper places. As I let go I am afraid, but also hopeful that in allowing the atonement to work as it was meant to, I can overcome that fear, and one day be so much more than I am today. I don't know if I will ever understand why I have had to endure the circumstances that life has brought to me, but I have endured, and I believe that where I have been battered and broken, Christ's atonement can make me whole, inside and out.
I have to believe that. Ultimately, in spite of everything I do, my journey over the past 18 months has taught me that I cannot heal myself. If the atonement is not real, if there is no Christ, I am lost.
So many times in my life I've partaken of the goodness of the atonement. Often, I haven't even realized it. There were times when I was alone and aching, my child-body bruised, my mind reeling with horror and confusion, when, in my heart, I called out to anyone for relief. I remember vividly, occasions when I felt peace wrapped around me like a blanket, and I was given rest for a moment. In my journey to adulthood, there was always some force that carried me forward, certain that the next day would be better and that I could continue on. Even when I knew that there was no God--for what loving Heavenly Father would stand by and watch while his daughter was repeatedly raped, abused, and discarded?--I wanted to believe. I wanted Him to come to me and tell me why. I wanted an explanation. I felt that I was owed that. It didn't happen. And for me, the why's eventually became less important than the what's. What will I do next? What will I choose? What if I live? What will I become? What will I make of myself?
I reread, recently, the accounts of the atonement in the New Testament.
And he took with him Peter and the two sons of Zebedee, and began to be sorrowful and very heavy.
Then saith he unto them, My soul is exceeding sorrowful, even unto death: tarry ye here, and watch with me.
And he went a little further, and fell on his face, and prayed, saying, O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless not as I will, but as thou
wilt. (Matt. 26:37-39)
I read the words and find such interesting ideas. Jesus knew the importance of what was about to happen--and he took two friends to be with him. Christ, the Greatest of us all, didn't want to be alone. He didn't isolate himself, or tell his friends to give him some space. He wanted to be with those who loved him and whom he loved. I need to learn from that. He expressed his sorrow to them. He told them how he felt. He wasn't afraid that they would think less of him, or belittle his feelings. He trusted them to sorrow with him, and uphold him. He felt dread and he was afraid, so much so that he fell on his face and asked God to take it away from him. In Mark it's stated a bit differently:
And he went forward a little, and fell on the ground, and prayed that, if it were possible, the hour might pass from him.Father, please don't make me do this...take it away from me...I don't want to go through or take on the task or trial before me...you're asking a lot...I don't think I can do this--so many times in my life I have spoken those words. Christ himself, asked to be released from what would be his most difficult task. At one point he did not want to do it. He understands when we shrink from what is asked of us.
And he said, Abba, Father, all things are possible unto thee; take this cup from me: nevertheless not what I will, but what thou wilt.
According to Luke, a loving Father sent angels to strengthen and comfort his son as he bled from every pore and did for me what I cannot do for myself. Had I known then what I know now, I would have begged to be among those angels who were with my Savior. Had I understood how much I would need the atonement in my life, how many times I would use it, how there would be times when that was all I had left--nothing would have kept me from standing beside my beloved Lord, giving him every ounce of strength I could give, knowing that in the incomprehensible act of the atonement, every part of me could one day be healed. I know it probably wasn't so, and that I was not among those blessed angels privileged to be with the Savior in his moment of agony. But if I was not allowed to be a part of those chosen to be with Christ at that time, I believe that I must have looked on, praying for strength for him, filled with gratitude that he would perform the act that would save my soul. And, because I am who I am, I'm certain that I wept because my life would cause him pain--but perhaps my understanding then was greater than it is now.
I am slowly giving in, giving up, allowing all things to go to their proper places. As I let go I am afraid, but also hopeful that in allowing the atonement to work as it was meant to, I can overcome that fear, and one day be so much more than I am today. I don't know if I will ever understand why I have had to endure the circumstances that life has brought to me, but I have endured, and I believe that where I have been battered and broken, Christ's atonement can make me whole, inside and out.
I have to believe that. Ultimately, in spite of everything I do, my journey over the past 18 months has taught me that I cannot heal myself. If the atonement is not real, if there is no Christ, I am lost.
Wednesday, July 4, 2007
I Love My Elbow
Almost exactly one year and one month ago, my life as an obscure blogger came to an end. I had several reasons for starting a blog:
1. I was trying to get to know former blogger Ward Cleaver.
2. I was exploring the possibility of finding online support for a young friend in my community.
3. I was venting.
For about three months my blog had one avid reader, Ward, and two regular lurkers who never commented, and whom I never identified. But in June of 2006, Elbow discovered my blog and spotlighted me in a post. From that point on, obscurity was not an option. Elbow's blog was fairly well known in the Queerosphere. When people started visiting and commenting on my blog, I began to panic. There were many things on the original blog that rapidly disappeared, and even though I maintained my goal to use my online journaling to help me through counseling, I was also aware that I was not invisible.
Elbow and I visited each other's blogs fairly regularly, and emailed occasionally. A couple of months ago we began chatting. From the time we encountered each other online, I have wished to meet him. And I finally did last Saturday.
The end.
1. I was trying to get to know former blogger Ward Cleaver.
2. I was exploring the possibility of finding online support for a young friend in my community.
3. I was venting.
For about three months my blog had one avid reader, Ward, and two regular lurkers who never commented, and whom I never identified. But in June of 2006, Elbow discovered my blog and spotlighted me in a post. From that point on, obscurity was not an option. Elbow's blog was fairly well known in the Queerosphere. When people started visiting and commenting on my blog, I began to panic. There were many things on the original blog that rapidly disappeared, and even though I maintained my goal to use my online journaling to help me through counseling, I was also aware that I was not invisible.
Elbow and I visited each other's blogs fairly regularly, and emailed occasionally. A couple of months ago we began chatting. From the time we encountered each other online, I have wished to meet him. And I finally did last Saturday.
The end.
Tuesday, July 3, 2007
Straight Girls
This evening Darrin and I had dinner with three other couples--all MOM's. I, of course was the token lesbian, Darrin the token straight guy. After dinner, as couples often do, the females drifted away from the males to talk about female oriented "stuff". I was asked by one of them if I was more comfortable with the men. The answer, of course, is yes. I'm far more comfortable around gay men than any other subgroup. This is not something I choose, necessarily.
I thought about one of the couples. I've chatted extensively with the husband, online and on the phone--but never with his wife. She's completely comfortable with that, and should be, I suppose, considering the orientation of both her husband and myself. I thought about how much I love having that friendship. AtP said this weekend that some of the "acceptable" norms just don't apply to gay people. I guess that's true, but one day I'd like to feel more drawn toward being in the female group, than hanging out with the gay guys. No offense, guys, I love you to death, it just makes me feel a little more odd than I'd like to.
I have no idea why I'm posting this. But I'm just going to say, to end this post: Salad, Leslie, Boo, and Fourth Girl--you're some of the most amazing straight girls I've ever met. That's all.
I thought about one of the couples. I've chatted extensively with the husband, online and on the phone--but never with his wife. She's completely comfortable with that, and should be, I suppose, considering the orientation of both her husband and myself. I thought about how much I love having that friendship. AtP said this weekend that some of the "acceptable" norms just don't apply to gay people. I guess that's true, but one day I'd like to feel more drawn toward being in the female group, than hanging out with the gay guys. No offense, guys, I love you to death, it just makes me feel a little more odd than I'd like to.
I have no idea why I'm posting this. But I'm just going to say, to end this post: Salad, Leslie, Boo, and Fourth Girl--you're some of the most amazing straight girls I've ever met. That's all.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Meeting People
I spent yesterday visiting people. For the first time since last December, Darrin is with me. It's a different dynamic with him beside me. I'm less nervous, but I also keep falling into the "if I know this person, you must also" trap. He has no knowledge of many of the people we meet (because he is a lame blogger), but I sometimes forget to fill him in. Thank goodness he's so easygoing about things like that. We dropped off AtP and his lovely friend last night at midnight, then Darrin and I went to a grocery store because we're cooking dinner today, and Darrin had bunches of questions about the people we'd met today. I laughed because I realized how odd much of our conversations must have seemed to him, and I was really happy that he just sits back and listens and waits for the right time to gather information--not at all like me--I just ask whatever I feel like asking.
Anyway, even though I'm missing my kids, it's nice to be spending some time with my best friend (he doesn't seem to be missing our kids--what's up with that?), and sharing that time with other friends. I'm going to spend more time, when I get home, talking about the people we've seen and things we've done, but I want to say thanks to those of you who've made time to share meals and let us drop in unexpectedly. We have enjoyed every minute of being with you. And I just have to say, AtP, you're in a class by yourself. I love being with you! Today we'll be seeing more friends, and if you're one of them, I expect a hug, even if we've never met in person. Please don't disappoint me.
Time to go get ready for church. Darrin and I are headed to Provo to crash some Moho's ward. We'll be the very reverent old people sitting in the back, grooming ourselves for the time when Darrin becomes a general authority and I am his dutiful wife.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!
Ummm...yeah, actually, we'll just blend in, you won't even notice us...except that I might be with AtP...and he's sort of noticeable because he's never pious...and even when I try to be good, he interrupts me...which is why we're both going to hell...want to come????
Anyway, even though I'm missing my kids, it's nice to be spending some time with my best friend (he doesn't seem to be missing our kids--what's up with that?), and sharing that time with other friends. I'm going to spend more time, when I get home, talking about the people we've seen and things we've done, but I want to say thanks to those of you who've made time to share meals and let us drop in unexpectedly. We have enjoyed every minute of being with you. And I just have to say, AtP, you're in a class by yourself. I love being with you! Today we'll be seeing more friends, and if you're one of them, I expect a hug, even if we've never met in person. Please don't disappoint me.
Time to go get ready for church. Darrin and I are headed to Provo to crash some Moho's ward. We'll be the very reverent old people sitting in the back, grooming ourselves for the time when Darrin becomes a general authority and I am his dutiful wife.
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!
Ummm...yeah, actually, we'll just blend in, you won't even notice us...except that I might be with AtP...and he's sort of noticeable because he's never pious...and even when I try to be good, he interrupts me...which is why we're both going to hell...want to come????
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Same-sex attraction is sort of hilarious
Okay, I'm sorry, really, but I think I've always felt this way. I know for many people it's not funny at all. But it makes me laugh. I'm saying this because if you ever talk to me about your SSA/latest crush/deep, dark secrets, I'll probably giggle. I can't help it.
Case in point:
I met Darrin and Sully at Walmart last night. They were talking. I brought up a member of Darrin's ward that Sully had a brief crush on last December, because an odd coincidence had brought that former ward member to AtP's door last week. I didn't look at Sully. I was careful to avoid his eyes. We kept talking. But Sully was sort of laughing, and when I finally did look at him, he started really laughing. He asked, "Do you know why I'm uncomfortable?" Bad question to ask me. I cracked up. Darrin looked confused. Sully said, "You know, don't you?" Of course I know. Sully is not hard to read, and I was with him the first time the emotions crossed his face.
I didn't say anything to him in December, because I was trying, in spite of my innate insensitivity, to give him some privacy. However, he blogged about it (silly Sully), and I couldn't help myself. I had to tease him. When the man-crush passed (because the person in question shaved his goatee) I left this comment on Sully's blog: I like him better without the goatee. Maybe I have a crush on him now, so I'm glad there's a little less competition. You'd win in the cuteness category--but I'd beat you in the gender-preference one. Sully countered, of course, with the thought that his former crush might be gay (no, he's not), but when Sully asked me if I knew the name of his erstwhile man-crush, I would never give him a straight answer.
So, here we were, six months later, a blushing Sully finally knew that I had known all along, and I was laughing my head off. I'm a good friend. The thing is, when I remember some of the people I was randomly attracted to, that makes me laugh, as well. Only one thing is certain in my life, nothing is sacred. So if something is really, really serious to you, it's probably a good idea not to share it with me.
Case in point:
I met Darrin and Sully at Walmart last night. They were talking. I brought up a member of Darrin's ward that Sully had a brief crush on last December, because an odd coincidence had brought that former ward member to AtP's door last week. I didn't look at Sully. I was careful to avoid his eyes. We kept talking. But Sully was sort of laughing, and when I finally did look at him, he started really laughing. He asked, "Do you know why I'm uncomfortable?" Bad question to ask me. I cracked up. Darrin looked confused. Sully said, "You know, don't you?" Of course I know. Sully is not hard to read, and I was with him the first time the emotions crossed his face.
I didn't say anything to him in December, because I was trying, in spite of my innate insensitivity, to give him some privacy. However, he blogged about it (silly Sully), and I couldn't help myself. I had to tease him. When the man-crush passed (because the person in question shaved his goatee) I left this comment on Sully's blog: I like him better without the goatee. Maybe I have a crush on him now, so I'm glad there's a little less competition. You'd win in the cuteness category--but I'd beat you in the gender-preference one. Sully countered, of course, with the thought that his former crush might be gay (no, he's not), but when Sully asked me if I knew the name of his erstwhile man-crush, I would never give him a straight answer.
