Faux friends and all that jazz

*jazz hands*

Or not.

I admit to being a suspicious sort. And once my mind starts ticking and the Darkness throws in some more thoughts for good measure, the party won't stop.

I think I know, though, why it's been a rough few days. I've been triggered and the trigger has been constant, and now that I understand what's going through my head, I can say, 'ok. Fun and games is over.'

I'm caught between faux friends and a hard place. I'm caught with the sneaking suspicion that I'm just not as useful/meaningful/worthy when I'm not as damaged as I used to be. I feel (and I may be wrong, but I might as well toss it out there) that to some people I know, it was a lot more satisfying to see me tossed like a leaf in the storm.

It's like it was ok when I was afraid and when I was weak and when I was more broken than I am now. It was ok cos it made people feel big and strong and better....but now that I'm not that person anymore....the communication and the contact has dwindled to almost nothing or nothing.

It's like I want to have friends who contact me instead of me contacting them all the freaking time. Tagging after them like a lost little puppy. Spend time with me....hang out with me....don't walk away and not ever call or anything cos that hurts me so much....ohhhh...so I guess I'll give in AGAIN and call or email or text or whatever and say, 'hey, haven't seen you in a long time! Let's get together!'

What's really precious is when I do that and I get white noise back. Static. No response whatsoever, and it takes a lot for me to go, 'it's NOT me. NOT NOT NOT.'

BOOM! Trigger alert! And it's like me wanting always to be Loved and accepted for who I am. It's me hoping and dreaming and wishing that I'll have friends who'll be there for me...cos damn it...I want to be there for MY friends.

I want to see my friends and do things with them. I want to laugh over coffee and share inside jokes, and go to places together. I want to store up these memories for me to take out when I feel cold inside, and the Darkness is howling. I want something to fuel those firefly days....

But I haven't had a firefly day in a week or two, and instead, I have the steady breath of the Darkness against my neck, and I am too aware of the sharp, cutting things in my house, and I do not feel safe...not all the time.

I cry at night. I try to circumvent the tapes in my head that tell me I'm not good enough, not worthy enough, just too much trouble and bother and it's better this way. I'm not going to disappoint anyone. I'm not going to make them feel obligated.

And sometimes, I just sit on my hands cos if I could, I'd tear myself apart with them. I feel like nothing.

So I have to make tough decisions. I have to decide what's more important to me. My inner health or me clinging to people I should let go.

I think they made their decision by their silence and by the way it's always me who initiates contact and time.

I can't do it anymore. It hurts too much. And it triggers too much. And I simply can't afford to give the Darkness any more weapons. It has more than enough all ready.

It's so hard, though. I'm the kind of person who would be friends forever, if I could. I'd want to know you for years upon years...I'd want to keep the friendship alive and nurturing and growing cos those are the best friendships to have.

Bear tells me that it's healthy to do this. Bear says that sometimes, things happen, and it's nothing to do with me or with the other person....life shifts, ice cracks, ties unbind. I'm to just be aware when it's time to move on.

But, ah. Aren't I someone to be proud of, now that I'm stronger and more assured and more....more than you ever dreamed I could be?

This maybe doesn't make a whole lot of sense, and I know my thoughts are all tangled right now...

I just write this out...write it out and think my thinks....and let go.



K.

Why I Came Out of the Closet...and other Musings

October 11th is a big day in the Queer Community.

That's National Coming Out Day and for some of us, it's turning the page on a whole new life. It's scary it's exhilerating...it's heartbreaking it's triumphant...there are so many emotions.

Most of all, it's intensely personal. And people 'come out' when they are ready to do so.

Personally, I find it bitterly amusing that it has to be such a Big Deal. Meaning that why should it be such a Big Deal when a person's sexuality is just a part of who that person is?

I have learned that it's really offensive to say 'that person's gay' as if that's their defining feature. Really? Cos you know, there's more to a person than their sexuality. Or their gender.

But there are people who are threatened and unsettled by the whole idea that what is just one part of a person's wholeness is alien to them.

I say, 'get over it.'

And after some deep thought, I decided to come out of the closet myself and wave my Queer flag. Not that I wasn't afraid. I wanted to throw up. But. I'm done with having the door half open and peeking out and going, 'hmmm...now?'

Here's the thing, lads.

I've known about my own sexuality since I was young. I've known for SURE since I was 20. I'm 40 now, and have been half in the closet and half out the closet for 20 years. That's a long time to play peek a boo.

I was afraid of letting people know I am Queer. Afraid that they would judge me. Afraid that they'd turn their backs and walk away. Afraid that they'd say hurtful things to me, and that they'd tell me I am a degenerate a freak a bad person.

Mostly, afraid that they'd try to hurt me by taking away my sons or by telling me I am a bad example as a parent cos I am raising them to be comfortable with Queer people and to even Love and care for them. Mercy me, how radical is that??

But I'm 40 years old now. My sons are old enough to tell people to fuck off if they want, and I'm just done with wanting other peoples' approval, especially for something that isn't their damn business in the first place.

A couple of weeks ago, I went through training through NAMI MN to become a facilitator. NAMI is a wonderful organization that helps people and those who Love them deal with a mental illness. NAMI MN is based here in the Twin Cities but reaches out to all of Minnesotans who live with a mental illness. Awesome organization. And they trained me to be a co-facilitator for the first ever GLBTQA Connection Group. A peer support group for Queer people and their allies who are living with a mental illness.

My co-facilitator and I meet up with others in the basement of the Spirit of the Lakes church. We just started, and we hope to have others join us. We are committed to walking that path with others who need the understanding and support.

I figured that since I am going to be a facilitator, it's time to set aside my own fears and be as open and honest as I can. I'm pretty damn open about my own mental illnesses. I am more than willing to share my own experiences and ups and downs with my bipolar and depression and suicidal thoughts and all of that stuff. But for me to truly be part of this, I need to be Out. And being Out means coming out.

So I did. I posted a status in Facebook (cos, of course, that's where you post all the Big Doings) and waited for responses. I didn't receive one bad comment. Only support and Love and a bunch of 'Likes'. The feeling of wanting to throw up passed, and I felt vindicated--the people who care about me and Love me for me....they didn't give a damn.

So I'm Queer? So what.

I'm open about it now, to everyone. I'll let people know when it's appropriate, especially if a topic comes up like gay marriage or bisexuality where I can give a very personal viewpoint.

I've had some great conversations with classmates. I've found that people who are respectful can ask open ended questions, and I can answer them, and they can go, 'oh, I didn't think of it that way', and ask more questions and we all come away with this feeling of new understanding and support. It's a pretty awesome feeling.

I know I can tell people that just cos I'm Queer doesn't explain my mental illnesses and just cos I have mental illnesses doesn't mean they 'happened' cos of me being Queer. One does not cause the other in any way, shape or form.

I know that there will be people out there who will dislike me for my sexuality. I know that there will be people who will say hurtful things. I get that by continuing to speak up and not back down, I'm going to be a target for homophobic remarks.

Bring it, I say.

The people who Love me for me don't give a damn. My sons, my husband, my Chosen Family, my friends....their Love me for hasn't diminished one bit.

As for me, I'm going to stand up to the bullies and the homophobes and all that jazz. I want to stand up for those who have to stay silent for fear of harm to themselves. It's how I'm built. I've never been good with staying silent when others are being hurt.

So that's it. Me feeling as though I don't have anything to hide. What you see is what you get...and in the end, if I'd introduce myself to you, I'd tell you my name and that I'm going to college, and that I am a mom of two awesome boys. I'd tell you my favourite colour is red, and that I am a huge Harry Potter fan and a big ol' geek who reads and dreams and writes poetry and short stories. I like all sorts of music and I like to hang out with my friends, and Fall is my favourite season and I have a weakness for babies and Irish Wolfhounds. And I Love my husband and my sons and I am Queer. And really, out of all of that, why should Queer stand out when it's just a part of who I am? The whole package is all those bits and pieces of me, including my sexuality. Don't make my Queerness bigger than anything else cos really?? It isn't. It's a part of me that makes up the whole me. And don't we all have bits and pieces that make us all unique and fascinating individuals?

