quirkytizzy: (Default)
A headache pushes me out of bed. I'd be more annoyed, except that's a regular, normal occurrence - or at least is normal in normal times. So in a way, it's almost comforting. I haven't languished in bed for hours, dreading the full opening of my eyes. My body went "Fuck you, bitch, ya gettin' up."

And Cholula, thank you so much! Not only is your gift needed, but it was an amazing morale boost. It's so easy to get nearly stuck in spinning around. Your kindness breaks that wheel and it is much, much appreciated. Especially as I'd woken up from a nightmare. A creepy, gross one in which I'd been having a consensual relationship with my stepfather. In the dream, I was just begining to get the idea that this wasn't right, but my family around me kept going on about how wonderful he was for me.

So, in essence, pretty close to real life - at least as far as "consensual" at 14 meant "power imbalances and grooming techniques that I hadn't yet recognized". I can't remember if I left him in the dream or if I stayed. I DO know that in real life, I left. It just drives me insane that there might be even the TINIEST bit of guilt for that, 20 years later.

Well, at least I don't have to listen to any jokes about it being cheating. Yeah, David took the oppurtunity once, when I'd had a similar dream, and I was sharing about it, to crack a joke about "Should I be worried you're going to cheat on me?" He smiled and laughed, quite pleased with his wit. Never mind the fact that I was scowling, trembling, had a voice cracking with shame. Never mind the fact that I had just spent five minutes telling him - IN DIRECT WORDS - how disgusting the dream made me feel, how awful it made me feel, how dirty it made me feel.

Nope, never mind any of that. David wanted to be funny and make a joke out of my childhood rape.

I was less than pleased and snapped at him that it wasn't funny. Falling back on one of his favorite excuses, he went "It's just a joke!"

**I** snapped back "Find something other than childhood sexual abuse to joke about!"

He did not apologize.

After my initial fury passed, I made some excuse that he'd never had a girlfriend who was so open about her sexual abuse and thus he didn't know how to appropriately handle it. It didn't occur to me until three months after the breakup that a freaking teenager would know not to make that joke. That was not the first time he'd cracked "jokes" like that about my history. That was not the last time he cracked "jokes" like that about my history.

So often, SO often, he tried couching those cruel things he said into "jokes." A coverup for a variety of hurtful, outlandish, and just outright mean words aimed towards me. It's like, I can get behind the idea of accidently letting loose with an extremely ill-timed, ill-mannered joke once in a while. I'm guilty of that. Often, even. I can be a tremendously thoughtless asshole. But a good person, when it comes out that the joke was hurtful, apologizes and then stays the fuck away from joking about that hurtful subject.

He rarely apologized and NEVER stopped joking about those sorts of things.

I don't know if he really thought he was funny or if he was intentionally trying to be an asshole. Knowing him and his overinflated sense of confidence in his wit, he most likely thought he was being brilliant. His intent doesn't really matter, though. It was a dick move regardless. I know that now.

So between that memory with David, the dream itself, and the headache, Cholula - your message with your gift helped me shake off the icky this morning. THANK YOU. Thank you. It is good to know I have friends, reaching out with words and love. THANK YOU.

On my mind

Sep. 8th, 2015 07:24 pm
quirkytizzy: (Default)
I've had so much on my mind today.

Your advice is solid and that is what I will do. Allow for open communication, to call weekly, to make sure that my voice, my confidence, is easy for them to reach and easy for them to trust. Keep the lines open without forcing fears onto them.

Michael, you so often say that I trust the better of people and that is what leads to my greatest disappointments. I fear that the better angels of this man don't exist as I see them. If I lose here, it is not my life that will be stripped of skin and sanity. It will be theirs.

But this is where I have to try and look at who he is now. Perhaps redemption is possible. Such a theme in my life. Those who will never be forgiven and those who I have forgiven in degrees. He will never know it, but I am trusting him with the legacy of my entire life - the legacy of two children, finding health instead of horror in family.

I can let that be as it is. Thank you, all of you, for your advice and suggestions. I had no idea what to do about that. What you guys said was solid.

I had to look at the posting rank, Bart, and you were right! I was like, "Uh, what?" That entry was certainly not the most poetic or moving piece I've ever written. LJ must be having a really boring day. But yeah, the ego boost is appreciated. Both for the writer's ego, ever-yawning and hungry maw, and for the still, troubled moments of reliving the last 17 years today.