So, here we were, six months later, a blushing Sully finally knew that I had known all along, and I was laughing my head off. I'm a good friend. The thing is, when I remember some of the people I was randomly attracted to, that makes me laugh, as well. Only one thing is certain in my life, nothing is sacred. So if something is really, really serious to you, it's probably a good idea not to share it with me.
Wednesday, June 27, 2007
Sex Education
I took my daughter to get a physical today. She is twelve.
There are new vaccinations available for her. Hepatitis A, which she got. Tetanus, now combined with pertussis (since we've had trouble with whooping cough outbreaks in our county), which she got. Meningitis, which she got. Cervical cancer, which we opted to postpone. We read the literature together and I let Tabitha decide which ones she wanted. She said in reference to cervical cancer, "Mom, it says you get this if you're sexually active. I'm not."
I told Tabitha the day might come that she was, and even if she only had one partner, she had no control over his sexual activity, so it would be good to be protected. She said, "Maybe when I'm older." I told her okay, but she needed to tell me if she was planning to be sexually active in the meantime (I was teasing her). She looked at me and said, "Mom. I weigh 65 pounds and I have no boobs. No one wants to have sex with me, and I want to have sex with no one."
I said, "If you have no boobs, why do you wear a bra." Tabitha answered, "Well, you're always telling me I should practice anything I want to be good at."
I love my daughter. I think she's hilarious. She ended up getting 3 shots. She just sat calmly and let them poke her. My boys, at that age, had to be restrained, and we had to drag Adam from the bathroom last year.
Amazing.
Oh, yes, DJ also got the hepatitis and meningitis vaccines (but not the cervical cancer one--he thinks he'll play the odds on getting that particular STD). When the nurse was finished poking him, he asked for a Popcicle, then laughed at me as I rolled my eyes at him. However, we didn't have to restrain him to administer the shots, which is good, since he's twice my size. Progress.
There are new vaccinations available for her. Hepatitis A, which she got. Tetanus, now combined with pertussis (since we've had trouble with whooping cough outbreaks in our county), which she got. Meningitis, which she got. Cervical cancer, which we opted to postpone. We read the literature together and I let Tabitha decide which ones she wanted. She said in reference to cervical cancer, "Mom, it says you get this if you're sexually active. I'm not."
I told Tabitha the day might come that she was, and even if she only had one partner, she had no control over his sexual activity, so it would be good to be protected. She said, "Maybe when I'm older." I told her okay, but she needed to tell me if she was planning to be sexually active in the meantime (I was teasing her). She looked at me and said, "Mom. I weigh 65 pounds and I have no boobs. No one wants to have sex with me, and I want to have sex with no one."
I said, "If you have no boobs, why do you wear a bra." Tabitha answered, "Well, you're always telling me I should practice anything I want to be good at."
I love my daughter. I think she's hilarious. She ended up getting 3 shots. She just sat calmly and let them poke her. My boys, at that age, had to be restrained, and we had to drag Adam from the bathroom last year.
Amazing.
Oh, yes, DJ also got the hepatitis and meningitis vaccines (but not the cervical cancer one--he thinks he'll play the odds on getting that particular STD). When the nurse was finished poking him, he asked for a Popcicle, then laughed at me as I rolled my eyes at him. However, we didn't have to restrain him to administer the shots, which is good, since he's twice my size. Progress.
Monday, June 25, 2007
Sesame Street - Mahna Mahna
This is the original 1969 Sesame Street version. I love muppets. If they were real, I would be one.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Bloggergarden
I plant a garden every year. Actually, I go buy plants (mostly herbs, flowers, and tomatoes) and put them in the ground. If they grow, I have a garden. If they die, I go buy new ones. Gardening is something all witches are supposed to excel at, so obviously, I'm only a pretend witch, because I have a pretend garden. However, my kids love the day that the garden is planted because the front of my house is transformed into a thing of beauty that everyone in our family helps to maintain.
Leaving Darrin at home (because he scoffs at our need for flowers, and gasps at the price we pay), we go together to the greenhouse. DJ, Adam, and Tabitha all have their own ideas of what we should buy, and I allow them to choose three annuals and one perennial each. The perennials which have survived are already blooming and making me itch to give them neighbors.
Usually, my kids are right there with me, planning what they'll choose to plant. However, when I asked them this year, Tabitha suggested I ask my readers to tell me their favorite flowers and we'd plant our garden based on the responses I receive. It's not a bad idea, but I pointed out that I didn't know how many of my visitors would have a preference, and I only get a few comments, so there might not be very much participation. Adam seconded her idea, though, so here I am, asking for input.
If you have a favorite, annual or perennial, will you let me know? Include your favorite color with the suggestion. If enough people help with this, I promise to post a picture when we're finished. I do warn everyone, though, that I don't supervise the planting. I just let the kids dig holes and put in the plants where ever they believe they'll look nice. It usually ends up looking like a jumbled mass of color--and I love it! Feel free to suggest more than one item. Variety is the spice of life.
Leaving Darrin at home (because he scoffs at our need for flowers, and gasps at the price we pay), we go together to the greenhouse. DJ, Adam, and Tabitha all have their own ideas of what we should buy, and I allow them to choose three annuals and one perennial each. The perennials which have survived are already blooming and making me itch to give them neighbors.
Usually, my kids are right there with me, planning what they'll choose to plant. However, when I asked them this year, Tabitha suggested I ask my readers to tell me their favorite flowers and we'd plant our garden based on the responses I receive. It's not a bad idea, but I pointed out that I didn't know how many of my visitors would have a preference, and I only get a few comments, so there might not be very much participation. Adam seconded her idea, though, so here I am, asking for input.
If you have a favorite, annual or perennial, will you let me know? Include your favorite color with the suggestion. If enough people help with this, I promise to post a picture when we're finished. I do warn everyone, though, that I don't supervise the planting. I just let the kids dig holes and put in the plants where ever they believe they'll look nice. It usually ends up looking like a jumbled mass of color--and I love it! Feel free to suggest more than one item. Variety is the spice of life.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Three Interviews
It seems that after my lovely vacation in the Behavioral Health Unit, there are some hoops to jump through to get just the right therapist/psychiatrist. Smart Psychiatrist at the hospital told me that he wanted to see to it that I got help from a therapist specializing in PTSD. I'm not sure why, but under his instruction I met with three different therapists today, none of whom had any background information about me. Naturally, I didn't feel that I wanted to talk about anything with them, so the first two meetings were rather terrifying and miserable. Sample script:
Therapist: Hi, I'm ________________.
Me: Good to meet you.
T: Would you like to tell me what brought you here today.
Me: I had an appointment.
T: I meant, what events led you to seek counseling.
Me: It was suggested to me when I ended up in the hospital about a month ago.
T: Why were you there?
Me: I was very sad.
T: Are you on medication now?
Me: No. There's really nothing to medicate.
T: Well, there are lots of medical options to treat depression.
Me: What makes you think I'm depressed?
T: Well, you said you were sad, and you ended up at the hospital.
Me: Before we talk about how to medicate my sadness, wouldn't you like to know the reasons behind it?
T: Of course, but in the meantime we can help your depression lift a little so that you can work better.
Me: Why do you believe I'm depressed?
T: You said you were sad.
Me: Are you ever sad?
T: Of course.
Me: What do you take to medicate your sadness?
T: Actually, I don't take anything.
Me: Exactly.
The first two therapists were highly interested in giving me pretty pills to take. Honestly, if I thought they were making the suggestion based on the facts behind why I was struggling emotionally, I would take them. I'm not stupid. But they never bothered to ask the right questions. And I don't trust them at all.
I stepped into the third therapist's office and started to cry. I was tired, scared, and frustrated. She handed me a box of tissues. Then she said, "Will you tell me what's behind those tears?" So I told her--I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go home. I was tired of trying to get better, and Smart Psychiatrist guy said I probably never would. She said it was okay to feel tired, and even to take a rest. We could work on anything I'd like to. So I cried some more, and she asked all the right questions. I told her about my experiences with abuse. She cried a little bit with me. I said I didn't think therapists should do that. She told me that sometimes therapists have emotions, too, and in a perfect world they don't express them at a therapy session. But she pointed out that my story is a bit sad, and sometimes human emotions cause tears. I decided it was okay this time.
She talked a lot about PTSD symptoms and asked if I'd had any of them. Sometimes it sucks to say yes.
At one point I became very overwhelmed. She told me she knew I'd been there a long time and asked if I wanted to take a break. I said no, I wanted to go home. She asked if I would come back next week. I said yes. Before I left she said that most PTSD patients don't have complete recovery--but they do learn to cope. And some of the stronger ones actually live symptom free if they're given the proper treatment. She thinks I'm strong. I feel anything but that.
She said something that made me think, though. We discussed how people like me cycle through relationships. She told me I was very blessed to have been able to build and maintain a strong marriage--it's not a common thing for anyone, but people with PTSD struggle more than the average person when it comes to sustaining close personal relationships. I told her that I was really having difficulty right now, with everyone I contact, and that there were times when it just seemed easier to isolate, or just work on my marriage and let everyone else slide away. She said that it might be easier, but if I allowed the cycle to continue, I will eventually destroy myself. She said it undermines my self-esteem, my confidence, and my social/emotional maturity. I was a little offended--but after thinking about it tonight, and doing more research, I know she's right. I just don't know what to do next.
That seems to be the status quo right now.
Therapist: Hi, I'm ________________.
Me: Good to meet you.
T: Would you like to tell me what brought you here today.
Me: I had an appointment.
T: I meant, what events led you to seek counseling.
Me: It was suggested to me when I ended up in the hospital about a month ago.
T: Why were you there?
Me: I was very sad.
T: Are you on medication now?
Me: No. There's really nothing to medicate.
T: Well, there are lots of medical options to treat depression.
Me: What makes you think I'm depressed?
T: Well, you said you were sad, and you ended up at the hospital.
Me: Before we talk about how to medicate my sadness, wouldn't you like to know the reasons behind it?
T: Of course, but in the meantime we can help your depression lift a little so that you can work better.
Me: Why do you believe I'm depressed?
T: You said you were sad.
Me: Are you ever sad?
T: Of course.
Me: What do you take to medicate your sadness?
T: Actually, I don't take anything.
Me: Exactly.
The first two therapists were highly interested in giving me pretty pills to take. Honestly, if I thought they were making the suggestion based on the facts behind why I was struggling emotionally, I would take them. I'm not stupid. But they never bothered to ask the right questions. And I don't trust them at all.
I stepped into the third therapist's office and started to cry. I was tired, scared, and frustrated. She handed me a box of tissues. Then she said, "Will you tell me what's behind those tears?" So I told her--I didn't want to be there. I wanted to go home. I was tired of trying to get better, and Smart Psychiatrist guy said I probably never would. She said it was okay to feel tired, and even to take a rest. We could work on anything I'd like to. So I cried some more, and she asked all the right questions. I told her about my experiences with abuse. She cried a little bit with me. I said I didn't think therapists should do that. She told me that sometimes therapists have emotions, too, and in a perfect world they don't express them at a therapy session. But she pointed out that my story is a bit sad, and sometimes human emotions cause tears. I decided it was okay this time.
She talked a lot about PTSD symptoms and asked if I'd had any of them. Sometimes it sucks to say yes.
At one point I became very overwhelmed. She told me she knew I'd been there a long time and asked if I wanted to take a break. I said no, I wanted to go home. She asked if I would come back next week. I said yes. Before I left she said that most PTSD patients don't have complete recovery--but they do learn to cope. And some of the stronger ones actually live symptom free if they're given the proper treatment. She thinks I'm strong. I feel anything but that.
She said something that made me think, though. We discussed how people like me cycle through relationships. She told me I was very blessed to have been able to build and maintain a strong marriage--it's not a common thing for anyone, but people with PTSD struggle more than the average person when it comes to sustaining close personal relationships. I told her that I was really having difficulty right now, with everyone I contact, and that there were times when it just seemed easier to isolate, or just work on my marriage and let everyone else slide away. She said that it might be easier, but if I allowed the cycle to continue, I will eventually destroy myself. She said it undermines my self-esteem, my confidence, and my social/emotional maturity. I was a little offended--but after thinking about it tonight, and doing more research, I know she's right. I just don't know what to do next.
That seems to be the status quo right now.
Living Dangerously
I awoke this morning feeling adventurous, so after making an appointment for my annual physical (which I'll probably cancel just as I have for the last 10 years of my life because having a man or woman poking around in, and clipping of samples of my vagina is not something I deal well with--and don't even think of comparing this to making love with my husband--IT IS NOT THE SAME!!!), I decided to visit our local dollar store. I never go there for many reasons, mostly because I think there's beauty in pricing variety, and no one should ever have a store where everything is valued the same, but that's a philosophical dicussion for another day.
Once at the dollar store, my true adventure began. I decided to walk through the food/candy aisles and just choose some things that looked interesting. I selected some innocuous looking foods, then bought Bugles because everyone likes those. I bought a Pilates DVD, some wipes for cleaning the inside of the car (stop laughing at me AtP), some finiture wipes, bathroom cleaner, two types of drain opener, foaming oxygenated grease cleaner, and party cups.
On the way home I tasted all the interesting new stuff (which was a singularly bad idea since I hadn't eaten yet today). Results:
1. Werther's Original Toffee Chews--not bad. If you like caramels, these are like mildly flavored ones. I would buy these again.