I think so....and I hope you do, too.


K.

It's been a while...

I haven't written in here in quite some time.

Life has been busy. I've been involved in some really awesome big sparkly things. School has consumed a great deal of my time and attention. My sons are always the number one priority and my husband as well.

But it's time again to write. Cos I find that writing helps a lot. And writing in *here* helps me keep the courage.

I'm gonna do another post...but I'll be back more often. The door has always been open. I just haven't been able to walk through as often as I'd like.


K.

For me, it's when I fight in the Darkness...

Last night, things were...difficult.

As most of you know, I have dealt with bipolar most of my life.

As some of you know, I have fought against suicide ever since I was 12. That's over half my life now, and for those of you who have served in the armed forces, you know what it's like to fight against an enemy that never sleeps.

I am...tired. At any time, the Darkness can flare and envelop me. Sometimes, I have a little warning. Sometimes, I do not.

Last night, I did not, and so I was surprised and could barely launch a counteract before things got dicey.

I don't know what it's like for other people who fight suicidal thoughts. I don't want to say, 'this is what it feels like' cos it might not feel that way to them...I certainly don't want to put words into any one else's mouth, so I can only speak for me. Perhaps I share traits with others. Perhaps it's just me. I can say this with certainty though: it's an isolating thing, fighting the Darkness. And the best weapon of all is someone or a bunch of someones helping to tip the scales.

For me, I have an inner strength, a subconscious and not so subconscious part of me I have named Bear. Bear is stronger than I, smarter than I, wiser than I. Bear gives me Bear dreams that are portents and signs that I pay attention to, and Bear has fought this Darkness all by Himself at times.

I have my husband who held me tight, kept me anchored *physically*, and who walked with me through the worst of it. He was terrified of losing me last night, and even though a good part of me didn't particularly wish to be here, there was enough of me who wanted to stay.

I have friends who Love me for me...people who I've called Chosen Family who Love me and care for me and who I Love back fiercely. I don't really understand why they choose to call me their Sister or some other Family name, some Love name that they make up...but they do...and I am happy about it.

I have friends who care for me, and who I spend time with when I can. They're lovely and fantastic, and I think would be horrified by how much I keep from them, when it comes to this. I have this urge to protect the people I care about...it's only when I trust someone, can I let them inside.

And I have my sons, my two Loves of my life, my two best guys who are so breathtakingly wonderful and funny and smart and wise and *real*. I think of them when the Darkness comes a calling, and I tell myself that they would not want me to go. I know they wouldn't understand why I left them, when I tell them that I Love them so much...and it's the one thing the Darkness can't get around.

So last night, I felt as though I was being pulled away. I felt as though the knives and the razors were singing my name, and it would be a simple matter to take them up on what they were telling me: to use them and to slip away, and not come back. I tried to keep one foot here whilst the other one was trying to go on. I cried out of exhaustion and pain and grief. I didn't know how I was going to get through this without help.

But I have my husband, and I have Bear, and between the two, I was able to pull back and to breathe again...to quiet the voices in my head, and to Remember that I must stay Here.

I don't talk too much of other Things here...as in, what's going on in my life...that is usually reserved in another Journal where I can pour out my hurts and sorrows, and know that those words will stay there.

But I will say this: the time will come when I will watch the movie, 'Precious.' My Sistah has told me that I do not need to see it, that it will tear me apart, reminding me too much of things in the past. I told her that Bear told me that when we are ready to let go, to cut the ties and walk away and not come back, then I will watch the movie, and will cry and will grieve.

I have grieved so much over the past months for what will never be. I am not ever going to be the daughter or the cousin or the relative that people want me to be. I have resigned myself to being the shame, the embarrassment, the laughing stock, and the one people in my family point to when they want to say: Look at her. She just doesn't belong.

They're right. I don't. My sister has cut ties with me. My parents are no longer speaking to me, and won't tell me what is going on. I have cried almost every day for the past 7 months. Last night, I about fell apart inside and out as I cried and cried. I fight the feeling that it would only bring relief to my parents and sister. They could forget all about me and how much I embarrass them and shame them. At least, that's what the Darkness tells me, when I'm fighting the urge to kill myself.

So. So it is and so it goes. I'm not ever going to give up. I have to fight cos I don't want my boys to grow up without their mom and I don't want to leave them or my husband or my Chosen Family or friends. I know that I am Loved and Wanted.

At least, I do when I'm not in the depths of the Darkness or my Illness.

I am exhausted today. I am tired of fighting but I know I have to continue to do so. I have school work to study and I have work tomorrow and I have a birthday party to go to...just proves that life does roll on and life has the sweet as well as the bitter.

I will probably take a nap at some point and time. Lack of sleep doesn't help at all. And I will take careful care of myself and make sure I eat. I'm still not out of the danger zone, just yet, and I know that I need to do things to help push me back into a stronger way of thinking.

In the meantime, I think about what needs to be done, and I think about being strong, and I try to remind myself that this will pass and life will feel good again.


Until then, I tread carefully. I do not want to trigger another episode. I'm not sure I have the strength needed to deal with it...although Bear assures me I do.



K.

I should be studying, but first...

I think a transformation is taking place.

Last night, I had the pleasure and honour of spending time in the company of some women who, if their energy were harnessed, would take care of all the world's problems, and still have time left over for a glass of wine.

It was...odd, to me. I am used to being the outsider (cos god knows, I didn't kowtow to normal conventions), so I was gearing up to just sit on the sidelines, and smile a lot.

I should have known better.

Stepping through the door, I was enthusiastically greeted, hugged, and then passed to another lady for a hug. There were smiles and conversations that went from the serious to the silly.

I indulged myself by drinking a bit, and as I sat there, half cocked in my alcohol splendour, my Sister of the Heart told me some lovely, lovely things. Yes, those are tears in my eyes.

I have never thought about being a 'feminist.' To me, if something was unjust, it needed to be pointed out, and changed. To me, if the way of thinking and behaving was racist/sexist/homophobic/just plain crazy wrong, I'd be the first person to say, 'what in the ever living world is your problem?' It's just the way I work, just the way I tick.

Yet, talking to these fine women (and one awesome feminist man), it became clear to me that I've been a feminist all along. Or a humanist. Or an every person. I don't think I need to find the right wording, cos I have the right ideas.

My grandmother was heavily involved in the DFL party. She was also involved with the VFW. I never was able to talk to her about what she did, but I found out last night that she contributed quite a bit...and was recognized.

Then there's me, just finding my way, here. I'm organizing the SlutWalk Minneapolis, and I've found it to be as intuitive as breathing. I am happy to acknowledge my gaps of knowledge, and seek out people who can best instruct me on contacts, and give suggestions, and add to the ideas that percolate in my brain from morning to night.

Is it scary? Mmmm...a little. This is going to be a big ol' juggernaut, and I'm going to be spinning along with it, like one of those stars that you see, in the pinwheel of the Milky Way. See? That's me, second star to the left... :)

But is it exciting and wonderful and grand and...life changing? Yes, yes it is. It's opened doors for me. It's allowed me to stretch my wings. It's let me see how strong I really am, and how much strength I have inside.

The Bear side of me smiles. He knew. This wasn't a surprise to Him, even though it was a little, to me.


My grandmother would approve. She spoke about the fight for the working poor, she talked about the rights and dignities of human beings...she had a picture of Hubert Humphrey on her wall as well as Walter Mondale...she was a wonder, herself.

My grandmother died when I was 17. I barely got to know her, and I find that incredibly unfair. I smiled last night, sitting, talking to these wonderful people, thinking that she'd fit right in.