There was another distraction from work today, though a much wanted one. Jesse and I spent the entire day yesterday having...well, cuddly sex. I don't have cuddly sex very often. "Making love" bores the hell out of me. I like it kinky, rough, and with marks. But yesterday, we spent the day on blankets on the floor, soft, sweet, slow. We took short naps, our bodies carelessly entwined in each other. We brushed the hair from each other's faces and spoke softly.

I felt so close to him. So close to him that I missed him greatly when I went to work today. I usually don't mind the time away, as separate time is part of what makes Teressa's World Go 'Round. If this is the draw to "making love", I can understand it. I've "made love" very few times and with very few people in my life, though at least a couple of you here on my Flist can be counted among them. It was wonderful to revisit this with my new love.

I told him one day we'd take a vacation to a cabin in the woods, and we'd lay sprawled on a bearskin rug in front of a roaring fireplace, feeding each other grapes and cheese. I've never wanted anything so cliche before. But laying on the floor, shifting on our blankets that very much need a washing, the heat of the cooling oven washing over us, I suddenly very much WANTED that something cliche.

I'm beginning to think not all cliche things are bad. This is something at 17 that I would have scoffed at. Jeered at. At 34, I'm now thinking of where the good mountain cabins are.

All things come back to that today. I NEVER count this day. In 11 years on LJ, I've never commemorated it. If I notice it, it is a private sort of brooding. But the children leaving to a place where no amount of running will bring them to me, if the need became great enough, this day marking precisely double the life I had lived then....it all comes back to that. That day.

That day and this day. This day, sore after a long day's worth of work (being closed on the holiday, we wound up pulling TWO days worth of orders in one). This day, cursing Youtube's annoying habit of commercials that you cannot skip. This day, staring at Jesse with such contentment that it nearly scares me. This day....free.

That's what I told Jesse. I told him that while this is not the life I thought I'd be living, I think at the time, the only thing I wanted was freedom. Freedom from terror. Freedom from abuse. Freedom from being chained to their wounds, from them using their wounds as weapons against me.

I have that now. I'm free.

Seventeen years later, thirty-four years old, I am free.
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The cat is in heat, leading to broken sleep, leaving me to forget I'd set my alarm at 5:30 rather than 5, leading me to groggily think I'd overslept. And yes, it's weird that I think 5:30 AM is oversleeping, but for how I've got my schedule set up, it is. This also leads me telling the cat that I'm going to shoot her with a bazooka in the face. An empty threat, seeing as I have no bazooka. I don't even own a BB gun.

Thursday was a day of great synchronicities, of balance, of one thing moving to immediately correct another. I must admit to a bit of whiplash, so up and down has the last week been. But the up is more up than the down, so for the reeling, I know that there IS solid ground and I know that it IS right beneath me.

Patrick had taken Jesse and I out to lunch, as we do on Thursdays. Being as the day was cool enough, we ate outside. There was a kitten. A tiny kitten, likely no more than a couple of months old. The poor thing was terrified and despite several attempts to pick it up, the cat was skittish and refused to get close. I was planning on giving the kitten a nice chunk of my sandwich (brisket, mmmmm!), but the cat ran off and hadn't returned by the end of the meal.

I was saddened by this, but packed up my food and got back into Pat's car. Later that evening, spurned by the remembrance of a 5.00 fee I owed the apartment complex, we careened into a gas station to use their ATM. Outside was a very animated woman surrounded by Animal Control officers. Next to the woman was a cat carrier, with a very stressed, unhappy looking cat inside.

From what I could gather, the woman was homeless and arguing with the officers about giving up her cat. I understood. While I know homelessness is not the healthiest thing for a cat, when we are down and out, our pets often give us the sole reason we need to live. I asked the gas station attendant if anyone had gotten the cat water and food. Water the clerks could give, so the cat had water. However, no one could spare the extra few dollars to buy the cat food.

So, hunting down the back of the gas station, I found a few cans of cat food and bought them. On my way out of the gas station, I asked the woman if the cat needed food. She answered yes, and I sat the cans of food down on the cat carrier. Her conversation with the Animal Control officers had become even more heated, so I moved on, but I remember - and will always remember - the look of gratitude in her eyes.