2. Breath Savers (wintergreen, spearmint, and citrus flavored)--as I'm a fan of Breath Savers, these were great (especially since they cost about 33 cents per roll) which was no surprise since I sort of live on breath mints. I got the citrus flavored ones for my kids.
3. Chocolate covered Tootsie Roll bites--I like Tootsie Rolls. These were awful. They tasted nothing like chocolate, and I was hard-pressed to identify any Tootsie Roll flavor either. I don't know whose idea this was, but it was a bad one.
4. Vanilla filled tube-shaped wafer cookie things--these came in a cool tin, and that was the best part. Imagine spreading fairly tasteless vanilla frosting on corrugated cardboard and you'll have a good idea of how these taste. Adam took one bite, calculated the cost of each individual cookie and paid me to allow him to throw his in the trash.
5. Almond flavored windmill cookies--I don't know what the manufacturer's idea of almond flavoring is, but these did not taste like almond. I would describe the flavor as a cross between cloves, nutmeg and anise. The texture was that of a very hard, thick cracker. These will be tossed in the trash. I don't believe they could pass as dog biscuits, even if dipped in gravy first.
6. Bugles--the real ones, not a store-brand pretender. My children rose up and called me blessed because I rarely buy fried or high-fat foods. These were a big hit, of course. I even ate some. I actually like the caramel Bugles--you should try these if you haven't, and let me know what you think of them.
And now that I've had my annual risk-taking adventure, I will return to my mundane existence with relief.
Once at the dollar store, my true adventure began. I decided to walk through the food/candy aisles and just choose some things that looked interesting. I selected some innocuous looking foods, then bought Bugles because everyone likes those. I bought a Pilates DVD, some wipes for cleaning the inside of the car (stop laughing at me AtP), some finiture wipes, bathroom cleaner, two types of drain opener, foaming oxygenated grease cleaner, and party cups.
On the way home I tasted all the interesting new stuff (which was a singularly bad idea since I hadn't eaten yet today). Results:
1. Werther's Original Toffee Chews--not bad. If you like caramels, these are like mildly flavored ones. I would buy these again.
2. Breath Savers (wintergreen, spearmint, and citrus flavored)--as I'm a fan of Breath Savers, these were great (especially since they cost about 33 cents per roll) which was no surprise since I sort of live on breath mints. I got the citrus flavored ones for my kids.
3. Chocolate covered Tootsie Roll bites--I like Tootsie Rolls. These were awful. They tasted nothing like chocolate, and I was hard-pressed to identify any Tootsie Roll flavor either. I don't know whose idea this was, but it was a bad one.
4. Vanilla filled tube-shaped wafer cookie things--these came in a cool tin, and that was the best part. Imagine spreading fairly tasteless vanilla frosting on corrugated cardboard and you'll have a good idea of how these taste. Adam took one bite, calculated the cost of each individual cookie and paid me to allow him to throw his in the trash.
5. Almond flavored windmill cookies--I don't know what the manufacturer's idea of almond flavoring is, but these did not taste like almond. I would describe the flavor as a cross between cloves, nutmeg and anise. The texture was that of a very hard, thick cracker. These will be tossed in the trash. I don't believe they could pass as dog biscuits, even if dipped in gravy first.
6. Bugles--the real ones, not a store-brand pretender. My children rose up and called me blessed because I rarely buy fried or high-fat foods. These were a big hit, of course. I even ate some. I actually like the caramel Bugles--you should try these if you haven't, and let me know what you think of them.
And now that I've had my annual risk-taking adventure, I will return to my mundane existence with relief.
Why can't everything be easy?
A friend told me yesterday that it has been agonizing to watch me claw my way through all the conflicting emotions I feel. She said she can tell when I'm overwhelmed by them. She said she wishes she could help. I have never confided in her about what I feel, and I've told her very little about the things that have been happening in my life over the past 18 months. I was sort of offended that she would make a personal comment like that when I have never invited her to be a part of my life. I was also a little bit gratified that she cared enough to notice--more conflict.
I recognized, about three months ago, that I was experiencing less clarity of thought, decreased ability to make decisions about my emotional needs, and huge conflict in my feelings and desires. It was, and is, not unusual for me to feel simultaneously the need to be held and comforted along with an extreme desire to be left alone. I'm dying for help from someone--anyone--and more than likely I'll end up slapping away any metaphorically outstretched hand. "Agonizing to watch..." said my friend...imagine how it feels.
I'm trying to understand why this is happening. I know it's not emotionally healthy for me to say, "Please care about me deeply, and then go away and leave me alone." I've allowed more emotional intimacy with more people this year than ever before in my life--not just virtually, but also in person. I've allowed physical touch from people other than my husband--not just quick hug-and-step-away stuff--but real, honest, communicative touch. I've even allowed hand touching for longer than a Mormon handshake, with one person. And what my therapist(s) have told me is true--there is greater communication when people touch while talking. It's not that I've never touched people before, I've just never allowed them to touch me.
So now I'm trying to process all this emotional intimacy/non-sexual physical touch stuff, and it's messing me up inside. For whatever reason, it seems impossible for me to just accept that certain things are. I have to know why, what it means to me, personally, and how I will use it in my life. So I've been digging around, trying to figure things out and I've come up with exactly zero answers.
In the meantime, I believe I've been taking my frustration out on my friends. So I'm going to explain my feelings--and then, if you're one of those lucky people, you'll know why I'm acting like a crazy person:
1. I feel that for the first time in my life, I actually need other people.
2. There are specific needs I have for each person in my life. These may include needing to feel loved, accepted, respected. They may even include a desire to be hugged or held. I have not felt these needs since I was in my early teens. To have them return now is disconcerting.
3. I feel horribly guilty that I need these things. I want to be able to accept any friendship offered and just float along until we get bored of one another. I don't want to muddy the waters by "needing" anything--especially when that might make the other person uneasy or uncomfortable. I also feel that there's something wrong with me because I want something, emotionally, from a friend.
4. In the midst of all this, I feel an extreme need to be independent. If someone offers to help, I'll probably say no--even though I'm dying to say yes.
5. Because of all the guilt, neediness, and assertive independence, I feel a compelling need to isolate myself--perhaps on a desert island until I die.
After reviewing all the evidence above, I have come to the only possible conclusion. In spite of the chronological and physical data to the contrary, I have just turned three years old. There is no other explanation for my behavior and feelings. And don't argue with me about this...three-year-olds hate to be wrong.
I recognized, about three months ago, that I was experiencing less clarity of thought, decreased ability to make decisions about my emotional needs, and huge conflict in my feelings and desires. It was, and is, not unusual for me to feel simultaneously the need to be held and comforted along with an extreme desire to be left alone. I'm dying for help from someone--anyone--and more than likely I'll end up slapping away any metaphorically outstretched hand. "Agonizing to watch..." said my friend...imagine how it feels.
I'm trying to understand why this is happening. I know it's not emotionally healthy for me to say, "Please care about me deeply, and then go away and leave me alone." I've allowed more emotional intimacy with more people this year than ever before in my life--not just virtually, but also in person. I've allowed physical touch from people other than my husband--not just quick hug-and-step-away stuff--but real, honest, communicative touch. I've even allowed hand touching for longer than a Mormon handshake, with one person. And what my therapist(s) have told me is true--there is greater communication when people touch while talking. It's not that I've never touched people before, I've just never allowed them to touch me.
So now I'm trying to process all this emotional intimacy/non-sexual physical touch stuff, and it's messing me up inside. For whatever reason, it seems impossible for me to just accept that certain things are. I have to know why, what it means to me, personally, and how I will use it in my life. So I've been digging around, trying to figure things out and I've come up with exactly zero answers.
In the meantime, I believe I've been taking my frustration out on my friends. So I'm going to explain my feelings--and then, if you're one of those lucky people, you'll know why I'm acting like a crazy person:
1. I feel that for the first time in my life, I actually need other people.
2. There are specific needs I have for each person in my life. These may include needing to feel loved, accepted, respected. They may even include a desire to be hugged or held. I have not felt these needs since I was in my early teens. To have them return now is disconcerting.
3. I feel horribly guilty that I need these things. I want to be able to accept any friendship offered and just float along until we get bored of one another. I don't want to muddy the waters by "needing" anything--especially when that might make the other person uneasy or uncomfortable. I also feel that there's something wrong with me because I want something, emotionally, from a friend.
4. In the midst of all this, I feel an extreme need to be independent. If someone offers to help, I'll probably say no--even though I'm dying to say yes.
5. Because of all the guilt, neediness, and assertive independence, I feel a compelling need to isolate myself--perhaps on a desert island until I die.
After reviewing all the evidence above, I have come to the only possible conclusion. In spite of the chronological and physical data to the contrary, I have just turned three years old. There is no other explanation for my behavior and feelings. And don't argue with me about this...three-year-olds hate to be wrong.
Wednesday, June 20, 2007
Help?
My sister is a teacher finishing up her degree and is running this survey. She needs a large number of participants in order for it to be used so if you have a minute, will you please take part? It's anonymous, of course, and I know everyone's busy, but I'd appreciate it if you could help her out with this.
Here's the link: http://FreeOnlineSurveys.com/rendersurvey.asp?sid=zd9c2jun846p8le313826
Thanks.
Here's the link: http://FreeOnlineSurveys.com/rendersurvey.asp?sid=zd9c2jun846p8le313826
Thanks.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
I have been reading, now, for over a year, blogs about men feeling a desperate need to connect with other men, to give and receive affection, to fall in love. I have spent one-on-one time with many of them, and they have graciously answered my questions. The reason for my interest, I suppose, is because I have never really felt those longings for anyone--or acknowledged that I felt them. I have felt attraction in its most basic form. I've had relationships and some friendships. But prior to this year, with the exception of my husband, I've been emotionally intimate with no one.
I listen as these men express longings I cannot understand. The closest feeling I've had to what they describe is when I became overwhelmed earlier this year, with the need to be held in a non-sexual way, by someone who had no attraction to me. Not the same thing by a long shot, but still, I think the longing part I may have started to understand. Those feelings have since gone away, and now when I feel emotions, they seem to last about ten or fifteen minutes, then they pass and leave me feeling a bit confused that they happened in the first place. I find myself apologizing for acting out of character, building a wall to protect the vulnerable place, and moving on with life.
I have never wanted anyone to share my life, to take care of me when I was ill (I still hate it when someone tries to empathize or help me when I'm sick), to be with me every day. The fact that Darrin is there to fill those non-existent needs is somewhat of a mystery to me. The fact that he stays, knowing I really don't want anyone, is something I understand even less. Perhaps he knows that I love him deeply, and can see beneath all the layers to the point where what I think I need is less valid than what he knows I need. And for whatever reason, he's willing to continue to give to a less than grateful recipient.
I have heard the men I've been "studying" talk about romantic love. Their definition of that phenomenon is much different from my own--which of course, isn't a real definition, but one that I twist to suit my own needs. They listen to songs and respond to the lyrics, attaching hidden meanings and hopeful dreams. I listen to songs and analyze the chord structure, admire occasional musicianship or clever wordsmithing. They dream of their "one and only", "soulmate", "perfect guy", "forever friend." I dream of sleeping, making it through another day successfully, beautiful sights, a really great practice session.
I thought that I would find some answers with the people I've come to know. Instead, I've found more questions about myself. As I've learned how to heal from my past, I'm realizing that it's not really changing who I am. I'm not more "normal". I still feel the need to isolate. I still fight against allowing people to be close to me. I still feel at peace only when I'm running alone. It seems I attached more importance to the results of abuse than I should have. The truth, I suppose, is that I'm just this way.
Sometimes, though, I would like to know how it feels to long for someone with all my soul, to view the world through "in love" eyes, to feel giddy and excited just to be with someone special. To have a heart broken because of love, not because of fear or violence, seems an experience every person should have. To feel purely, and intensely, without a surrounding cushion of numbness, practicality, and inevitability...
I listen as these men express longings I cannot understand. The closest feeling I've had to what they describe is when I became overwhelmed earlier this year, with the need to be held in a non-sexual way, by someone who had no attraction to me. Not the same thing by a long shot, but still, I think the longing part I may have started to understand. Those feelings have since gone away, and now when I feel emotions, they seem to last about ten or fifteen minutes, then they pass and leave me feeling a bit confused that they happened in the first place. I find myself apologizing for acting out of character, building a wall to protect the vulnerable place, and moving on with life.
I have never wanted anyone to share my life, to take care of me when I was ill (I still hate it when someone tries to empathize or help me when I'm sick), to be with me every day. The fact that Darrin is there to fill those non-existent needs is somewhat of a mystery to me. The fact that he stays, knowing I really don't want anyone, is something I understand even less. Perhaps he knows that I love him deeply, and can see beneath all the layers to the point where what I think I need is less valid than what he knows I need. And for whatever reason, he's willing to continue to give to a less than grateful recipient.