So. Onto the next step. In the meantime, I best crack open my Espanol book. I have some learning to do.



K.

Why I do this...and why I'm saying we're all jackasses...

A little update about my life.

School went extremely well. I ended up with 3 A's and one B. I was deliriously happy. If I had any doubts that I couldn't go to school, after not being in school for 20 years, this erased them. Me, with almost a 4.0 GPA. Look at that!

I am pushing on through with summer school. I will take Spanish I and II. I have plans.

In other news, I took a deep breath, and jumped off the deep end. I am still trying to touch the bottom.

On Facebook (where else? heh), I read about an event called the SlutWalk. Really? I read the article covering it, and thought...I want to be part of this.

After mulling it over, and then putting out an initial inquiry amongst friends to see if they'd like to organize it with me, I thought, hell with it, looked up the original website, and contacted the original city, Toronto, to apply as a Satellite city. I wanted our fine metro area to have our own SlutWalk, and I wanted to link it to the ones going on in sister cities all over the United States.

After getting the green light, I asked some people I knew to help me get this off the ground. And, we're making it happen!

I've discovered that I can push myself far more than I ever thought. The very topic of sexual assault/rape resonates with me, deeply. Because I've been through multiple rapes and sexual assaults, I am aware of the effect it has on a person's physical, mental, and emotional senses. It has been 17 years since the last time I was raped, but if I go through certain triggers, those years are like nothing, and I'm in that headspace again.

I have been triggered, somewhat, from the research I've done for this SlutWalk. The blog posts I've written have been pulled from deep inside of me. I'm not going to pull punches, nor am I going to compartmentalize myself. I'm going to be careful, of course...I need to stay healthy to do this, but I'm not going to say, 'oh, I can't relate to this because it might hurt too much.'

Hell, *breathing* can hurt too much, sometimes. I get over it, although it might take me longer.

So why do I do this?

Because it's needed. Because what I want to address (I'm focusing on ME, here, cos this is my personal blog, not the one I contribute in) is the bullshit of the blame the victim mentality. I want to call out the jackass behavior of the rape culture believers. The men who defend it, and the women who have fallen for it (although, I wouldn't call them jackasses, they're being victimized *twice*).

Most men don't like being called jackasses. I'm not particularly fond of being called a jackass, but if I'm buying into something or defending something that is illogical, hurtful, and what I call "ist-ist" i.e. racist, sexist, and homophobic (OK, I should expand that to ic-ist as well), then I need to be called on it.

If anyone is defending ANY part of blame the victim for a rape/sexual assault, they're being a jackass.

Are there such things as an ignorant jackass? Yup. I've been one. It's taken some reading (as well as some wincing), for me to go, wow. I'm a jackass.

As for my women friends who have bought into the patriarchal bullshit hook, line, and sinker, it's time to swim away from the bait. You are NOT responsible for what happened to you. Period.

The idea that a person is asked what they're wearing when they're the victim of such a horrific crime is beyond my ability to comprehend. Do we ask what people are wearing if they're robbed? Or if their identity has been stolen over the internet? No. Because that's just ten different ways of stupid. So why do we ask what a person is wearing when they've been sexually assaulted/raped?

And don't even get me going on Ben Stein's pathetic remarks. So if a maid has stolen your things and whatnot, another maid deserved to be raped? So because she didn't cry out or make a scene, she's lying about what happened to her?

What fucking universe do you live on? Oh, right. The Patriarchal one, where the Man Rules.

All I'm going to say on this is that I'd rather listen to Charlie Sheen go on about his own cracked self, than listen to this man and men like him, go on and try to erase the very essence of this woman.

Try being the operative word.

and then we have the people coming out saying that the SlutWalks are made of white privilege and supremacy and all that. Excuse me? I wrote about it...politely...in the SlutWalk blog, but this is my personal space, so I'm going to be a little more...blunt.

Walk away from the self righteous kool-aid, folks. I'm sure you're all enjoying beating your breast over another slight against People of Colour, but I'm going to call you on "kettle pot black" (no pun intended).

In every article I've read, it's WE. WE as people of colour are....WE are not going to...WE...ummm...you speaking for ALL of us? Because, see, you're doing the *same thing* that you're accusing the organizers of the SlutWalks doing.

*I* am NOT *WE*. Do NOT presume to speak for me. Do NOT tell me I'm "currying favour" for the white people. Do NOT say that I don't "get it" and that I am a "tool of the white people."

There's a tool here, all right, but it's not me.

There are salient points in the articles, of course, and that's what I look for. Include the silent people in the community. Ask, do not presume (ahem) what is best in representation. Make sure that not only dressing how one wishes is stressed, but also bucking against the Rape Culture, kicking the shit out of Victim Blaming, fostering Inclusivity, and making people stand up, take notice, PAY ATTENTION, and *think*.

The problem is that the SlutWalks were started to address a few key issues, and then it's like, nooooo...you HAVE to say *this* and *that* and...and....ALL THE THINGS!!! And if I say, wait...I can address only this part and this part *right now*, I'm being labeled as being a traitor to People of Colour and I'm dancing to the White People's tune and and...

Wow. Talk about divisiveness. That sort of bullshit isn't going to foster anything but resentment, anger, and hurt. How about saying, 'OK. This is a great start. Now, can we also put this and this into the mix as time passes....'

Gah.

But that isn't why I'm doing the SlutWalk, isn't why I'm organizing it, isn't why I'm willing to stand on the front lines.

I don't want another friend sexually assaulted/raped, and blamed for it.

I don't want another friend to go to the police and be told that what they're saying is a *lie*.

I don't want another friend to be afraid to report it, because s/he doesn't think s/he will be believed.

I want people to reject the Rape Culture.

I want people to not buy into the Blame the Victim mentality.

I want people to see that ALL races are vulnerable to sexual assault/rape, and some more than others.

I want people to not dismiss others as invisible. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that the sex trade happens in their own cities. They cannot close their eyes to the fact that prostitution and working in the sex industry makes a person extremely vulnerable to sexual assault/rape.

I want a Change, mon chats. And I'm not going to pretty it up and package it for easy consumption. This is something that's hard to swallow, that has people uncomfortable, and it sits in the gut like a rock. Good.

Tell you what....being raped isn't exactly a pretty experience. And it sits in the gut for a long time.

So to my friends who I've called jackasses...well, there it is. I'm sure you'll call me a jackass back. So it goes. I have not been known for my subtlety, and when it comes to this sort of thing, the stakes are too high to coddle your feelings.

I imagine there are some issues on which I'm a total jackass, too. I'm sure people will point them out to me. I'll research, I'll learn, I'll concede to ignorance...and change my position.

But. Do me a favour. Do the same. Read. Learn. Think.

And Change.

Sexual assault/rape is NEVER the victim's fault. Period.


K.

A Rose is a Rose except....

I tweeted a thought last night and also put it in my Facebook status cos I thought it was interesting.

This is what I tweeted, and of course, cos it's Twitter, I had to do two tweets.

"Here's an experiment: substitute the word 'black' for 'gay': 'Black people are going to hell.' 'Black people shouldn't get married.' Hmmmm...' and my second tweet:

"Outraged?? Of course! Then why aren't you when it's 'gay?' You, my friend, are a homophobe if you say it isn't the same thing, period."


I received some interesting responses.

Here's the thing, lads. I have learned in my Sociology class that it's what people DO that has to be changed, not who they ARE. If people don't like the way things are *done*, then change the laws so that it's NOT OK to do those things.

I agree. One of my readers posted that if I label someone a homophobe or a racist or a bigot, then I'm prejudiced. And that's absolutely correct. I have never stated that I am free of prejudice. I wish. The truth of the matter is that we, as human beings, are all prejudiced creatures. It's part of who we are and for anyone to say, "How DARE you??" I say, "Oh, really??" and point to my friend's response.