I was not able to feed the skin-and-bones kitten at the restaurant. I WAS able to feed the cat that a homeless woman was refusing to give up. I was not able to help out earlier in the day. I WAS able to help out later - concerning another cat, no less. (Cats are my kryptonite - I will massively inconvenience myself to help a kitty.)

I've spent so much time over the last week, the last month, the last lifetime receiving help, gifts, generosity unbounded and without condition. It felt amazing to be able to give that back, to a stranger, no less.

And in return, if the Universe does, indeed, work like this, I received help from another stranger. An offer of such wild generosity that I began to cry, right there, between aisles 7 and 8 of the warehouse. Right there, in between putting down a gasket seal and picking up a gasket cap.

A friend of a friend here on DW offered me their car. Not offered to loan. Not offered to sell. But offered me their car. Free. Free of charge. Hell, even free of transport, as this person is located a few hours away from me, and offered to drive down to meet me. Kitsplut, someone I had never met, never interacted with, not even on the small realm of these places where we all gather to write, received word that I was in need of a vehicle.

And doing what saves humanity from ourselves, she (he? they?) made an offer of such generosity that I found myself stunned, unable to put down either the gasket seal or the gasket cap. I'm exceedingly grateful that I was in an isolated part of the warehouse, for had someone come 'round the corner, they would have seen me crying.

It would turn out, as when the Universe gives, it fucking gives, that Pamela had rallied the money to fix my old car. I found this out shortly after Kitsplut had offered her car. This was not a small price tag, especially as Pamela had paid my rent this month. I was almost lost, so awash was I with gratitude, with wonder, and with profound awe.

Here I'd been, so incredibly stressed, falling into despair trying to convince myself that this wasn't my fault, and all the while, forces behind me were moving to catch me. The offer of Kitsplut's car, Pamela's help, the money sent in Paypal, the sympathies and reassurances shared about how hard this has all been for me, hell, even the arguments about Jesse....

I am not alone. I have friends. I have family. I have people who see the struggle, even if they do not know who I am, and who recognize that. Who care for that. Who give words and items and rides and time and attention. I am not alone. I AM NOT ALONE.

I don't know why it is my lesson to learn, over and over again, that I am not alone. Maybe that's universal and all humans must relearn it over a lifetime. But I am not alone.

It is this sort of thing that used to make me believe in God. I do not believe in God these days. But one does not need to believe in God to believe in something larger than themselves.

And that something is all of you. Thank you so much.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
OH. MY. GOD. GUYS. OH MY HOLY MOTHERFUCKING GOD. I asked for a few bucks to get through the week and the response I got is IS THERE A WORD STRONGER THAN HOLY MOTHERFUCKING SHIT BECAUSE I WANT TO USE IT HERE an overwhelming show of support and kindness and generosity.

I can't even...just omg, you guys. THANK YOU. FUCKING SHIT THANK YOU! Every dollar helped - every single dollar.

I want to get to thanking each of you individually, because you guys didn't hold back. Whether it was a few dollars or more than a few dollars...I just...,wow. I almost feel guilty for having asked for money. Just...I LOVE YOU GUYS. I FUCKING LOVE YOU. EVERYONE OF YOU. EVEN THE ONES WHO COULDN'T GIVE BECAUSE YOU GUYS GIVE OF YOURSELVES EVERY DAY HERE.

Someone needs to invent stronger words than cursewords - and stronger HTML tags than simple font changes.

I am bowled over. I am grateful beyond my capacity to even to justify it with words.

THANK. YOU. You all are so beautiful. Please, please know that.

Know that

Oct. 12th, 2014 06:38 am
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Y'know, I really thought there'd be this huge hysterical breakdown. I thought I would be tangled in weeping and dragging myself, bloodied fingers and aching head, through twenty year old wounds.

But...I haven't. I had a few hours of frantic writing, fighting old self harm urges, and....that was it. At first I thought it was just needing to rest but now that I am rested, the need for dark and painful abuse work just isn't there.

This isn't to say it won't show up later, and likely at some really inopportune time, but for the moment, I'm taking this rest and calling it well-deserved.