I have heard the men I've been "studying" talk about romantic love. Their definition of that phenomenon is much different from my own--which of course, isn't a real definition, but one that I twist to suit my own needs. They listen to songs and respond to the lyrics, attaching hidden meanings and hopeful dreams. I listen to songs and analyze the chord structure, admire occasional musicianship or clever wordsmithing. They dream of their "one and only", "soulmate", "perfect guy", "forever friend." I dream of sleeping, making it through another day successfully, beautiful sights, a really great practice session.
I thought that I would find some answers with the people I've come to know. Instead, I've found more questions about myself. As I've learned how to heal from my past, I'm realizing that it's not really changing who I am. I'm not more "normal". I still feel the need to isolate. I still fight against allowing people to be close to me. I still feel at peace only when I'm running alone. It seems I attached more importance to the results of abuse than I should have. The truth, I suppose, is that I'm just this way.
Sometimes, though, I would like to know how it feels to long for someone with all my soul, to view the world through "in love" eyes, to feel giddy and excited just to be with someone special. To have a heart broken because of love, not because of fear or violence, seems an experience every person should have. To feel purely, and intensely, without a surrounding cushion of numbness, practicality, and inevitability...
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Warning; I never swear except in this post, Part Three
Actually, I'm finished with swearing and there isn't anymore, but this is a continuation of the previous post, so I'm keeping the title.
Following that online conversation, I actually talked with a couple of other trusted friends, revealing the extent and nature of the abuse and allowing myself to express anger about it. Their reactions were similarly accepting, loving, and supportive. I was surprised. This led me to an exploration of my feelings about Person One. I had not realized how much I despised this part of me. I did a lot of writing, and for the first time, I shared some of that with close friends, allowing them to see what I was thinking and feeling.
I told more people. Some of them took it well, and wanted to be of help. Others expressed their inability to cope with the nature of what I was talking about. Rather than feeling rejected by them, I felt I understood them--relating to my feelings of abhorrence when I first began confronting the problems of my past. Some of those who stepped back, have since come back to touch bases and find out how I'm doing. I'm realizing that people cope in different ways, and I'm working on not taking personally things that are not aimed at me. It has been a welcome surprise to have those who were appalled by my past, return to try to support me as I work through things.
There have also been some who have been solidly behind me for many months. Without wavering, they've listened to what I've needed to say, offered physical and virtual support, and loved me no matter what. This has been extremely important as I try to understand my own beliefs about my self-worth and feelings of guilt. Also, at this point, my parents and all of my siblings know of the abuse I suffered (although I haven't told them details--the time for that has not come, and it may never be the right thing to tell them), and three of the seven siblings also know of my sexual orientation.
A large part of all this, but also the newest part, has been the process of learning to cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and all it's side-effects. I have finally finished researching the illness and understand how it affects my everyday life. With Tolkien Boy's help (which he has offered for more than eight months--even though I asked for it for "two to three weeks"--silly me!), I've once again been able to control my nightmares and get some sleep. And in spite of my recent visit to the hospital's "Behavioral Health Unit", I feel better today than I have in more than a year.
I've noted some interesting things as I feel stronger:
1. My feelings are much more level--sometimes I worry that I'm reverting to my past numbness. But I don't really think that's it. I think I'm just not a highly emotional person. I cope with emotion slowly and methodically. I'm not ignoring things, or burying them, just waiting until I can process without interruption.
2. I don't feel the desperate need for human interaction that I've felt over the past year. I don't think this means that I'm less interested in friends or wanting to become isolated. I've always been happy in my own company, and I don't feel lonely when I'm alone. Solitude is important to me. I seek out other people, still, fairly regularly, but I can't deny who I am or force myself to be who I'm not. I spend more time with my chat windows off, not because I'm avoiding people, but because I'm thinking, processing, and at this point I need to do that without as much input from others. I have to know what I think. But if you've given me ideas, advice, or help of any kind, you should know that I'm thinking of that, as well. It's time for me to put everything together, and that requires quiet thought.
3. There is an amazing feeling of peace when I reflect on my past. I've met the man who abused me. That meeting was rather horrible, but also amazing, because I'm no longer afraid of him. There are two reasons for this, one is that he's just sort of a pathetic, middle-aged man, the second is that I arranged, met with, and controlled that meeting by myself--and thanked God that in the restaurant, Tolkien Boy's hand pushed me forward when I actually caught my first glimpse of my cousin and wanted to turn and run away. However, I did complete the meeting, and the times that I view myself as less than dirt are much less frequent. I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm okay, I'm not a contagious disease, and that good, worthwhile people actually care about me regardless of my past, but also as a result of past events, because those who love me want me to become whole.
4. Many of the overwhelming yearnings I've had are becoming more level. The urge to cut seems to have gone away. I'm eating well and had gained at least 10 pounds at my last weigh-in (and I look normal). For awhile there was a gnawing need to find a source of non-sexual touch outside of those who are related to me by blood or marriage (the ones who have to love me--it's required). That need was making me feel more dependent than was comfortable for me. I fought against it in every way I could devise. When I finally gave in, asked someone if he was willing to provide that for me, and accepted his affirmative answer, the need seemed to diminish. Today, it feels non-existant. For me, that's an amazing relief, because if someone hugs or holds me, I want it to be a mutually beneficial experience. If it happens because I'm horribly needy, I'd rather be dead. I know, extreme, but I'm just expressing how I feel.
5. I'm still an overachieving nut-case. I think I always will be. There are many things I thought would change as I've explored my past. The truth is that while I was definitely affected by the things that happened, most of who I am today is based on the person I would have become under any circumstances. The difference is that now I no longer despise the little girl who was trapped and harmed. I don't hate her for not seeking help--she didn't know how. I don't blame her for not making the abuse stop--it was not in her power. I do wish she hadn't had to endure the sadness and pain--rather, I wish I had not had to endure it. That is something I will always wish. But I also know that my life today is beautiful.
I am left with memories, occasional nightmares, and a trauma disorder. I have found friendship, courage, love and self-worth. I discovered a part of myself I had ignored. For months I watched her, nightly, as she coped with pain, cleaned up the mess, and longed for love. Vicariously, I gave that to her as I controlled my nightmares, and with his permission, used help from Tolkien Boy who held her as she slept, and eventually helped her to stop the abuse altogether. I have seen how she survived and grew into a successful businesswoman, creative musician, mother, and wife. Who can despise that? I can no longer.
Following that online conversation, I actually talked with a couple of other trusted friends, revealing the extent and nature of the abuse and allowing myself to express anger about it. Their reactions were similarly accepting, loving, and supportive. I was surprised. This led me to an exploration of my feelings about Person One. I had not realized how much I despised this part of me. I did a lot of writing, and for the first time, I shared some of that with close friends, allowing them to see what I was thinking and feeling.
I told more people. Some of them took it well, and wanted to be of help. Others expressed their inability to cope with the nature of what I was talking about. Rather than feeling rejected by them, I felt I understood them--relating to my feelings of abhorrence when I first began confronting the problems of my past. Some of those who stepped back, have since come back to touch bases and find out how I'm doing. I'm realizing that people cope in different ways, and I'm working on not taking personally things that are not aimed at me. It has been a welcome surprise to have those who were appalled by my past, return to try to support me as I work through things.
There have also been some who have been solidly behind me for many months. Without wavering, they've listened to what I've needed to say, offered physical and virtual support, and loved me no matter what. This has been extremely important as I try to understand my own beliefs about my self-worth and feelings of guilt. Also, at this point, my parents and all of my siblings know of the abuse I suffered (although I haven't told them details--the time for that has not come, and it may never be the right thing to tell them), and three of the seven siblings also know of my sexual orientation.
A large part of all this, but also the newest part, has been the process of learning to cope with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder and all it's side-effects. I have finally finished researching the illness and understand how it affects my everyday life. With Tolkien Boy's help (which he has offered for more than eight months--even though I asked for it for "two to three weeks"--silly me!), I've once again been able to control my nightmares and get some sleep. And in spite of my recent visit to the hospital's "Behavioral Health Unit", I feel better today than I have in more than a year.
I've noted some interesting things as I feel stronger:
1. My feelings are much more level--sometimes I worry that I'm reverting to my past numbness. But I don't really think that's it. I think I'm just not a highly emotional person. I cope with emotion slowly and methodically. I'm not ignoring things, or burying them, just waiting until I can process without interruption.
2. I don't feel the desperate need for human interaction that I've felt over the past year. I don't think this means that I'm less interested in friends or wanting to become isolated. I've always been happy in my own company, and I don't feel lonely when I'm alone. Solitude is important to me. I seek out other people, still, fairly regularly, but I can't deny who I am or force myself to be who I'm not. I spend more time with my chat windows off, not because I'm avoiding people, but because I'm thinking, processing, and at this point I need to do that without as much input from others. I have to know what I think. But if you've given me ideas, advice, or help of any kind, you should know that I'm thinking of that, as well. It's time for me to put everything together, and that requires quiet thought.
3. There is an amazing feeling of peace when I reflect on my past. I've met the man who abused me. That meeting was rather horrible, but also amazing, because I'm no longer afraid of him. There are two reasons for this, one is that he's just sort of a pathetic, middle-aged man, the second is that I arranged, met with, and controlled that meeting by myself--and thanked God that in the restaurant, Tolkien Boy's hand pushed me forward when I actually caught my first glimpse of my cousin and wanted to turn and run away. However, I did complete the meeting, and the times that I view myself as less than dirt are much less frequent. I'm slowly coming to realize that I'm okay, I'm not a contagious disease, and that good, worthwhile people actually care about me regardless of my past, but also as a result of past events, because those who love me want me to become whole.
4. Many of the overwhelming yearnings I've had are becoming more level. The urge to cut seems to have gone away. I'm eating well and had gained at least 10 pounds at my last weigh-in (and I look normal). For awhile there was a gnawing need to find a source of non-sexual touch outside of those who are related to me by blood or marriage (the ones who have to love me--it's required). That need was making me feel more dependent than was comfortable for me. I fought against it in every way I could devise. When I finally gave in, asked someone if he was willing to provide that for me, and accepted his affirmative answer, the need seemed to diminish. Today, it feels non-existant. For me, that's an amazing relief, because if someone hugs or holds me, I want it to be a mutually beneficial experience. If it happens because I'm horribly needy, I'd rather be dead. I know, extreme, but I'm just expressing how I feel.
5. I'm still an overachieving nut-case. I think I always will be. There are many things I thought would change as I've explored my past. The truth is that while I was definitely affected by the things that happened, most of who I am today is based on the person I would have become under any circumstances. The difference is that now I no longer despise the little girl who was trapped and harmed. I don't hate her for not seeking help--she didn't know how. I don't blame her for not making the abuse stop--it was not in her power. I do wish she hadn't had to endure the sadness and pain--rather, I wish I had not had to endure it. That is something I will always wish. But I also know that my life today is beautiful.
I am left with memories, occasional nightmares, and a trauma disorder. I have found friendship, courage, love and self-worth. I discovered a part of myself I had ignored. For months I watched her, nightly, as she coped with pain, cleaned up the mess, and longed for love. Vicariously, I gave that to her as I controlled my nightmares, and with his permission, used help from Tolkien Boy who held her as she slept, and eventually helped her to stop the abuse altogether. I have seen how she survived and grew into a successful businesswoman, creative musician, mother, and wife. Who can despise that? I can no longer.
Warning: I never swear except in this post, Part Two
In the late summer I finally wrote a post detailing some of what happened. I was more ashamed of that publication than I can express. Allowing people to know the extent of my abuse was horribly vulnerable. I felt humiliated and weak. I was certain that as I revealed more, people would feel about me as I felt for myself--that I was tainted and dirty--that I had no worth or dignity--that my life should have ended years ago, because I had nothing left to give.
I removed the post after about a month. During that month I read the comments of people who responded. I think that was a turning point for me. People did not assign blame to me--they empathized. They mourned for the little girl inside me. And for the first time in many years, I wept because I didn't feel that I had to be alone in this anymore. There were people who didn't really know me, who had no personal connection, but who still cared about something that happened many years ago. That was, perhaps, the first time I believed that I might not be exempt from being able to find human love outside of one or two people.
The experience of showing a part of what had happened to an unknown audience made me feel a bit daring and reckless. I had made a new friend who seemed to enjoy chatting with me often. During one of our conversations I alluded to the abuse in my life, allowing him to know of one of the ways in which I had been raped. His reaction was unexpected and angry. Even though the anger was directed at my cousin, I was unprepared for his emotions. I pulled back immediately and avoided the subject for awhile. But one night I was online after midnight and he began chatting with me. I was tired, I'd had a very difficult day, and I lost all good sense during our conversation. But I think this was the first time that I felt any real emotion about my past and shared it, allowing myself to open up and be vulnerable. I used a word I never use--but it was the best I could come up with for this conversation. I had yet to admit that I had been raped. For whatever reason, rape seemed too horrible to accept. This was a step toward acknowledging that reality:
me: wow--there are lots of people hurting at 2:30 a.m.
Good Friend: yes, you're good to talk with them
me: I don't know why they talk to me--it doesn't solve anything, and I never tell them what to do.
Good Friend: people don't want their problems solved, they want them validated
me: You're probably right. That's an interesting thing to think about, for me, because I DON'T like to talk about my problems.