When the Civil Rights Movement really got going in the sixties, it succeeded because people changed the law, the way of DOING things. It doesn't do a whole lot of good to tell someone, 'you're racist.' That's like saying, 'the sky is blue' or 'the sun shines during the day.' What's the point? That's obvious.

So instead of trying to change *people*, the laws got changed and....well, a funny thing happened on the way to the forum...

Slowly, *people* began to change their minds. Not everyone, of course, because it's much more comforting to hold onto old biases/prejudices than to kick them out the door. But over time, more and more people decided that it really wasn't cool to be racist...or at least, overtly so.

I am not saying that racism doesn't exist, oh, hello, please. What I *am* saying is the way to change the things that are unjust and unequal are not to label people as homophobes or racists....but to change the laws to make the behavior not OK, and given some time....well, people are people. *wry smile*

So, OK, you say, but didn't you say someone was a homophobe?

Why, yes....yes, I did....but FIRST, I called that person on *what they do*. Let's try this again.

'Blacks are going to hell.' 'Blacks shouldn't marry.' 'Blacks shouldn't have the same equal protection as (well, whomever).' This is what people used to DO. And now, that's unacceptable to most of the mainstream population (thank goodness).

OK, so let's put back in the word, 'gay.'

'Gays are going to hell.' 'Gays shouldn't marry'. 'Gays shouldn't have the same equal protection as (well, whomever).' This is what people do NOW. And through their *actions*, they are homophobes.

Now, with that being said, does being a homophobe mean you're an evil, wicked, nasty person? No. It does not. What it means is that it's difficult for these people to see gay people or, let's be all inclusive, GLBTQ people as equal to themselves, regardless of race. They're not comfortable with the idea, the action of GLBTQ folks having the same rights they do.

Let's leave gay marriage out of this for a moment, and focus on the legal rights cos when people combine the two issues, it confuses it and makes it into a screaming match.

Legal rights. As in tax status. As in inheritance and all parts of probate. As in being at one's side if one is in intensive care. As in being able to adopt children.

Those rights are rights that heterosexual people have without a second's thought. Filing taxes with your spouse? No biggie. Check 'married' and 'Head of Household' (if appropriate). Did your wife or husband just die? I'm sorry...but here's the will and here's what you were bequested. Oh, my gosh! Your mate is in intensive care and might not make it through? By all means, please...sit right next to them and I hope it's OK. Can't have children but want to adopt? Let's start that paperwork and make that a reality.

Wow. That was really easy to type out because it's THAT easy, *legally*. It's all in the laws.

If a gay couple wants the same rights...let's see. Tax status? Well, no. Because gay people can't count themselves as a married couple (example of tax only, folks, not advocating gay marriage right now, thanks). Death of companion? Well, if your will is watertight and you've spent a LOT of money making sure it's that way AND it's not contested by people who thought your relationship was a sin, well, cool. Otherwise, good luck. And how many horror stories have we heard of gay partners who are sitting, heartbroken and devastated, barred from being able to be by their partner's side at the hospital while other people tell them that they're not welcome. Not welcome? After 10, 15, 25 years of being together? And as for adopting children, well, we all KNOW that gay people only want to corrupt children to their "gay agenda" and most of them are pedophiles, so there is NO way *that's* going to happen.

Sheesh. I'm exhausted. And sad.

So let's get back to the homophobe thing, ok? It's perfectly OK to be a homophobe. That is anyone's right. You don't have to like GLBTQ folks. Don't have to broaden your horizons. It's a shame, really. Most people are homophobic because they don't KNOW GLBTQ folks. And I'm not talking about someone at work. Or someone as an acquaintance. I'm talking about know as, well, almost family. But OK. Ignorance is bliss and sometimes, that's all people can handle *at that time*.

But the moment you take WHO you are and DO something to enforce that homophobia?

Yeah, that's when I call you on it.

And that's what I was doing.

It seems, though, that I used the wrong wording...or maybe not.

See, I used the word, 'outraged.' Maybe the word was too extremist? Maybe the word made people uncomfortable? It's OK to be outraged and not be....I dunno, waving one's arms around and frothing at the mouth?

Maybe I should have used dislike. Or concerned. Or uncomfortable. But you see, those are *safe* words. I'm "concerned" about this. I'm "uncomfortable" with those actions. Safe words because God forbid I rock the boat and say what I really think, which is this deep burning RAGE.

Yeah, I used the right word. For me. Should I have quantified it? Nah. My tweet, my wording....ya'll don't have to agree with it. But don't dilute it.

Back to prejudice. I AM prejudiced. I'm prejudiced against unequal treatment. I'm prejudiced against racism and homophobia and sexism. If one of these people tells me to my face that I'm prejudiced, I'd say, 'yup. Just like you.'

Here's the thing, mon chats. It's easy for me to sit down, shut up, and not well, say a peep. *grin* It's easy for me to let people say what they want and to spout off on ignorance and hate. Sure, I can stay quiet.

But I won't. I *can't*. It's not fair. It's not right. It's NOT equal treatment.

I can't be friends with GLBTQ people, people who've sheltered me in the worst of storms, and then remain quiet while other people DO actions that will restrict or deny them the same rights everyone else receives, and they don't because of sexual orientation.

Sexual orientation is a label, just like everything else. That and a position in the Kama Sutra (ahem). But that's all it should be and even the labeling gets old, right?

Straight, bi, gay, lesbian, queer, transsexual, transgender...who cares? We all have the right to equal treatment under law. We all have the right to live our lives in pursuit of life, liberty, and happiness.

So when I wrote my tweets, it was to make people *aware* of the *outrage* of actions that should, just like the old segregation laws and the Jim Crow laws, be put far, far into the past.

Sides, I'd much rather know someone is a homophobe than not. A person who is honest about their prejudices is someone I can respect for their honesty. I don't have to like their homophobia, and they sure as heck don't have to like my queer Lovin' ass (ahem) but so it goes.


In the end, let's change the laws to reflect equality for all. People will come to grips with it. People might even change their own viewpoints. The GLBTQ issues are this time's Civil Rights Movement. I'd like to see DOMA and all other laws that discriminate against GLBTQ made unconstitutional. Time will tell with everything else.


K.

Assumptions

"Do you know what assume stand for? Assume means making an ass out of you and me."- Old saying.


So the other day, I splurged a little and got my eyebrows and upper lip waxed. Yes, I am one of those crazy women who let somebody put hot wax on my facial hair and then rips it off. Cos it makes me feel sexy. Go figure. Full disclosure: it really doesn't feel that great and I've been known to take the Lord's name in vain and other colourful words as well when the hair is ripped out.

That plus my youngest son wanted to know why I had hair growing on my upper lip. I informed him, at the time, that I was going for the walrus look, but I wilted a little. I've never been a fan of hair on my upper lip and if it's THAT noticeable (he had been studying my face with unnerving intensity for a few minutes prior to his question), I'd like to have the hair GO AWAY.

Thus, to the awesome lady who waxes my hair and makes me look like a movie star. *cough* But I digress...

I remember a few years ago now, I had a good friend of mine want to know how I could justify spending money on getting my brows and upper lip waxed when I was poor. Boy, did I see RED. I commented back to him and laid it all out. Basically, I spend $19 total, including tip, to go once a month to get these services done. I don't spend money on other things. I don't buy new clothes. I don't go on trips. Shoot, I can't remember the last time I had bought anything new because, at that time, things were really really bad economically and I budgeted like mad and I received some help, and I didn't think that doing this one little thing for ME was a horrible, horrible thing.

I most certainly didn't think that I deserved these comments and I refused to feel bad. People who know me know I'm responsible with the money and that I am doing the best I can, thanksmuch. I'd really like to see most *any* of my detractors make do like I have the past, oh, seven years or so.