I'm positive that a huge part of this is because I've been able to, for the first time in years, work through this in peace and quiet. There's been no stress about money (okay, no David eating up my money), no arguing with people about needing to get out and socialize through all this (okay, no David arguing with me about socializing), and no excessive tv or lights on all night to physically stress me out. Okay, so no David leaving on the lights or tv all day and all night.

But even beyond that, there's just been a very real quiet that's made me somehow able to not freak out. I'm not entirely sure where or why it came, but it is there.

At least for now. When it hits, or when something new hits, I'll be here, typing out frantically, crying into the words, and you guys will be here, supporting me through every hiccuping sob.

That is what made me able to get through this. Your support. The support of my friends.

I hope you guys know that.
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This is the difference that one very long, very hot bath, four cigarettes, and two poems can make.

It will be alright. Somehow. With you. With all of you. With all of this.

And no, poetry set to music is not song. But it is art. I think I will seek out more poetry set to music.

Darker sound, this poem...but something I may tatoo on my heart someday - "It understands and comprehends it is continually in repair, but still whole."

And this, a whimsical, wonderful piece about being alone. I think I may be a little in love with this woman thanks to this.

There is also something I said to Pat.

"Btw, I've got to stop complaining so much about not having family.

I have family. They are just not the ones I was born with. This and the amazing outpouring of help from you, your grandmother, your mother, even, my friends -

this is what family does when someone is in trouble.

I have a family."

These children don't know it, but they have an army of love and support and care from a world of strangers that they will probably never meet.

You. All of you.

They don't know it, but they have family, too. Just like me, they have family in all of you.
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For once - when it was really important - everything went smoothly. Everything went right. Everyone is safe. For now, at least. I have no idea what repercussions might come Cassie's way, but for now, all obligations and kindnesses have been done justice by.

That's relieving, since it occurred to me on the dark drive over that if this man realized she was leaving - if he woke up - things would get real ugly real fast. He was asleep only a couple of apartments over. But we slipped through the night unnoticed, nothing but the sound of the wheels on the pavement following us.

Afterwards, I asked Pat out for breakfast. I told him how weak I'd felt last night. He looked at me and said "That's not weakness. This is an exceptional moment of compassion.

A hero, like you said, Daha. Like others have said. You're right.

Patrick asked me if I'd ever met this woman before. I hadn't. But...but I know this woman all the same. We are all so alike in that sense. Those of us who find ourselves in these situations, who have to run away to break free.

I've never met her, but I know her.

She didn't have enough money for her luggage. I stopped at an ATM and withdrew some cash. She said she'd pay it back. I shook my head and said -

"Others have done for me what I am doing for you. You don't need to pay me back. It's okay."

And it's true - my whole life has been a wheel of being in the right place to receive compassion. From you, from Pat, from all of the random strangers over the decades.

I have been this woman fleeing in the night, fearing for my life. I have been other women, knocking on the doors of homeless shelters. I have been other people - men, women - shaking so hard I couldn't see, sitting in a Narcotics Anonymous meeting with not even an hour clean.

And I have been loved. I have never been denied or turned away. I have been given gifts of money, of words, of hugs, or even wordless companionship while huddling on dirty curbs in empty streets.

I have been many things, and so I can be for others what those people were for me.

I get so tired sometimes. I want to give up. I don't want to be strong. I don't want to fight the days, I don't want to heal the hurt, I just want to lay down and stop.

Things like this make realize there is no need to stop, because the wheel turns on its own. I will be there regardless - and so will others.

I've been given so much love and grace...I can never pay that back. All I can do is pay it forward. All I can do is stand when called and help the guide the wheel along.

I'm an atheist. I do not believe in God, nor any spiritual aspect of the word "grace."

But one does not have to believe in a force any larger than the capacity of the human heart to say - "There but for the grace of God go I."
quirkytizzy: (Default)
It is nearly 3:30 AM. Perhaps I can sleep soon.

And yes, I do love Love Actually. This is also a Youtube trend I've always loved.

This is a special video. I don't say a word through it, but I feel like a big part of me is being conveyed.

If you have four minutes, please watch this.

For Gonzo

Jun. 4th, 2014 08:27 pm
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I know you have no frame of reference for this video or the characters in it. But if I had to give a video to a friend, one to maybe help them see that the battle is worth it....it would be this.