Good Friend: why not?
me: I suppose because I see them as so ugly, not really sharable
Good Friend: your problems may run deeper than other people's?
me: probably not. It's just how I see it
Good Friend: :) Well, it's not a bad thing unless you need to talk about things
me: That was one of my counseling assignments: Tell others about the abuse in my past. carefully select people I feel safe confiding in. So I blogged it instead. my therapist said it didn't count
Good Friend: he may be right, even talking about it online is different than actually talking to someone
me: So I told you a tiny little bit--and it was upsetting to you. I don't think I'll ever be able to complete that assignment
Good Friend: Well, be fair to me, the fact that you were hurt made me upset because I don't like you to be hurt, but it didn't bring me down
me: I'm not being unfair--I totally understand how it can be upsetting.
Good Friend: or make me feel that I was sorry I asked
me: I told my therapist I didn't understand why it was necessary to tell people. He said, until I can talk about it...it won't be over. I disagree.
Good Friend: really?
me: It was over a long time ago. and yes
Good Friend: but it isn't over for you, I mean, it still bothers you
me: But right now it only affects me. If I tell, then it affects more people. I need to understand why
Good Friend: understand why?
me: Why it's important to share the ugliness
Good Friend: because it's not your responsibility to carry it all?
me: The only one I could tell, whose responsibility it is, is my cousin. He already knows
Good Friend: I guess I'm talking more about the people who love you and want to help
and for you, too, it's tempting to lock things inside that hurt
me: AAGGHHH...this is agonizing.
Good Friend: sorry
me: No I'M sorry
Good Friend: lol, why be sorry? you're a wonderful, precious friend and I want you to be happy. I want there to be nothing you're afraid of. I think that no one who loves you views you as a burden
me: Yeah, but that's the thing--they don't know!!!
Good Friend: what don't they know?
me: How awful--how messed up--how hellishly miserable the things my therapist wants me to say, actually are.
Good Friend: I think, maybe, that's why he wants you to say them so that you can see, through other people's eyes, that there isn't anything that can make people no longer love you and that the things you think are the worst things of you have no bearing on how other people see and love you
me: So if I tell you that when I was almost 12 my cousin fucked the hell out of me--using every orifice possible, and leaving me to clean up my own blood and his semen--every possible night for nearly four months--that doesn't change how you feel about me?
Good Friend: no. I love you every bit as I ever did. I really, really want to give you a hug for having to deal with such a difficult thing
me: I just want to scream
Good Friend: but I love you, and the actions of someone so sick does not make me love you less
me: I don't understand--and I am not a stupid person--how knowing that I've been defiled can't change how people feel
Good Friend: You're not a stupid person at all, but you're missing what I see, which is that the fact that someone took advantage of you doesn't say anything about you. It says too much about him, but all it says is that you've had a horrible, crushing thing to deal with, and your bravery in dealing with it has made you beautiful to me. Maybe it's better explained this way. If I met a girl who had been burned in a fire, I would get to know her and find out who she was. But I wouldn't think that the fact that she got burned said anything about who she was. I know it's different. Metaphors are bad but in my mind, it's about the same distinction.
me: I think I know what you're saying. But I have to say just a couple of things.
First--I really don't want people to pity me. I don't know why that's important to me, but I feel rather fierce about it.
Good Friend: that's understandable
me: Second--I'm so sorry for putting my experiences in the way that I did--sort of attacking and very crass.
Good Friend: well, apology accepted, but I wasn't hurt by it and I wouldn't expect you to not have strong feelings about it
me: No, but I'm very good at controlling my language--I could have said it differently.
Good Friend: I wasn't offended
me: I was.
Good Friend: okay
me: I'm sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed. I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that I finally told someone--and I don't have a clue what I'm feeling--very confusing. And I'm also trying to move on, so you don't have to think about it anymore.
Good Friend: I'm all right thinking about it for a while
me: I might have an inkling of why my therapist gave me my assignment
Good Friend: why is that?
me: there's actually some relief being felt right now.
Good Friend: Think how much more it would be if I were an actual person!
:D
me: I'm not quite ready for that.
Good Friend: well, that's also understandable, but it's not a bad thing to think about
me: Besides, then I would have to see the emotions felt by said actual person--I don't know if I could deal with that.
Good Friend: if you choose your confidante wisely, I think you'll see love
me: AND they would see me cry--I know I would hate that.
Good Friend: I also hate being vulnerable
me: Yeah. Good Friend, thanks for loving me, in spite of me
Good Friend: Well, I honestly, honestly mean it when I say you've never given me any reason not to love you, and you continue always to be lovable
me: and I love you.
Good Friend: :) then I think we should continue to be friends
me: Okay. Good night
Good Friend: Okay. Good night
I removed the post after about a month. During that month I read the comments of people who responded. I think that was a turning point for me. People did not assign blame to me--they empathized. They mourned for the little girl inside me. And for the first time in many years, I wept because I didn't feel that I had to be alone in this anymore. There were people who didn't really know me, who had no personal connection, but who still cared about something that happened many years ago. That was, perhaps, the first time I believed that I might not be exempt from being able to find human love outside of one or two people.
The experience of showing a part of what had happened to an unknown audience made me feel a bit daring and reckless. I had made a new friend who seemed to enjoy chatting with me often. During one of our conversations I alluded to the abuse in my life, allowing him to know of one of the ways in which I had been raped. His reaction was unexpected and angry. Even though the anger was directed at my cousin, I was unprepared for his emotions. I pulled back immediately and avoided the subject for awhile. But one night I was online after midnight and he began chatting with me. I was tired, I'd had a very difficult day, and I lost all good sense during our conversation. But I think this was the first time that I felt any real emotion about my past and shared it, allowing myself to open up and be vulnerable. I used a word I never use--but it was the best I could come up with for this conversation. I had yet to admit that I had been raped. For whatever reason, rape seemed too horrible to accept. This was a step toward acknowledging that reality:
me: wow--there are lots of people hurting at 2:30 a.m.
Good Friend: yes, you're good to talk with them
me: I don't know why they talk to me--it doesn't solve anything, and I never tell them what to do.
Good Friend: people don't want their problems solved, they want them validated
me: You're probably right. That's an interesting thing to think about, for me, because I DON'T like to talk about my problems.
Good Friend: why not?
me: I suppose because I see them as so ugly, not really sharable
Good Friend: your problems may run deeper than other people's?
me: probably not. It's just how I see it
Good Friend: :) Well, it's not a bad thing unless you need to talk about things
me: That was one of my counseling assignments: Tell others about the abuse in my past. carefully select people I feel safe confiding in. So I blogged it instead. my therapist said it didn't count
Good Friend: he may be right, even talking about it online is different than actually talking to someone
me: So I told you a tiny little bit--and it was upsetting to you. I don't think I'll ever be able to complete that assignment
Good Friend: Well, be fair to me, the fact that you were hurt made me upset because I don't like you to be hurt, but it didn't bring me down
me: I'm not being unfair--I totally understand how it can be upsetting.
Good Friend: or make me feel that I was sorry I asked
me: I told my therapist I didn't understand why it was necessary to tell people. He said, until I can talk about it...it won't be over. I disagree.
Good Friend: really?
me: It was over a long time ago. and yes
Good Friend: but it isn't over for you, I mean, it still bothers you
me: But right now it only affects me. If I tell, then it affects more people. I need to understand why
Good Friend: understand why?
me: Why it's important to share the ugliness
Good Friend: because it's not your responsibility to carry it all?
me: The only one I could tell, whose responsibility it is, is my cousin. He already knows
Good Friend: I guess I'm talking more about the people who love you and want to help
and for you, too, it's tempting to lock things inside that hurt
me: AAGGHHH...this is agonizing.
Good Friend: sorry
me: No I'M sorry
Good Friend: lol, why be sorry? you're a wonderful, precious friend and I want you to be happy. I want there to be nothing you're afraid of. I think that no one who loves you views you as a burden
me: Yeah, but that's the thing--they don't know!!!
Good Friend: what don't they know?
me: How awful--how messed up--how hellishly miserable the things my therapist wants me to say, actually are.
Good Friend: I think, maybe, that's why he wants you to say them so that you can see, through other people's eyes, that there isn't anything that can make people no longer love you and that the things you think are the worst things of you have no bearing on how other people see and love you
me: So if I tell you that when I was almost 12 my cousin fucked the hell out of me--using every orifice possible, and leaving me to clean up my own blood and his semen--every possible night for nearly four months--that doesn't change how you feel about me?
Good Friend: no. I love you every bit as I ever did. I really, really want to give you a hug for having to deal with such a difficult thing
me: I just want to scream
Good Friend: but I love you, and the actions of someone so sick does not make me love you less
me: I don't understand--and I am not a stupid person--how knowing that I've been defiled can't change how people feel
Good Friend: You're not a stupid person at all, but you're missing what I see, which is that the fact that someone took advantage of you doesn't say anything about you. It says too much about him, but all it says is that you've had a horrible, crushing thing to deal with, and your bravery in dealing with it has made you beautiful to me. Maybe it's better explained this way. If I met a girl who had been burned in a fire, I would get to know her and find out who she was. But I wouldn't think that the fact that she got burned said anything about who she was. I know it's different. Metaphors are bad but in my mind, it's about the same distinction.
me: I think I know what you're saying. But I have to say just a couple of things.
First--I really don't want people to pity me. I don't know why that's important to me, but I feel rather fierce about it.
Good Friend: that's understandable
me: Second--I'm so sorry for putting my experiences in the way that I did--sort of attacking and very crass.
Good Friend: well, apology accepted, but I wasn't hurt by it and I wouldn't expect you to not have strong feelings about it
me: No, but I'm very good at controlling my language--I could have said it differently.
Good Friend: I wasn't offended
me: I was.
Good Friend: okay
me: I'm sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed. I'm trying to wrap my head around the fact that I finally told someone--and I don't have a clue what I'm feeling--very confusing. And I'm also trying to move on, so you don't have to think about it anymore.
Good Friend: I'm all right thinking about it for a while
me: I might have an inkling of why my therapist gave me my assignment
Good Friend: why is that?
me: there's actually some relief being felt right now.
Good Friend: Think how much more it would be if I were an actual person!
:D
me: I'm not quite ready for that.
Good Friend: well, that's also understandable, but it's not a bad thing to think about
me: Besides, then I would have to see the emotions felt by said actual person--I don't know if I could deal with that.
Good Friend: if you choose your confidante wisely, I think you'll see love
me: AND they would see me cry--I know I would hate that.
Good Friend: I also hate being vulnerable
me: Yeah. Good Friend, thanks for loving me, in spite of me
Good Friend: Well, I honestly, honestly mean it when I say you've never given me any reason not to love you, and you continue always to be lovable
me: and I love you.
Good Friend: :) then I think we should continue to be friends
me: Okay. Good night
Good Friend: Okay. Good night
Warning: I never swear--except in this post, Part One
It's been a few days since I've posted. For me, that's sort of monumental. It's not unknown for me to post more than once daily. But something's been happening, and I'm trying to understand it well enought to express it.
For the first time in more than a year, I feel like me again. It's as if all the "new" (which constitutes old stuff I've refused to acknowledge) has merged with the familiar and brought me back to the place where I began.
This time last year, I was two separate people. Person One was a little girl begging to be acknowledged, crying for love and comfort, desperately sad, horribly used and hurt, confused, betrayed and abandoned. I hated and feared her. She represented to me all that was weak and vulnerable. She couldn't protect herself. She endured loathsome abuse that I could hardly bear to think about. I had consciously put her away because it was overwhelming for me to believe that she was me.
Person Two was an overachiever, organized, driven, and logical. She never cried--ever. Failure was not an option. Life was to be laughed at and never mourned. She was not afraid of anything except for the hidden things inside.
Still, Person Two is really an impossible entity. If I hadn't been confronted with my past, I believe I would have driven myself to a breakdown, eventually. As it was, I sort of had one anyway, so maybe that's all part of the package.
At some point I allowed Person One to become known. I began with my husband, then my father, and slowly continued to tell people of my experience--in summarizing sentences with very little detail. There were a few people who got more detail about the things I felt, but not about the abuse experiences themselves. I wrote a romanticized free-write about the way my cousin led up to the point when he actually abused me, and gave the impression that there was one rather sterile night when he raped me. It was too much to actually admit the truth and share it with anyone else. There were too many unresolved feelings, many of guilt and poor self-image. I just couldn't do it. And the truth is, until I was able to say what actually happened, and admit how I felt about it, I couldn't receive that which I needed to heal.
For the first time in more than a year, I feel like me again. It's as if all the "new" (which constitutes old stuff I've refused to acknowledge) has merged with the familiar and brought me back to the place where I began.
This time last year, I was two separate people. Person One was a little girl begging to be acknowledged, crying for love and comfort, desperately sad, horribly used and hurt, confused, betrayed and abandoned. I hated and feared her. She represented to me all that was weak and vulnerable. She couldn't protect herself. She endured loathsome abuse that I could hardly bear to think about. I had consciously put her away because it was overwhelming for me to believe that she was me.
Person Two was an overachiever, organized, driven, and logical. She never cried--ever. Failure was not an option. Life was to be laughed at and never mourned. She was not afraid of anything except for the hidden things inside.