My friend was awesome. He apologized for assuming things and I accepted his apology and we're still friends. He's a sweet guy and I think, for a moment, that assumption on his part had him typing before thinking. Or asking.

I hadn't had my stuff waxed since last...oh, October, I think. Money was tight and I just couldn't justify spending $19 on myself. I know, silly, right? It makes me feel pretty and good and it's not a huge amount. But it is when I don't have it to spend and it is to others who look from the outside and make assumptions.

And then I had to really think about the following: have I ever been guilty of the same thing? Have I ever looked at someone and thought, why do they have that? Why do they do that? Do they have the money for it when I know they're poor/on food stamps/on government help?

Yeah, I have to raise my hand and sigh. I've done that. Here's the scenario, which is ironic. I'm at the grocery store and I'm at the checkout, waiting to use my own food stamp money to get groceries (irony, thou art mine). The lady in front of me also has her food stamp card out and I notice she has a fancy purse. She has brand name clothes. She has her nails done and looks like a million bucks. "Huh," I think, "how can she afford all that when she's on food stamps like me?"

GAH!!!! Busted.

I'll say one thing about more and more middle class people being on food stamps. I don't get the "Look" from cashiers anymore, for the most part, when I take out my food stamp card to pay. I guess after seeing their version of "well to do" people use their food stamps card rattles their own biased opinion on "Those People."

But back to the lady with the expensive designer clothes and purse. It's not my business to assume. I don't know the circumstances in which she received these clothes and such. I don't know how they're paid for and for all I know, this woman works THREE JOBS so she can afford a little extra that makes HER feel good. Who am I to suck my teeth and click my tongue and go, sister, that ain't right???

I, myself, like designer labels. I've always been a clothes horse. So I buy nice clothes at thrift stores. I also like Coach purses (huge weakness of mine)and I buy those at thrift stores, too. I'm talking the vintage Coach purses that are all leather, none of that fabric stuff. I haven't bought one in a while cos I have enough and I don't normally use a purse but when I do, I take out one of my vintage purses and I dress up nice and I feel pretty awesome. Waxed eyebrows, upper lip, and Coach purse, that's me.

So do other people look at me when I pull out my food stamp card from my Coach purse and raise their eyebrows? Probably. I'm kind of cringing anyway, cos even though I know I shouldn't be embarrassed by using food stamps, I still am. That's a post for another day.

But I would very much appreciate it if people didn't judge me by MY appearance. And not make assumptions.

And I'm sure that the lady in front of me looking all glammed up would appreciate it very much if I didn't judge HER by how she looks and not make assumptions.

It's like this: being poor sucks. It's hard balancing bills and paychecks and Peter paying Paul and all that nonsense. It's hard asking for help from Chosen Family and friends when the boys want to do extra things and I don't have enough to cover it. I cry late at night when I barely scrape by at the end of the month and wish I could get that little extra thing for my boys because they, too, bear the burden without complaint for the most part. They are pretty darn good at waiting to get something they really want and they understand that money does NOT grow on trees or from my pocket book.

So every now and then, I like to dress up nice. I like to spend $19 and feel pretty and put together. I like to go out and not "look" poor. It raises my self esteem and I can hold my head high. I should, anyway, of course...but I think it's pretty clear that being poor is along the lines of being invisible. And God forbid if a poor person wants to look nice. Wants to have some status symbols.

We're supposed to be down trodden and miserable and, oh, grateful, and hey! How DARE we NOT look the part? Why, we don't deserve the help we're getting then.

Please. Bite me.

So after thinking about my own assumptions and judgments, I can definitely say that I'm not going to look at anyone ever again and sneer. Instead, I'll say, "you really look nice." I've done that before and the smile I've received and the sudden glow from the person makes me feel good, too.

And it doesn't matter that we're both poor, that we're both using food stamps to make sure our family has enough to eat every month--we're one human to another, recognizing the effort put forth to feel good about one's self.

And that, I think, is what really matters.



K.

Spoons

I have heard about the Spoon theory before and without reading the blog post, I understood it when it was summed up to me.

To wit, this post was written for those who "don't look sick." I'm talking about people with illnesses that strike and affect a person inside out. Fibro, rheumatoid arthritis,Chrohn's disease....those sorts of things that, when flaring, make a person's life hell.

Add to this list the mental illnesses that also can level a person with hardly any effort and it's a formidable list.

People who have these illnesses are given a limited number of "spoons." Each spoon represents doing ONE thing and once those spoons are used up, game over for that day. It doesn't matter what time of day it is or if there is anything more to be done....a person is tapped out and has to rest. There is no pushing one's self because one has all ready been pushed to the limit.

There are days when I have more spoons than other days. Those days, I can go around and do things but I have to be aware that if I push myself too hard, if I don't keep track of my spoons, I'm well and truly fucked.

Yesterday was one of those days. And I ran out of spoons but I kept pushing myself.

Last night, when I went to bed, I was beyond exhausted. I had to keep going and I made myself when that inner voice said, "Stop! Please, stop!" and I said, "I can't. I HAVE to do this. I have to do that."

I was hit by the Darkness and oh boy....all my spoons were gone. I had no energy and I laid there, crying, because I didn't know how to make It stop screaming at me. But, like any good veteran, I always have one spoon in reserve.

I tapped into Bear and Bear told my Awesome Guy what was going on and he held me and helped my mind calm down and helped me get through the worst of it. I pushed the Darkness back...PUSHED that Motherfucker back as HARD as I could until I could shut It down again...or at least, enough so that I could sleep. Sleep is a depressive's friend....it gives me my spoons back and the energy along with them to get through the day and do what must be done.

Today, I have a few spoons. Not as much as I wish I had but that means I just am careful. I have to buy shoes with my Galoot. I have to complete my study guide for my Health class. I have to do one errand with my roommate. After that, I rest and keep my energy in reserve; I can feel the Darkness breathing and waiting for an opening and I'd rather not. I have to be careful and cunning and keep a careful count.

I'm not sure when I'll have more spoons or when I'll feel as though I have limitless spoons (that's an illusion that I've pushed much to my regret). I know that because of my Illness, I don't "look sick." And I hide it as much as I can--most people don't know that there are days when I think about hurting myself every few minutes.

This is why I treat everyone I meet (especially strangers) with kindness. I don't know if they, too, are a fellow Spoon person. I can't tell just by looking at them if they're "sick" or hurting inside (although, I can usually feel the emotional stuff). I have learned that judging by appearance cheapens me and should be strongly discouraged.

After all, look at me. I don't look sick today. I'll take a shower and dress in nice clothes, and you couldn't tell that inside, I am crying and crying and keeping it together by sheer will and habit.

It'll be OK. I hopefully will feel better tomorrow. I'm just going to be careful today. I have about six spoons at my disposal. I hope to have more tomorrow.



K.

What's up with that?

So tonight, my youngest son and I were walking into Walgreen's when he asks me a really interesting question. He wanted to know why most of the songs today were about "sex, drugs and money." That stopped me.

I looked down at him and said, "I think it's because those songs sell. People listen to them and buy the music."

"Huh," was his reply.

I do like my pop music. I also like dance music and techno and stuff that makes me want to shake my tail feathers. I always have and I probably always will. So I'm pretty in tune with what's currently popular these days and boy....it's a far cry from the songs of my parents' generation.

I remember when "Wake Up Little Susie" was a shocker. I mean, look at those lyrics! They fell asleep at the movie show and now, boy oh boy....trouble!

And let's not forget Olivia Newton-John's song, "Physical" which was...um....stimulating, indeed. I remember when stations wouldn't play the song and it was banned and there was this HUGE outcry. What filthy lyrics!

Hah. Hah hah....hah....what would those people think of the songs today?

Let's see. We have Rihanna singing about "S and M" in the song with the same title. We have another group of men singing about the "backseat" and yet another man singing about "loving you" in the clean version but the explicit version is more blunt: change the verb to the F word instead.