Livejournal is our Normandy. We are each our own Commander Shepard, and you are - as all of my friends are - my squadmate. This is a fight that none of us are in alone.

quirkytizzy: (Default)
You know, I've been pretty intense the last couple of days. Let's back this shit up with Things That Are Awesome.

* Cooking really teeny, tiny pancakes.

* Realizing I can cook Hamburger Helper-ish meals without the meat and still have a satisfying meal.

* Secret communities

* Glitter nailpolish. Lots and lots of glitter nail polish.

* Putting my headphones in and singing at the top of my lungs.

* Singing at the cats and laughing when they quizzically tip their heads to the side.

* Dusk.

* Fresh sheets on the bed.

* OneRepublic - "Counting Stars". Oh yeah.

* Getting something that resembles the barest beginnings of a sex drive back.

* Drinking every drop of my required 60 ounces of water every day like a boss.

* Lithium.

* You guys!

Alright guys, ya'll have been putting up with my morose ass, so give me some of your Things That Are Awesome! GO!
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Something happened on the way to school. Something inside of me. Something that made me realize I am strong. I have been fighting sickness and dysfunction my entire life. I have kept myself from sinking past the point of rescue. I know myself, I know what works, and I know what and who I am.

I know where I am strong. That is invaluable.

What happened? This song. This song in which I realized all I needed to do was replace the words "music" with writing and suddenly I knew where I was and WHO I was. What I AM.

And what I am is strong. Brave. And unfailing in the one thing that I know to be true. True beyond anything else I have ever known in this world.

Words. Words and writing. I have been doing this my whole life. I was a child and my parents literally burned every word that I had written. I did not stop writing. I continued to write because I knew then words have power. Power that threw others into such fear that they physically destroyed what I had written.

David bemoaned my writing. Jealous of the time I spent writing, perhaps, I'm not sure. But the more I go on, the more I think perhaps his fear was similar to my parents. If I wrote what was going on in real time, there would be no room for him to convince me things happened differently. Oh, he tried. He tried and I was confused. I know I will be working out the confusion for some time.

But the words are important. I did not stop writing for my parents and I did not stop writing for him. I will NEVER stop writing. The words are there. They have always been there. This has never failed me. It never will.

Therefore, I will never fail myself.

-Icon For Hire "Rock And Roll Thugs"-

The music is in my blood, you don't understand

Sleepless nights at the black and white keys
I'll let my fingers say it for me
Sometimes my spirit's still so scared

Once I put it in a melody it means so much more to me
Fate sealed, I guess this is how I feel

Sometimes I swear the lyrics write me

The melody a remedy to calm me down
You never did approve of the fix I found

'Cause you came home dead set on what you had to do
You said the demons and drugs hide in rock n roll thugs
If I wanna grow up nice, I better give the music up

The melody a remedy to keep me right
You never did approve of my sleepless nights

Bury all the records in the backyard,
When you're not looking I'll go dig them back up
You can bury my body in the backyard,
When you're not looking I'll go dig myself up
quirkytizzy: (Default)
One step forward, two vomitous steps back )

Happy thing: Pet MD (a site I suscribe to, they have great articles) linked me to another newsletter they support. Just by joining and filling out the pet profiles, I have now helped them donate two meals to animal shelters. If it ever gets to be too much junk mail, I can just create a filter in my email, but I like stuff like that.

Do you know the oldest cat on record lived to be 38 years old? 38 years old and 3 days. Creme Puff. I've not had a cat live past 14, so 38 is pretty amazing. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MomPIBPD7ig&feature=related

I also watched an AMAZING video on Youtube the other day about Koko, The Gorilla. This is a gorilla that we have taught sign language too. The gorilla can communicate complex thoughts and ideas in sign language. Holy shit. That alone is fucking amazing.

But what REALLY got me was the video where Koko learned that her best buddy, a cat named Small Ball (Koko had named the cat herself, choosing that name because the cat was the size of a small ball), had been tragically hit by a car and died.


The grief on this animal's face, the shock and pain - and later, the grieving sounds that came from Koko's throat as she cried -


There was another link right after about Koko getting a new kitty pal, which was wonderful to watch. I thought Koko would be - you know, interested, but not really connecting how BIG she was to the kittens. (The kittens were TINY.) But she DID.

She handled those kittens more gently than most humans do.