Still, Person Two is really an impossible entity. If I hadn't been confronted with my past, I believe I would have driven myself to a breakdown, eventually. As it was, I sort of had one anyway, so maybe that's all part of the package.
At some point I allowed Person One to become known. I began with my husband, then my father, and slowly continued to tell people of my experience--in summarizing sentences with very little detail. There were a few people who got more detail about the things I felt, but not about the abuse experiences themselves. I wrote a romanticized free-write about the way my cousin led up to the point when he actually abused me, and gave the impression that there was one rather sterile night when he raped me. It was too much to actually admit the truth and share it with anyone else. There were too many unresolved feelings, many of guilt and poor self-image. I just couldn't do it. And the truth is, until I was able to say what actually happened, and admit how I felt about it, I couldn't receive that which I needed to heal.
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Language of Love, or Love of Language?
I don't remember a time when I haven't loved reading. My parents tell me I learned to read at age three. All I know is that when I discovered the bookshelf in my Kindergarten room, I thought I'd found heaven. My teacher, for whatever reason, felt that it would be inappropriate to allow me to read the books (they were for "reading aloud"), and as a result, I spent much of the time looking at the spines,wondering what was inside, and getting an F in coloring, snacktime, and naptime. I did well at recess, though, securing at least a B.
My parents moved frequently during my elementary school years. Most of the time I didn't mind, but when we moved the final time I was entering fourth grade. We had been living in a tiny town in Idaho. I loved it there. I had many friends, I felt accepted, it was a good place to live. We relocated to Hicktown, Wyoming--and I hated it. Most of the children in my class had lived there all their lives and were not interested in newcomers. Making friends was difficult, and my teacher disliked me, for whatever reason. I remember sitting in front of a boy who was flexing a plastic ruler and releasing it into the back of my neck. I walked to my teacher, who was sitting at her desk, mentioned that it hurt and asked for her help. She told me, rather nastily, "No one likes a tattletale," and went back to grading papers. I walked to my seat and the ruler commenced it's meeting with my neck. The boy finally found another activity when the welts he was making came to the notice of the girl sitting next to him and she mentioned that she was going to beat him up at recess if he didn't stop. This was not a happy class. I felt displaced and lonely.
However, the new school had a very good library. I believe in the three years that I was there, I read every book in the juvenile fiction section, some of them more than once. I immersed myself in reading to escape the new situations in which I found it difficult to cope. By the time I was in sixth grade, I'd found a social circle and a niche, but reading was, and is still, my first love. Darrin understands that he ranks first in my life--right after my love of literature.
My parents had a box filled with paperback classics--Shakespeare, Poe, Dickens, Stevenson, Homer, Scott, Emerson, Thoreau, and others. It was in these that I learned the real beauty of language. I began reading them when I was eleven. They became my salvation when I was twelve. I'm certain that given my age, there was very little that I truly understood, but I was mesmerized by their narratives and read them repeatedly. A dictionary sat next to me as I read--these were not words introduced in fifth and sixth grade vocabulary. I fell in love with the authors. They were more real to me than the stories they had written. I would sometimes imagine that they were my friends, keeping me company when I was consumed by sadness after the episodes of abuse in my life. I remember telling Henry David Thoreau (as we walked in the mountains behind my home) about how much it hurt inside after my cousin abused me. He nodded and agreed that was a very difficult thing, then pointed out how lovely the wildflowers were that day, and together we caught and held a tiny frog. And one time, Shakespeare and I identified cloud shapes in the sky as I suggested to him that, while his tragedies were certainly worthwhile and interesting, I much preferred his comedies and sonnets. He agreed with me.
While I realized that none of the authors wrote their stories for me, imagining that they had done so helped me live through many days. I'm quite certain that when a story is being written, the last thing on the author's mind is whether or not an abused little girl will cling to those words as a lifeline, and thank a God in whom she no longer believes, for the man or woman who penned them. Regardless of their past cognizance, someday I hope they know. They touched my life and sustained me in a hopeless time. And while my life is only one of many, and I am no more remarkable than anyone else, I think it's rather amazing that they were able to reach into the future just for me. I know--they didn't, really--but I still intend to believe it.
My parents moved frequently during my elementary school years. Most of the time I didn't mind, but when we moved the final time I was entering fourth grade. We had been living in a tiny town in Idaho. I loved it there. I had many friends, I felt accepted, it was a good place to live. We relocated to Hicktown, Wyoming--and I hated it. Most of the children in my class had lived there all their lives and were not interested in newcomers. Making friends was difficult, and my teacher disliked me, for whatever reason. I remember sitting in front of a boy who was flexing a plastic ruler and releasing it into the back of my neck. I walked to my teacher, who was sitting at her desk, mentioned that it hurt and asked for her help. She told me, rather nastily, "No one likes a tattletale," and went back to grading papers. I walked to my seat and the ruler commenced it's meeting with my neck. The boy finally found another activity when the welts he was making came to the notice of the girl sitting next to him and she mentioned that she was going to beat him up at recess if he didn't stop. This was not a happy class. I felt displaced and lonely.
However, the new school had a very good library. I believe in the three years that I was there, I read every book in the juvenile fiction section, some of them more than once. I immersed myself in reading to escape the new situations in which I found it difficult to cope. By the time I was in sixth grade, I'd found a social circle and a niche, but reading was, and is still, my first love. Darrin understands that he ranks first in my life--right after my love of literature.
My parents had a box filled with paperback classics--Shakespeare, Poe, Dickens, Stevenson, Homer, Scott, Emerson, Thoreau, and others. It was in these that I learned the real beauty of language. I began reading them when I was eleven. They became my salvation when I was twelve. I'm certain that given my age, there was very little that I truly understood, but I was mesmerized by their narratives and read them repeatedly. A dictionary sat next to me as I read--these were not words introduced in fifth and sixth grade vocabulary. I fell in love with the authors. They were more real to me than the stories they had written. I would sometimes imagine that they were my friends, keeping me company when I was consumed by sadness after the episodes of abuse in my life. I remember telling Henry David Thoreau (as we walked in the mountains behind my home) about how much it hurt inside after my cousin abused me. He nodded and agreed that was a very difficult thing, then pointed out how lovely the wildflowers were that day, and together we caught and held a tiny frog. And one time, Shakespeare and I identified cloud shapes in the sky as I suggested to him that, while his tragedies were certainly worthwhile and interesting, I much preferred his comedies and sonnets. He agreed with me.
While I realized that none of the authors wrote their stories for me, imagining that they had done so helped me live through many days. I'm quite certain that when a story is being written, the last thing on the author's mind is whether or not an abused little girl will cling to those words as a lifeline, and thank a God in whom she no longer believes, for the man or woman who penned them. Regardless of their past cognizance, someday I hope they know. They touched my life and sustained me in a hopeless time. And while my life is only one of many, and I am no more remarkable than anyone else, I think it's rather amazing that they were able to reach into the future just for me. I know--they didn't, really--but I still intend to believe it.
Wednesday, June 13, 2007
Age Before Beauty
I just have to say that I'm the only one in my yoga class who can meditate in the headstand position (and please don't ask me what its real name is, because it's all I can do to hold the position in the first place. Terminology, in this case, is irrelevant). Actually, I'm the only one who can even attain the headstand position. I attribute this to years of strength training and body building, having nothing else that I can think of (other than Tolkien Boy's assertion that I am the next stage of evolution because I have no allergies, rarely get sick, my feet, nose and ears don't grow larger as the years pass, and I seem to have an inability to act my age). So, yeah, yay for me!!
And now I'm going to shower, because doing all that twisty, stretchy yoga stuff makes me sweat more than running--what's that all about???
By the way, I have no idea what the title of this post has to do with its content.
And now I'm going to shower, because doing all that twisty, stretchy yoga stuff makes me sweat more than running--what's that all about???
By the way, I have no idea what the title of this post has to do with its content.
Tuesday, June 12, 2007
Fred
On my way to class this morning, I found a hummingbird moth. It was wet from our rainy night and unable to fly. I took it with me.
My students thought the moth was beautiful, and immediately dubbed him, "Fred", after deciding that in a class 100% female, we needed a token male. Fred was well-behaved and didn't fly around until after we were finished with class. I caught him, took him outside, and set him in some flowers. He flexed his wings for a few minutes, then flew away, as good as new.
How many times does that happen in a music history class? Never say my teaching methods are not innovative (even though the moth had nothing whatever to do with the subject being taught).
My students thought the moth was beautiful, and immediately dubbed him, "Fred", after deciding that in a class 100% female, we needed a token male. Fred was well-behaved and didn't fly around until after we were finished with class. I caught him, took him outside, and set him in some flowers. He flexed his wings for a few minutes, then flew away, as good as new.
How many times does that happen in a music history class? Never say my teaching methods are not innovative (even though the moth had nothing whatever to do with the subject being taught).
Things I don't usually say
I don't share my feelings of attraction with friends. I never have. I've always felt that it was something that had only to do with me, and to talk about it with others, especially when I never plan to pursue such feelings in any way, simply makes a difficult situation worse. Even in the past, when I did plan to act, I still kept my feelings to myself. I didn't even discuss them with the person in question. I'm assigning no value judgment to my reticence. It is simply the way I am.
Yesterday, however, for whatever reason, I found myself discussing a person for whom I've recently felt attraction, with another friend. It was odd, and I don't know why I even brought it up. I don't feel a need for encouragement--I've been dealing with this long enough that I know exactly what to do. I don't feel the need to build common ground--my friend and I are way beyond that. I don't need advice...while I'm sometimes tempted, I also know what I really want, and I have it. Temptation is normal. I have no idea why the words came out of me.
me: Today was an interesting SSA day.
Friend: Wait, explain the interesting ssa-ness.
me: Of all people, I thought you'd understand. Aren't you a struggler?
Friend: but you don't usually struggle with SSA. I, on the other hand should just resign myself to the evergreen support group and post on D2
me: I didn't say I struggled, I said it was interesting. So, I've worked with a girl, J, for three years now--and in several different circumstances. We're good friends. But it would be easy to cross lines with her, and I think it's because she's sending out very strong signals that I keep ignoring. She says she's bi-, and she knows I'm married, I think...maybe not...actually, I'm not sure. Well, that could answer some questions, right there.
Friend: That's awkward.
me: So you probably wish I hadn't brought this up, but now I'm glad I did. She and I have something to talk about tomorrow.
So now I'm left with a sort of unusual conversation (for me, anyway). However, I will talk with J if she continues to go out of her way to solicit responses I'd rather not experience, and that could be interesting.
I suppose this proves to my friend that I'm very, very human. Somehow, I can't imagine that this is earth-shattering news.
Yesterday, however, for whatever reason, I found myself discussing a person for whom I've recently felt attraction, with another friend. It was odd, and I don't know why I even brought it up. I don't feel a need for encouragement--I've been dealing with this long enough that I know exactly what to do. I don't feel the need to build common ground--my friend and I are way beyond that. I don't need advice...while I'm sometimes tempted, I also know what I really want, and I have it. Temptation is normal. I have no idea why the words came out of me.
me: Today was an interesting SSA day.
Friend: Wait, explain the interesting ssa-ness.
me: Of all people, I thought you'd understand. Aren't you a struggler?
Friend: but you don't usually struggle with SSA. I, on the other hand should just resign myself to the evergreen support group and post on D2
me: I didn't say I struggled, I said it was interesting. So, I've worked with a girl, J, for three years now--and in several different circumstances. We're good friends. But it would be easy to cross lines with her, and I think it's because she's sending out very strong signals that I keep ignoring. She says she's bi-, and she knows I'm married, I think...maybe not...actually, I'm not sure. Well, that could answer some questions, right there.
Friend: That's awkward.
me: So you probably wish I hadn't brought this up, but now I'm glad I did. She and I have something to talk about tomorrow.
So now I'm left with a sort of unusual conversation (for me, anyway). However, I will talk with J if she continues to go out of her way to solicit responses I'd rather not experience, and that could be interesting.
I suppose this proves to my friend that I'm very, very human. Somehow, I can't imagine that this is earth-shattering news.
Monday, June 11, 2007
QOTD
"Can you move forward with a life you value and do the things that you believe are good to do and right to do, that you believe in?"
--Warren Throckmorton
Oh, I just have to add: I slept last night. Finally. It was very difficult getting to that point and I'm firmly convinced that sleep should never be such hard work.
--Warren Throckmorton
Oh, I just have to add: I slept last night. Finally. It was very difficult getting to that point and I'm firmly convinced that sleep should never be such hard work.
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Today I began teaching summer music institute at the university. It's a week long session with classes beginning at 8:00 a.m. The performance students will work together to prepare ensemble pieces for a recital. They have five days to practice before the performance. It's rather intense, but so much fun. Lydia and I spent four hours auditioning students. I enjoy meeting them, and enjoy hearing them play, but four hours is a long time.
I asked to be relieved of two of my classes. I've never done that before. I just feel that given my trouble with sleep, I need to not be so involved this year. I'm also not performing a solo recital this year. I'm trying not to feel that I'm failing. It's difficult.