And boy, those explicit versions are explicit. There's the F word. The B word. The Ass word and even sexual organs are named. I think the naysayers from the sixties and seventies would dead away faint if they listened to the lyrics.

Which brings me to another thing. What in the world is up with this Autotune business? T-Pain sounds all right but he can actually sing. It seems as though Autotune is a tool to give even the worst rapper a sideass way to carry a "melody", as laughable as that is. It's getting to the point where my sons and I groan when a song comes on and it's almost all Autotune. Bleagh.

As for drugs, it seems that I should be smoking a joint or a blunt these days to be sexy and all that. Mostly, weed is the drug of choice in songs but alcohol is also strongly suggested. After all, as Jamie Foxx sang, "Blame it on the Alcohol" when it comes to dumbass behavior. Gosh, that's an example to set, isn't it?

And then there's the money. I know that's part of the appeal of the glamour but ye gods. Money money money....and the stuff money can buy. All that bling and status stuff.

My boys and I talk about the songs we listen to. I have them listen to songs that aren't about the money or the sex or the drugs. My current favourite songs are by Taylor Swift and by Janelle Monae and by P!nk. Empowering songs and by women in different musical genres. That's pretty sweet.

So I'm glad my youngest son brought up his astute observation. It gives me the opening to tell him that even though some songs are about sex and drugs and money...there are plenty of good songs out there that aren't. And it's OK to like a song because of the music or the beat and the bass. But it's OK to say, "I like the music but NOT the lyrics because they're degrading to women/gay people/minorities."

I think it's important to not shame our kids if they like songs that we aren't comfortable with--it's important to find out why they like the song so much. And then, it's crucial to talk to them about the message the song is putting forth--so they, too, can say, "I can embrace this whole song" or "I'm not OK with this part of it" or even "I won't listen to this song because I don't want to support any part of it at all."

As for me, I'll keep on listening and singing along and keeping track of the music my boys are listening to. It lets me keep a pulse on what they think and feel. And if I can dance around the house to it, that's not necessarily a bad thing, either.


K.

So this is what it feels like? Bleagh.

I tried today to eat like I would if I were dieting. Or watching my caloric intake.

I have decided that I'd rather be happy and eat what I like and go for walks than sit there and eat these portions that are fit for small birds.

I have also decided that the real reason some people who are super skinny are in such a bad mood most of the time is because they're *starving*. Seriously, how in the HELL can you concentrate when your body is saying, 'look. Just put a goddamn cheeseburger into me, would ya? Or a shake. Just one freaking shake.'

And they're going, 'noooo...because if I don't watch my weight, I'm going to be undesireable and called fattie and I won't ever be able to wear a bikini or something like that ever and I will just die of shame.'

Wow. No wonder these people walk around with either a half glazed look on their face or else a grump that would impress Eeyore.

Granted, I'd like to be as thin as I was about four years ago. I'm not. I've seen pictures of myself when I was in my early twenties and I could cry. But I won't.

See, the thing is, I'm fed up. (no pun intended) I'm fed up with these airbrushed photos of women. I'm fed up of the way people are made to feel when they get old. I'm fed up with how society shoves aside our elders and instead fixates on the young, the shallow, and the physically attractive.

Seriously?

I've mouthed this before but this time, I mean it. I'm OK with getting wrinkles. I'm OK that I am not super thin. I'm OK that I have grey in my hair and that I'm beginning to show some signs of aging. Yeah, I do grimace a bit from time to time and I have been known to examine myself in a mirror to see exactly where those lines are forming but overall, I remind myself that I am buying into what the media wants me to believe and I am so against that.

My Awesome Guy Loves me for me. He doesn't care that I don't look like I did four years ago. My sons Love me for me. My friends and Chosen Family Love me for me. It's true, you know...the people who really matter don't give a rat's ass if you fit into a size 2 or a size 24...they Love YOU.

So this was a grand experiment today. I will eat healthy, yes. But I'm not going to starve myself to be "thin." I want to be the role model my sons emulate and more importantly, I want to be the kind of woman they want their future mate to be like: someone who is comfortable in her own skin, no matter what her age or weight.

I am going to still go on walks and I think I'll do some Wii fit because it's good to be toned and healthy to encourage longevity...I want to be around here for a while. But to do all of that and starve myself so that I can look like every other miserable woman who bought into the Bullshit?

No, thanks. I'll pass.

But pass me that cheeseburger, please. And some fries on the side.

It's good to be me.



K.

When the Darkness rolls...

I was 17 when I was diagnosed with bipolar.

I can remember it starting when I was 12. It flared when I was 14. And from there on, it has been part of my life, over half my lifetime now.

I don't have strong manic episodes. They usually consist of me unable to sleep so I read. Or get up and do housework. Or watch movies. My mind agitates. I can't sleep because I have thoughts rushing up and down the expressways of my mind and I can feel them whooosh up and down, back and forth, like race cars. It is a bit disturbing and I am grateful when they slow down, when my mind stops spinning, and I can sleep.

But those are nothing compared to the depressive episodes. When the Blackness hits (a term I've used for my depression), things slow down. I move slower, I talk slower, I think slower. Somebody dumped molasses into my think tank and it gums up the works. Those days, I take slow, deep breaths and do what needs to be done but I don't push myself. I know that I need to take the time to let my chemistry balance itself and if I exhaust myself, that puts me square into another danger.

The Darkness comes. The Darkness (which is my suicidal thoughts) is awful. It's insidious and remorseless. It washes over everything, mutes everything in my head, shuts down as much as It can. Some days, I don't hear it. Not much. Just a subliminal murmur that I can ignore as I go about and enjoy the day. When the Blackness hits, that murmur gets pushed up a few notches. I can still ignore the Darkness, it's harder, but I concentrate on eating well and sleeping and not triggering anything if I can help it.

Once the Darkness is in full effect, that murmur becomes a full out roar, a scream, a rush of noise that overshadows and overwhelms. Its goal is to grind me down, to tire me, to make me pick up the blades and end it. When the Darkness is calling, I won't touch the knives in the house. I am not in a good place in my head and I know now, that I can tell my Awesome Guy and he will hold me while I cry and while I fight and while I push back as hard as I dare to. Exhausting myself emotionally is just a very bad idea.

So I push back. I try to Remember that this will pass. The Darkness will again fade away to almost nothing and I will be here, still. There are people who DO Love me. They Love me for me. I don't have to hide who I am. Or be someone I'm not.

I try and Remember this while I'm lost in the fog in my mind and all I can hear is the Darkness screaming at me. I do have One Weapon, though.

I call Him Bear. He is the sum and substance of my subconscious and my inner strength and wisdom. He is the entirety of my Soul and my Guardian of the Gates. He treads the Garden Paths inside and sends me Bear Dreams, rich with magic and wisdom. I don't get those often but I recognize them when I do. Bear resides deep inside and when I am at my wit's end, He comes out, lumbering, His great grizzly form rearing up to full measure and I retreat, letting Bear deal with the Darkness.

Bear does so with grace and strength. He pushes It back. He has no patience for the lies nor the knife edge and He gives me the breathing space I need to gather my resources and shut It down.

I am exhausted after a fight with the Darkness. I sleep a lot. I am fragile emotionally and am prone to tears until my equilibrium catches up with me.

The Darkness tells me that I am alone. It says that no one would care if I left. It says that I would be a good riddance as I am nothing but a burden to those who Love me and that it would be a relief when I'm gone. It says that I am Worthless. It says so many things that have hurt me ever since I was small.

Bear says that these are all Lies. Lies and things people have told me because they wanted to hurt me, because they wanted to control me, because they could not accept me for who I am and that I could not be what they wanted me to be. Bear says that I need to continue to fight and that I need to let others know that they're not alone when they hurt inside and when their own Darkness comes calling their Name.

When I am doing Ok, when I can feel the sun shine inside of me, I don't believe the Darkness one moment. I know the Lies for what they are and I can dismiss them easily. They are but shadows in the sun.

It's when I'm not doing Ok, when the Blackness has twisted my perception and the Darkness is waiting in the wings, that's when it's easier to think that perhaps I'm just being delusional. Perhaps I am lying to myself.

Today is a good day. My head is clear, my wrists don't ache (a sign that my chemical balance in my body is gone awry) and I don't hear the whispers very much at all. I'm taking it easy today. I will probably nap later on and make sure that I keep my resources as full as I can.

I am so very grateful for the people who Love me. I am so very grateful for my friends who are there for me, when I feel alone. I have my sons and my Awesome Guy and a great great roomie who understands my struggles and I am enriched so much by the people in my life.

The Blackness and the Darkness seek to isolate, this I know. I think it's important for people who fight it, to seek out just one person to talk to. I think it's important for those who Love us who fight, to let us know that they're here for us, that they will hold our hand,lead us out or walk beside us until we can walk away.

I write about this because I want people to know they're not alone in the Good Fight. There is nothing to be ashamed of. There is always hope. There is always Love.

Don't believe what the Darkness tells you. The Darkness is a Lie.



K.

Part II: Consequences and Actions

This wasn't the blog post I was going to write. But I think it's important.

In South Africa, there recently was a meeting of government officials and other people to discuss "corrective rape." Yes, I didn't write that wrong.

For those of you not in the know, corrective rape is when a lesbian is raped by a man or men (!!!) to "change" her to becoming heterosexual. I kid you not.

This has been going on for YEARS and until only recently has received the international attention it should have and now the government is going, please stop barraging us with petitions to stop this and we'll do something about it.

I am, grimly, pleased. Stop petitioning for this awful crime to cease? Sure 'nuff. When the government stops the actions legally. When the women who have been raped are provided free medical and psychological care. When these men are put behind bars for their actions.

Rape is a controlling device. Nothing more, and certainly nothing less. It's not sex. It's not seduction. It's certainly not something done to let a woman (or man) know that they're desireable.

Rape hurts. It physically hurts. It psychologically hurts. The damage can go on for years. The body heals. The mind, on the other hand, takes time and sometimes, it never does heal. PTSD is a bitch.

I know these things because I've been raped. I've been raped more than once and I've been raped by men I thought I could trust--boyfriends and friends. I've been sexually assaulted too but that's a whole different kettle of fish. It was thisclose to rape but I managed to avoid actual penetration. Everything else was up for grabs, shall we say.

A while ago now, there was a person on Etsy who had designed a card which was supposed to be funny. Except the picture on the front wasn't so funny. It was a photo of a woman sitting in a shower, nude. Her eyes were blank. Her position was as fetal as one could get, for sitting in a shower. The point of the card? "Congratulations! You've been bad touched."

Yeah....that...triggered the hell out of me. See, after a woman has been raped, she's not to take a shower. That destroys evidence, see. I knew that. So even though I wanted to take a shower, I didn't. I waited. Waited for seven HOURS because I wanted my boyfriend at the time to be there when the police came so I waited with my rapist's smell on me and his semen inside of me. I felt....well, I wanted a shower so badly but I wanted this man to be nailed to the wall. So I waited.

Afterwards, I got into the shower. I may have sat down in it. I know I scrubbed myself obsessively clean. I know I cried. I hurt. I hurt so badly.

A person can logically point out to me that the person who made this card has rights under the First Amendment. This is correct. A person can point out to me that I don't have to buy this card. This is also correct. A person can also say that I shouldn't let this affect me as it did and at that point, I am going to tell said person to take a long walk off a short pier. (I'm being nice).

Every rape I endured, I told myself I'd get through it. I'd survive and go on. Every rape I recovered from, I told myself that I am not at fault for it. I didn't ask for it. I sure in hell didn't deserve it.

And I am a survivor. I'm an advocate. I'm here for other women and men who have gone through this kind of hurt and hell and I can tell them that it is OK. That they're not worthless and they're not objects and they have the goddamn right to be as angry and sad and whatever else emotion they feel and they have the fecking right to tell others, this is NOT OK.

I, of course, signed the petition for the leaders of South Africa. I signed the petition for Etsy to stop the making of this card, First Amendment rights be damned.

It needs to start with one. One person who will be vocal and will not stop until their voice is heard.

My hats are off to the brave women of South Africa who brought this to our attention. My hats are off to the men and women who are there for rape victims and who work to make sure that the rape culture that pervades our society and the world is pushed back, is slowly eliminated.

These are signs of hope. I hope one day that it doesn't matter what the circumstances are. Rape is rape. And people who respond to that for what it is.



K.

So, how's that working out for you?

Wow.

College is intense. Not that I didn't know it wouldn't be but I am up to my ears in homework and making sure my assignments are due on time and all of that and boy.

Hi, how are you? I haven't talked to you in AGES.

I am, however, going to write in this blog at least once a week because the writing is my way to let the stress out and if I don't write, I'm a gonna blow like a tea kettle.

How are things going? Well, let me update you.

College Writing II is about writing a Research Paper. Gah. The good thing is that I get to choose the topic. The other good thing is is my teacher is pretty cool. That plus I have somehow been adopted by some highschool girls who are taking this class. They are on the danceline and they come from practice to the school so they have their hair all done up and are kind of adorable. God, I feel old.

At any rate, I have about nine articles to read and highlight and write on index cards (I was way proactive and bought 300 of the Motherfeckers) This is Writing!!!

I also am doing interviews. I have one set up for tomorrow afternoon and am scheduling another for this weekend. Booya!

Math for Dummies is going reasonably well. I get the concepts and thus far, I'm pulling an "A" in the class. I got an "A" on the first big test so now I've changed the name of the class to Math for Hopeful Geniuses. Yes, I hope big time that I can keep my "A". We shall see. Thanks to an awesome tutor and a teacher who really breaks it down, I'm doing pretty good. We're working on fractions right now.

Intro to Sociology is a hoot. I have a professor who is blunt. How blunt? He had us write down the keys to doing well in this class. It was: RTFQ and RTFB. Which stands for Read the Fucking Question and Read the Fucking Book. Awesomesauce. It also helps to Read the Fucking Syllabus correctly as last time, I misread it and was expecting a lecture but no, it was the first exam. Feck and feck. I hope I got a "B" but I might have pulled a "C". I'm not going to let myself get messed up like that again.

My Health class is interesting. It's a Health and Drugs class that's almost entirely online and since I regard this class as a "class" I am being very very good about doing my work ON TIME. I took the first big test there and scored 39 out of 40 so that made me pretty darn happy! That plus I'm turning in all my work and getting "A's" so we shall see.

What this means, however, is I have no social life. I study each night. I do the boys' activities with them. I take my Big Guy to cello lessons on Tuesday nights. He also has Boy scouts twice a month. I have a Committee meeting to go to (which I haven't been able to but will start up soon) once a month for Boy scouts.

My youngest is finishing up Cub scouts. I am pushing myself to make it through until mid March when he graduates from Cub scouts and goes on to Boy scouts. Whew. Until then, I am his Den Leader, the Awards Chair, and also am supposed to go to Cub scout Committee meetings (I have pretty much failed at that since I began spring semester).

I do keep in touch and I do my duties as a Den Leader and Awards Chair so I don't think people can say too much about it. It'll just be much easier when I'm only involved in the one Scouting activity.

Then, we have other stuff going on and they need their Momma time and my Awesome Guy needs his Us Time and I kind of need some Alone time. Somehow, I make it all work.

It just gets....tiring. Is it worth it? Oh, hella yeah.

But yeah. And now, it's time for bed. I've run around a good portion of the day getting Things Done and now I need to get some sleep. I have two classes tomorrow and that interview so I best be sharp for all of it.


K.