I have six return students. They asked if they could study with me privately this week. I suggested they take lessons from Lydia, who is head of the piano faculty. She said she would take most of my private students. So I have only two this week. Lydia saw me for the first time in a couple of months today. Usually I get a "You're too beautiful. Why aren't you a lesbian?" comment. This time I heard, "Samantha, you look like sh*t! What's going on?" Yeah, it was lovely.
I don't feel that I'm making any progress. I'm trying different strategies. That's all I have to say, I guess.
I asked to be relieved of two of my classes. I've never done that before. I just feel that given my trouble with sleep, I need to not be so involved this year. I'm also not performing a solo recital this year. I'm trying not to feel that I'm failing. It's difficult.
I have six return students. They asked if they could study with me privately this week. I suggested they take lessons from Lydia, who is head of the piano faculty. She said she would take most of my private students. So I have only two this week. Lydia saw me for the first time in a couple of months today. Usually I get a "You're too beautiful. Why aren't you a lesbian?" comment. This time I heard, "Samantha, you look like sh*t! What's going on?" Yeah, it was lovely.
I don't feel that I'm making any progress. I'm trying different strategies. That's all I have to say, I guess.
Danny today
If you're familiar with Armi and Danny's "I wanna Love You Tender", this is Danny today. It's one of the scariest things I've ever seen.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Thursday, June 7, 2007
Oh yeah...one more thing...
My new therapist called me today. I wasn't aware that I had one, but apparently one of the psychiatrists at the hospital asked her to give me a call. The therapist wanted to meet with me next week, but I'm teaching classes at the university all week. So I have an appointment a week from Thursday.
I know...this is whining...I don't want to go...
Someday, when I'm resurrected, I think I'll be a ladybug.
I know...this is whining...I don't want to go...
Someday, when I'm resurrected, I think I'll be a ladybug.
My mom makes me nuts
I love power yoga. Before my eating disorder reasserted itself, I did a lot of resistance training and body building. Smart psychiatrist says one reason I love this is because I'm trying to protect myself any way that I can. I think I just like it--there doesn't have to be a reason. However, when my eating disorder became a problem, I cut out the weightlifting. I substituted power yoga which uses light weights but doesn't build bulk.
My mother decided to joing me last night. I told her it might not be a good idea. She ignored me.
This morning she called Adam, asking if he could come help her. It seems she's somewhat immobile and can't lift anything.
I've been told I never listen to anybody, which isn't true. But if it were true...I would come by it naturally...
My mother decided to joing me last night. I told her it might not be a good idea. She ignored me.
This morning she called Adam, asking if he could come help her. It seems she's somewhat immobile and can't lift anything.
I've been told I never listen to anybody, which isn't true. But if it were true...I would come by it naturally...
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Love
rtI realized something about love today. I freely express love to people. I don't feel self-conscious or uncomfortable, and I don't really care if my love is returned. If I love you, I'll probably tell you whether you like it or not. And I don't have to have met you to feel love for you. I just do. It's fairly uncomplicated.
The flip side is that, while I want others to love me (I think), I'm much more comfortable when my love is not reciprocated, verbally or otherwise. I'm fine if I love people who don't know who I am and who feel nothing for me. So I've been thinking about what that means, and I think I've figured some of it out.
1. If my love is one-sided, I never have to worry about vulnerablity. I'm the one who has feelings for the other and I'm in complete control of the situation. I don't have to worry about whether or not the other person will stop loving me, because they don't in the first place.
2. I don't have to decide if I'm worth loving. The point is moot because it doesn't exist. That leaves me free to feel however I choose, without anyone else's feelings complicating the situation.
3. My independence is left intact. I don't have to work on a relationship/friendship because there is none. You can tell me not to love you, but I'll do as I please, regardless.
4. If the recipient of my love never expresses love back, I don't have to wonder if he/she really means what is expressed--or if it's just an aesthetically pleasing response.
I suppose what I've realized is that loving people with abandon, but not wanting that love returned feels natural and free to me--and it leaves me protected and in control. I like that.
Tolkien Boy might argue with me that there's no satisfaction in such relationships. Satisfaction is not what I'm looking for.
I also realized that while I feel safe and strong in this situation, when someone does express love to me, it gets into my heart and overwhelms me a bit. And while I feel exposed and scared by such feelings, I also feel sort of grateful that person cares about me, and I want that to continue.
Ick. This is such a weird post.
The flip side is that, while I want others to love me (I think), I'm much more comfortable when my love is not reciprocated, verbally or otherwise. I'm fine if I love people who don't know who I am and who feel nothing for me. So I've been thinking about what that means, and I think I've figured some of it out.
1. If my love is one-sided, I never have to worry about vulnerablity. I'm the one who has feelings for the other and I'm in complete control of the situation. I don't have to worry about whether or not the other person will stop loving me, because they don't in the first place.
2. I don't have to decide if I'm worth loving. The point is moot because it doesn't exist. That leaves me free to feel however I choose, without anyone else's feelings complicating the situation.
3. My independence is left intact. I don't have to work on a relationship/friendship because there is none. You can tell me not to love you, but I'll do as I please, regardless.
4. If the recipient of my love never expresses love back, I don't have to wonder if he/she really means what is expressed--or if it's just an aesthetically pleasing response.
I suppose what I've realized is that loving people with abandon, but not wanting that love returned feels natural and free to me--and it leaves me protected and in control. I like that.
Tolkien Boy might argue with me that there's no satisfaction in such relationships. Satisfaction is not what I'm looking for.
I also realized that while I feel safe and strong in this situation, when someone does express love to me, it gets into my heart and overwhelms me a bit. And while I feel exposed and scared by such feelings, I also feel sort of grateful that person cares about me, and I want that to continue.
Ick. This is such a weird post.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Giving In
Isn't it interesting that even though I know what to do, even though I know what will solve my current problem, even though I know where to turn for help, I still don't want to do it? It's difficult to rewire impulses that have been practiced for many years.
I'm back at square one with the nightmares. I have to accept help and start doing my daily/nightly work to be able to control what I see. I've been putting it off, or just going through the motions because the person I need to help me is also the current agressor in my dreams--which really sucks. So...I let myself hit rock bottom. I did the debate about whether to take the medication which will repress my nightmares for the rest of my life. Then I realized that if I don't at least try to work through this, I will regret it, and I'll be left with the memory of a nightmare I really wish to change.
So starting this morning I began to lay the groundwork for dream direction. I'll work on it the rest of this week. I do lots of writing, and visualization. I've spent hours talking with Tolkien Boy, trying to reestablish the trust threshold that's been destroyed by the stupid nightmares. I'll be doing meditation before bed (along with a whole lot of prayer). If the pattern follows my first attempt at this, I'll be exhausted for the first couple of nights, and then it will get easier. And I'll stop making excuses to not accept help, swallow my pride and take what's offered because it's not forever, and I will become stronger because of it.
I just wish I didn't have to go through all the crap I put myself through before I can become humble enough to realize I really can't do this by myself, and even if it makes me the most needy person in the world, sometimes I just have to accept that I don't have super powers. It would be nice, though...
Wish me luck? Pray for me? Light a candle? Cast a spell? Hey, as long as I'm accepting help--I'll take it from whatever source it may come.
I'm back at square one with the nightmares. I have to accept help and start doing my daily/nightly work to be able to control what I see. I've been putting it off, or just going through the motions because the person I need to help me is also the current agressor in my dreams--which really sucks. So...I let myself hit rock bottom. I did the debate about whether to take the medication which will repress my nightmares for the rest of my life. Then I realized that if I don't at least try to work through this, I will regret it, and I'll be left with the memory of a nightmare I really wish to change.
So starting this morning I began to lay the groundwork for dream direction. I'll work on it the rest of this week. I do lots of writing, and visualization. I've spent hours talking with Tolkien Boy, trying to reestablish the trust threshold that's been destroyed by the stupid nightmares. I'll be doing meditation before bed (along with a whole lot of prayer). If the pattern follows my first attempt at this, I'll be exhausted for the first couple of nights, and then it will get easier. And I'll stop making excuses to not accept help, swallow my pride and take what's offered because it's not forever, and I will become stronger because of it.
I just wish I didn't have to go through all the crap I put myself through before I can become humble enough to realize I really can't do this by myself, and even if it makes me the most needy person in the world, sometimes I just have to accept that I don't have super powers. It would be nice, though...
Wish me luck? Pray for me? Light a candle? Cast a spell? Hey, as long as I'm accepting help--I'll take it from whatever source it may come.
Monday, June 4, 2007
Could I be you?
Something is wrong with the sum of us
That I can't seem to erase
I'm trying. Each day I move closer to coming to terms with the things I've experienced. Each night I'm reminded I have more work to do.
How can I be the only one
Without a smile on my face
Except--I am smiling--I always smile. But not inside. In that place I'm screaming and I don't know how to let it out.
Well now, you're laughing out loud
At just the thought of being alive
And I was wondering
Could I just be you tonight
Please? Just for a night. Tomorrow I'll be me again, but maybe I could have just one night of rest.
You show your pain like it really hurts
And I can't even start to feel mine
Because every time I try, it overwhelms me. I can't ignore it any longer, but I'm too afraid to allow myself to feel anything right now. For awhile I was doing well with this, but then it became too much, and I'm right back where I started from. I'm beginning to realize this will never end--and that someday I'm going to have to figure this out.
Well, I'm standing in place
With my head first and I shake, I shake
Because it seems too much for one person to do. Because I don't think I'm strong enough to live with the aftermath of someone else's choices and actions. Because deep down, the authentic me never made it beyond the horrifically frightened eleven-year-old who is still wondering what the hell happened.
I see your progress stretched out for miles and miles
Forgive me for being envious. Forgive me for wishing to be more like you. Forgive me for feeling helpless and discouraged.
You're laughing out loud
At just the thought of being alive, yeah
I want to do that.
That I can't seem to erase
I'm trying. Each day I move closer to coming to terms with the things I've experienced. Each night I'm reminded I have more work to do.
How can I be the only one
Without a smile on my face
Except--I am smiling--I always smile. But not inside. In that place I'm screaming and I don't know how to let it out.
Well now, you're laughing out loud
At just the thought of being alive
And I was wondering
Could I just be you tonight
Please? Just for a night. Tomorrow I'll be me again, but maybe I could have just one night of rest.
You show your pain like it really hurts
And I can't even start to feel mine
Because every time I try, it overwhelms me. I can't ignore it any longer, but I'm too afraid to allow myself to feel anything right now. For awhile I was doing well with this, but then it became too much, and I'm right back where I started from. I'm beginning to realize this will never end--and that someday I'm going to have to figure this out.
Well, I'm standing in place
With my head first and I shake, I shake
Because it seems too much for one person to do. Because I don't think I'm strong enough to live with the aftermath of someone else's choices and actions. Because deep down, the authentic me never made it beyond the horrifically frightened eleven-year-old who is still wondering what the hell happened.
I see your progress stretched out for miles and miles
Forgive me for being envious. Forgive me for wishing to be more like you. Forgive me for feeling helpless and discouraged.
You're laughing out loud
At just the thought of being alive, yeah
I want to do that.
And I was wondering
Could I just be you tonight
Just tonight. That's all. No nightmares. No sadness.
This is the sound that I make
These are the words I chose
I don't know what I really want to say. I'm trying to understand everything, myself, still. I'm starting to believe I'll never really know what it is I mean.
Somehow the right thing to say
Just won't come out
Just won't come out
I'm just tired, I guess. It's difficult to be articulate when one isn't sleeping well.
And you're laughing out loud
At the thought of being alive
And I have to say, it gives me hope to see you happy. That stupid optimist inside keeps telling me that someday I'll feel the same way--I just have to keep moving forward. Your laughter brings me joy. In spite of everything, I laugh with you.
And I was wondering
Could I just be you tonight
Just for one night. One night of restful, recuperative sleep. One night of no fear. One night when I'm not abused and left alone. One night when I can just rest. Please?
*Thanks to Matchbox 20 for their lyrics, and for keeping me company last night.
Things to do in lieu of sleep
1. Fold laundry. This is a quiet activity that will disturb no one.
2. Blog. Be aware that all blog entries written after 3:00 a.m. will sound slightly insane.
3. Go jogging.
4. Take a drive. This is especially fun after 1:00 a.m. because all the stop lights become blinking yellows.
5. Contemplate doorbell ditching the entire neighborhood. Then recall that you're no longer a teenager and the neighbors are less likely to laugh than to call the police.
6. Lay in the grass and stargaze. Think about how the stars would look if arranged in symmetrical stripe patterns across the sky.
7. Wish there was someone to talk to. Talk to self, instead. DO NOT CHAT. Anyone awake at this hour will be going to bed soon, which you will find terribly depressing.
8. Tell self a fun story. Enjoy one's creativity and cleverness. Remember that the story will be much less entertaining to people who actually sleep.
9. Tell self funny jokes. Laugh hysterically. Quietly, of course. Other people are sleeping.
10. Wish for sleep. Wish for no dreams. Above all, do not cry.
2. Blog. Be aware that all blog entries written after 3:00 a.m. will sound slightly insane.
3. Go jogging.
4. Take a drive. This is especially fun after 1:00 a.m. because all the stop lights become blinking yellows.
5. Contemplate doorbell ditching the entire neighborhood. Then recall that you're no longer a teenager and the neighbors are less likely to laugh than to call the police.