Part I: Consequences and Reactions

It's been a rough few days.

I'll try and put in some good things here because I don't want to be all Dark and everything but...

It's been a rough few days.

My Awesome Guy said, "It never really goes away." and he's right. I've been emotionally exhausted, physically exhausted, and I had a rather intense therapy session this evening, with my Awesome Guy in attendance.

Triggers are fascinating things. All by themselves, they're innocuous. But as any person who has PTSD or have gone through some trauma, add, mix, and BOOM!

I don't know how other people deal with their triggers blowing them out of the water, but I can tell you I hang on for dear life. It's like being on one of those extreme rides at the Fair...the ones that have you upside down and inside out and are fast and disorientating. I see the people on these rides and some of them are hanging on with white knuckles, screaming all the while. I hear you, pals, I hear you.

I have never been on one of those rides; they scare the living poo out of me, to be honest. I have a young son who absolutely *loves* thrill rides and those rides beckon to him with all the allure of the daredevil thrills and chills the ride promises. He's gone on rides that have me doing the screaming meemies from THE GROUND. Watching on terra firma and gazing upwards at him, seeing him *laugh*. Insanity, I tells you. :)

But this. The strong, subconscious side of me (which I have named Bear) has blocked any dreams. Dreams that are also triggering for me have been, somehow, set aside. I have dreamt odd dreams the past couple of nights but not the dreams I'd feared dreaming. I wake up with relief that I didn't have to relive those memories. Instead, I am *exhausted* physically and emotionally, I've been in a free for all.

I have cried way too much the past couple of days. Tears well up in my eyes for no reason at all and I assure my sons that it isn't them and that yes, hugs and kisses for their momma is plenty appreciated. I have received many hugs and kisses and that's helped a lot.

I am grateful for my Awesome Guy's understanding. He knows what I'm feeling and why I'm feeling and he holds me while I cry and he lets me scream out my rage and he expresses his own feelings about the triggers and what's happened to make me feel so fragile and unsafe.

I'm safe in my house, true. But I'm as fragile as a leaf in the wind. I cringe around strangers. I don't want to be around people I don't know and don't trust and when I picked up pizza for dinner tonight, I retreated to the corner to wait for my order. I noted that I was where no one could come up behind me, I could watch all around me and my back was protected. Check, check, and check.


This will pass, of course. It will fade away and I'll be less hesitant. But right now, while the emotions and the memories threaten to overwhelm me, I'll take care of myself so that it passes all the quicker.

To that end, I drink cups of tea in my Christmas gift tea cup from someone I Love very much. I listen to music. I read. I sleep a lot. I am fortunate that I have this week to rest and that I don't have to pretend that I'm OK. Because I'm not OK.

I will be, though. I am strong, resilient, and I will bounce back and be my old self once more.

Until then, though, I'm going to be easy on myself and forgive myself for having a hard time with past hurts and memories and those goddamn films that roll through my head when I let my guard down.

Enough.


K.

Happy New Year's!

Ye gods.

It is now 2011. The year before the HUGE Apocalypse. Either that or the Mayans were really referring to some rave party that will involve everyone on the planet getting snorkled on organic mushrooms and waving glo sticks around.

Holla!

*cough*

Maybe. I am not worrying about it, though. Ignore the 50 cases of bottled water in the corner.

It's occurred to me that I haven't been writing like I've wanted to. There has been so much goodness to talk about and to share and I have been remiss. I apologize.

I started college full time this past fall and let me tell you, THAT was a revelation and a half. I have been out of school for 20 years....longer than I had been *in* school and I discovered a few things about myself this time around.

1. I am a piss poor student when I'm bored. I don't turn my papers in on time or do the assignments on time or just...generally, say, what the hell?? And let it go.

2. When I really like a class, I go for broke. There has to be balance and the balance is that I prepare like mad and do my presentations like my life depended upon it.

3. I will never ever EVER take a phy ed course that involves online work ever AGAIN. NOT EVER. It was pretty awful. I took yoga this past fall and for some reason, it also included online work. yeah, take reason number 1, add my disdain and utter lack of time management at the worst moments and stir. "BOOM!" as Ivanova said.


Despite failing Yoga (yes, yes, I did and it's a one credit class and I've learned invaluable things so hush), I managed to earn a 3.0 GPA. yeah, that's me, Ms. Powerhouse, reason Number 2.

I worked really hard in my other classes and so that helped buoy my overall grades.


Now. Spring semester is starting up in another week or two. I am taking the following:

College Writing II

Math for Idiots (that's what *I* am calling it...more on this in a moment)

Health

Intro to Sociology

OK, mon chats. So college writing II is going to be fun, I hope. Math for Idiots is the math for people who can't take even the first year's course of college level math. I freely admit that I'm one of those people to whom math and hard science just doesn't work. I have a certain quirk in which I can remember what's going on IN CLASS. I can write it all down and make notes and then, when I come home to do the homework, I open the notes and look at gibberish. *sigh* I'm not stupid, I know this. I just can't retain it.

Don't tell me it's because I'm not trying hard enough or I swear to god, I'll fucking BRAIN you. After 6 YEARS of math in middle school and high school, I know what's ticking and what isn't, thanksmuch. Math isn't my forte. That's OK.

Thankfully, I will have a tutor who will come over and help me and also I can call her and she will explain stuff over the phone and the light will hopefully go on again. Seeing as this is pre-algebra, it shouldn't be too hard.

That plus my eldest son is doing that math right now. He's doing fine in it and so....yes, if push comes to shove, I can ask my 13 year old to help his mother with her math assignments. Ah, the ignominy.

As for Health class, it's a requirement that I plan on getting through with as much grace as possible. I hope it's going to be interesting. We'll see.

And Intro do Sociology sounds good. I need it for what I'm going to school for so you can bet I'll be paying strict attention.


We'll see.


The other wild card factor is my depression. It gets worse in the winter and this winter, during the first part, it was pretty darn awful. Adding to it was the death of someone I love and cared for and that was more than enough to send me straight to my bed, not moving and certainly not going to class. (this explains the Yoga grade).

I tried to reorganize my classes better this time around, making sure I'm going to school in "blocks", ie, Tuesday and Thursday classes. That way, I can get it all done in one day instead of spread out. That ought to make it easier.

Also, if I'm falling behind because I'm fighting my Illness, I'm going to have a private meeting with my professor and explain what's going on. No excuses, of course...but being able to say, look....I'm falling apart here and I don't want to do poorly in this class but I am unable to cope well....I should have done that LAST semester but pride is a funny thing.

It cost me a decent grade in one class and I'd rather not repeat that.

It's all a learning process...and going to college is much more about learning and writing papers. It's about growing up and coping with every day life.

For me, going to college, going back to college, is a vindication. I've always known that I could do it...it just...took encouragement and support...and here I am, doing it. Going to school. Getting some pretty good grades. Learning stuff.

I will be occupied, of course, with Life. I am, after all, a mother and that's my first priority. I have two wonderful sons who are in their pre-teen and teen years and I want to be there for them, to help them navigate through those choppy waters.

I am going to be a wife, although quite frankly, I all ready feel married to my Awesome Guy but that still means I take time for him and for us.

And I have to take time for ME. I have to keep an eye on my Illness and make sure that when it flares, I can do what needs to be done to keep me on task, balanced, and able to get through the worst of it with minimal damage to my emotional state.

I think 2011 is going to be a really great year. It's a year of changes and a year of discovery. It will be a year of achievement and hard work and determination.

I know not everything is going to be easy this year. There were some very hard things that have happened recently that have broke my heart and I am getting through it with the Love and support of those around me. I am most fortunate in my Chosen family and friends.

2011 is going to fly by...I know this.

And darn it...I need to write regularly, school schedule and Life be damned. I need to record it all as it passes like quicksilver through my fingers and gleams so very briefly in the dark.


K.