6. Lay in the grass and stargaze. Think about how the stars would look if arranged in symmetrical stripe patterns across the sky.
7. Wish there was someone to talk to. Talk to self, instead. DO NOT CHAT. Anyone awake at this hour will be going to bed soon, which you will find terribly depressing.
8. Tell self a fun story. Enjoy one's creativity and cleverness. Remember that the story will be much less entertaining to people who actually sleep.
9. Tell self funny jokes. Laugh hysterically. Quietly, of course. Other people are sleeping.
10. Wish for sleep. Wish for no dreams. Above all, do not cry.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
And what do you think of this??
Interesting article--perhaps moreso to me than anyone else? Anyway, I'm posting it because I'd really like some opinions from you.
(Sex Drive Commentary by Regina Lynn)
Naughty, But Only on the Internet
It's a cliché that on the internet that no one knows you're a dog but everyone suspects you're a man. And as the joke goes, the hotter the female avatar, the uglier the man at the keyboard.
But during my first same-sex experience in a chat room online, everyone in the room knew we were two women having sex.
It was closest I have ever come to having sex with a woman, and until that point, I would have told anyone who asked that I was 100 percent straight -- certainly no more than a .5 on the ancient Kinsey Heterosexual-Homosexual Rating Scale. I had no interest in women at all, not even in my fantasies or in porn.
We began a little performance for the men in the chat, each of us wondering whether the other would chicken out.
As our game played out, something shifted. My mind sharpened. My sense of "being there" increased. And my body began to respond, just as it did when cybering with a male. But just as I accepted what was happening -- she cut it short with a private message: Stop, I'm too uncomfortable.
I've lost count of how many times I've seen similar themes played out online, as people discover inner sexual resources they didn't know they had, often by accident. We go online to try one thing, like group sex or shoe fetishes, and end up finding fulfillment in something else, like strip Scrabble. Or we seek a compromise between real-world relationship commitments and sexual needs we can't ignore.
One Sex Drive reader said in an e-mail that he'd been married for several years before realizing he was bisexual. The internet offered a place to figure himself out without forcing confrontation or premature change in his marriage.
"I used Second Life as a means of therapy (for lack of a better word) to explore the homosexual side of me without breaking the 'rules' of my marriage," he writes.
It took about a year for him to recognize that he wasn't in need of relationships with men after all. "It wasn't about another male per se but instead a male body I enjoyed," he says. "Now, gay pornography suffices. I don't have to negotiate emotions and feelings -- I can just passively watch."
It's surprising (considering how many men feel physically ill at the thought of unknowingly flirting or cybering with another man) how many otherwise heterosexual men I hear from see no conflict in same-sex activities online.
Another tells me that his only physical same-sex encounter happened in high school more than 40 years ago, but he has cybered with both men and women in the past five years.
Will going online to get around societal prohibitions about sex, and then learning it's no big deal, transform America into a more sexually tolerant culture overall? Ask me again in 20 years.
But I won't discount the importance our individual experiences have in our lives right now, not just for ourselves but for our immediate circle. How wonderful for a teenager struggling with sexual identity if his father understands. How much more comfortable for co-workers when they realize you care more about the quality of their work than the sex of their partners.
That first bisexual encounter had a profound and lasting effect on me. It was disconcerting to have my sense of who I was sexually turned upside down, especially since I had entered adult chat to figure out what I liked to do with men. It never occurred to me I would end up having sex with a woman -- and liking it enough to respond physically, and to feel its premature end so sharply.
It would be an exaggeration to say that I'm now bisexual, although I am equal opportunity for flirting and online play. And while I have felt genuine physical attraction to a few women since that chat opened my eyes, I certainly have no interest in developing a same-sex romantic relationship. (I know exactly how much trouble women are!)
But I did reach a deeper understanding of sex as a connection between humans -- one in which chromosomes do not figure as prominently as I had thought.
It seems to me that the part of cybersex that attracts the most criticism -- the absence of touch -- is the part that gives it such potential to deepen our understanding of sex. It's no bad thing to set aside our bodies once in awhile and just be people, no matter what our plumbing looks like.
"I think these measures (like the Kinsey scale) are inherently flawed," says erotica author Nobilis, a man in a heterosexual, monogamous relationship who believes an erotic scene only works if you get turned on while you write it -- even if you're "straight" and it is "gay."
"There are sexual experiences I seek out, others I avoid, and others that I'm only somewhat interested in," he says. "Gender is only one of many considerations for any given experience."
(Sex Drive Commentary by Regina Lynn)
Naughty, But Only on the Internet
It's a cliché that on the internet that no one knows you're a dog but everyone suspects you're a man. And as the joke goes, the hotter the female avatar, the uglier the man at the keyboard.
But during my first same-sex experience in a chat room online, everyone in the room knew we were two women having sex.
It was closest I have ever come to having sex with a woman, and until that point, I would have told anyone who asked that I was 100 percent straight -- certainly no more than a .5 on the ancient Kinsey Heterosexual-Homosexual Rating Scale. I had no interest in women at all, not even in my fantasies or in porn.
We began a little performance for the men in the chat, each of us wondering whether the other would chicken out.
As our game played out, something shifted. My mind sharpened. My sense of "being there" increased. And my body began to respond, just as it did when cybering with a male. But just as I accepted what was happening -- she cut it short with a private message: Stop, I'm too uncomfortable.
I've lost count of how many times I've seen similar themes played out online, as people discover inner sexual resources they didn't know they had, often by accident. We go online to try one thing, like group sex or shoe fetishes, and end up finding fulfillment in something else, like strip Scrabble. Or we seek a compromise between real-world relationship commitments and sexual needs we can't ignore.
One Sex Drive reader said in an e-mail that he'd been married for several years before realizing he was bisexual. The internet offered a place to figure himself out without forcing confrontation or premature change in his marriage.
"I used Second Life as a means of therapy (for lack of a better word) to explore the homosexual side of me without breaking the 'rules' of my marriage," he writes.
It took about a year for him to recognize that he wasn't in need of relationships with men after all. "It wasn't about another male per se but instead a male body I enjoyed," he says. "Now, gay pornography suffices. I don't have to negotiate emotions and feelings -- I can just passively watch."
It's surprising (considering how many men feel physically ill at the thought of unknowingly flirting or cybering with another man) how many otherwise heterosexual men I hear from see no conflict in same-sex activities online.
Another tells me that his only physical same-sex encounter happened in high school more than 40 years ago, but he has cybered with both men and women in the past five years.
Will going online to get around societal prohibitions about sex, and then learning it's no big deal, transform America into a more sexually tolerant culture overall? Ask me again in 20 years.
But I won't discount the importance our individual experiences have in our lives right now, not just for ourselves but for our immediate circle. How wonderful for a teenager struggling with sexual identity if his father understands. How much more comfortable for co-workers when they realize you care more about the quality of their work than the sex of their partners.
That first bisexual encounter had a profound and lasting effect on me. It was disconcerting to have my sense of who I was sexually turned upside down, especially since I had entered adult chat to figure out what I liked to do with men. It never occurred to me I would end up having sex with a woman -- and liking it enough to respond physically, and to feel its premature end so sharply.
It would be an exaggeration to say that I'm now bisexual, although I am equal opportunity for flirting and online play. And while I have felt genuine physical attraction to a few women since that chat opened my eyes, I certainly have no interest in developing a same-sex romantic relationship. (I know exactly how much trouble women are!)
But I did reach a deeper understanding of sex as a connection between humans -- one in which chromosomes do not figure as prominently as I had thought.
It seems to me that the part of cybersex that attracts the most criticism -- the absence of touch -- is the part that gives it such potential to deepen our understanding of sex. It's no bad thing to set aside our bodies once in awhile and just be people, no matter what our plumbing looks like.
"I think these measures (like the Kinsey scale) are inherently flawed," says erotica author Nobilis, a man in a heterosexual, monogamous relationship who believes an erotic scene only works if you get turned on while you write it -- even if you're "straight" and it is "gay."
"There are sexual experiences I seek out, others I avoid, and others that I'm only somewhat interested in," he says. "Gender is only one of many considerations for any given experience."
Friday, June 1, 2007
Random Thoughts and Virginia Woolf
"Man can respect nature and advance. We know this because a man can have a wife and a hobby."
Tolkien Boy shared this quote with me from one of the many writings he was grading. I thought it was beautifully fatuous, yet regrettably compelling. Kind of like staring at a horribly ugly painting while a museum guide tells you all the reasons one should love it, although perhaps fine art, no matter how hideous, is too sophisticated to be used in comparison with my choice of quote.
Which reminds me, I have a favorite artist. The surrealistic paintings of Rene Magritte have always fascinated me. This one makes me laugh:
The interesting thing, to me, is that Virginia Woolf considered suicide selfish and pointless. And yet, she was able to devalue her life, based on qualifying the effect her life had on one she deeply loved. I understand that. More than understanding, I identify with that. There are so many times, when I remember how Darrin has taken care of me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I wonder about the quality of his life. I worry that my needs have overshadowed his to the point that he rarely has his needs met. I wonder about "spoiling" his life. I feel helpless, knowing that there is so much I lack, and I completely understand Virginia.
Following his wife's death, Leonard Woolf fell in love with a married woman, Trekkie Parsons, who juggled her relationships with her husband and Leonard, dividing her time each week between the two men. She was 39, Leonard was 61. Their love letters are now a published book.
Why do I wonder about this. My story is my own. But Virginia haunts me.
"I understand Nature's game -- her prompting to take action as a way of ending any thought that threatens to excite or to pain."
"What is chastity then? I mean is it good, or is it bad, or is it nothing at all?...In my opinion, chastity is nothing but ignorance--a most discreditable state of mind...It is as unfair to brand women with chastity as with unchastity...Some of us haven't the opportunity of either..."
"It is the object of life to produce good people and good books."
"The beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart assunder."
"Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end."
Tolkien Boy shared this quote with me from one of the many writings he was grading. I thought it was beautifully fatuous, yet regrettably compelling. Kind of like staring at a horribly ugly painting while a museum guide tells you all the reasons one should love it, although perhaps fine art, no matter how hideous, is too sophisticated to be used in comparison with my choice of quote.
Which reminds me, I have a favorite artist. The surrealistic paintings of Rene Magritte have always fascinated me. This one makes me laugh:
I have always held that one should never identify too closely with another person. As I become older, however, I find myself drawn to Virginia Woolf. We have interesting similarities, some speculative, others factual. Virginia was sexually molested by her half-brothers, and suffered emotional breakdowns throughout life. She was sexually more interested in women than men, but married her husband and remained with him until she died. She had no children, so many speculate that the marriage was never consummated. I have often been fascinated by her words to and about her husband. In her diary, she once wrote:
"Love-making — after 25 years can’t bear to be separate ... you see it is enormous pleasure being wanted: a wife. And our marriage so complete."
There's no question that she deeply loved her husband, and he returned that love. He watched for emotional and mental breakdowns and cared for Virginia throughout each episode. In her suicide note to him, Virginia wrote:
"I feel certain that I am going mad again. I feel we can't go through another of those terrible times. And I shan't recover this time. I begin to hear voices, and I can't concentrate. So I am doing what seems the best thing to do. You have given me the greatest possible happiness. You have been in every way all that anyone could be. I don't think two people could have been happier till this terrible disease came. I can't fight any longer. I know that I am spoiling your life, that without me you could work. And you will I know. You see I can't even write this properly. I can't read. What I want to say is I owe all the happiness of my life to you. You have been entirely patient with me and incredibly good. I want to say that — everybody knows it. If anybody could have saved me it would have been you. Everything has gone from me but the certainty of your goodness. I can't go on spoiling your life any longer. I don't think two people could have been happier than we have been."
The interesting thing, to me, is that Virginia Woolf considered suicide selfish and pointless. And yet, she was able to devalue her life, based on qualifying the effect her life had on one she deeply loved. I understand that. More than understanding, I identify with that. There are so many times, when I remember how Darrin has taken care of me emotionally, physically, and spiritually. I wonder about the quality of his life. I worry that my needs have overshadowed his to the point that he rarely has his needs met. I wonder about "spoiling" his life. I feel helpless, knowing that there is so much I lack, and I completely understand Virginia.
Following his wife's death, Leonard Woolf fell in love with a married woman, Trekkie Parsons, who juggled her relationships with her husband and Leonard, dividing her time each week between the two men. She was 39, Leonard was 61. Their love letters are now a published book.
Why do I wonder about this. My story is my own. But Virginia haunts me.
"I understand Nature's game -- her prompting to take action as a way of ending any thought that threatens to excite or to pain."
"What is chastity then? I mean is it good, or is it bad, or is it nothing at all?...In my opinion, chastity is nothing but ignorance--a most discreditable state of mind...It is as unfair to brand women with chastity as with unchastity...Some of us haven't the opportunity of either..."
"It is the object of life to produce good people and good books."
"The beauty of the world, which is so soon to perish, has two edges, one of laughter, one of anguish, cutting the heart assunder."
"Life is not a series of gig lamps symmetrically arranged; life is a luminous halo, a semi-transparent envelope surrounding us from the beginning of consciousness to the end."
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