I don't understand people who don't like animals. I mean, I've almost never met anyone who actually DISLIKED animals or pets. I've just met people who WEREN'T PET PEOPLE.

Now if you have kids, I totally get that. Kids are crazy making enough. If you have kids and decide that's all you want, totes get that.

But I know lots of people who just aren't interested in having any living thing dependant on them. And especially not small creatures who don't speak the human language.

Which I don't quite get. I never will. I grew up with pets. At one point, in my house, we had 3 dogs, 2 cats, 4 finches, parakeets, fish tanks, racing doves, rats, ferrets, a snake, and briefly a tarantula. I love having something to take care of. Something that is utterly reliant on me.

It keeps me tied to this earth. It keeps me responsible. It keeps me thinking of coming home every night, and going to work when I don't feel like it (because like I tell the kitties - if I don't work, then they don't pay me. And if they don't pay me, we don't eat. And we HAVE to eat!)

The brief time after the divorce I didn't have a cat? The first and only time in my life I was without a pet? The most mentally and emotionally unseated I have been in my entire adult life.

The love of a pet is something - pure. Maybe purer and deeper than any love two human beings can share. (NOTE: I say this not having kids. I firmly believe it's possible the connection between parents and kids is stronger than the pet/owner connection.)

But some people just don't value that. OR - it's not that they don't value that - I guess it's just that they find those connections and satisfy those needs in other ways.

As Jake Perry in the South Paws video says - "These cats....these cats are my life. And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Me too, Jake. Me too.


Apr. 29th, 2014 06:09 am
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Mornings are my favorite time of day. Even now, when waking up is an invitation to bone-biting pain, I feel most peaceful in the mornings. Full of promise. The whole day is ahead and even if it turns out terribly, there are always the few hours before it goes badly. And while I more than occasionally find myself keeping night owl hours, those are never the times I feel best.

Morning people are rare, which is odd, because the whole world is designed for them. But everyone I know are night owls. I've read somewhere that nerdy people - and intellectual people in particular - tend to be night owls. I wonder what that's about.

I know that most night owls find after hours is the only time they can steal away private and personal time. For me, that has always been mornings. I've always woken up hours before anyone else, even as a child. Thus it is here I find the time to center myself.

Even living alone, mornings are key for that.

A few times now I've put in gauze and pulled it out only to find a small bloody cot has been caught in the fibers. Curses. That clot is important! I want to cajole it into staying right there in my socket. I know clove oil - straight oil, at least, tends to get in the way of healing.

To the dentist this afternoon I will go. Professional medicine is always better than home remedies.

(I trust the medical profession. They went to school for this. All I have is Google.)

I despise the Percocet migraines. I'd all but given up coffee entirely late last year and found that my lifetime migraines had indeed abated. I worry that the usage of Excedrin Migraine - chock full of caffeine - will bounce them back into existence. Oh well.

I don't know where I'd be without this. Without all of you. Without the decades of writing behind me, without the lifeline that is writing. I cling to it, honor it, believe it in it, never turn away from it.

If I have a religion, then it is the Cathedral of The Diary, and I give alms and tithings daily. Opening up the LJ/DW window to post, to read your writings, to write back to all of you, this is my Sunday worship. This is the house we all gather in, arms raised (or really, fingertips poised on the keyboard) to engage in what we know to be vital for ourselves.

If I know nothing else, I know I hold writing sacred.



Apr. 28th, 2014 01:26 pm
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Finally got your package! The front office had apparently put it in the back and now finally found it! IT'S AWESOME AND I CANT WAIT TO FRAME IT AND PUT IT UP!!!! And thank you for the note!

Friends FOREVAH!
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Because Kaberett did this and I should do it, too.


* While I still suck at cooking, I've discovered I don't resent it. At all. Not even a little bit. I always thought I would. But it turns out when I didn't have anyone to do it for me, it became just another thing I have to do to live my life. Something like scooping out the catbox, or getting gas, or showering. That's neat.

* Living alone is not as scary as I thought it would be. Maybe a little more BORING than I thought it would be, but not scary.

* Bathing my cats in the kitchen sink is less of a fight than bathing them in the tub.

* Spring.

* Pants that fit. Silly, I know, but with my expanded ass, finding clothes that fit turned out to be a real self-esteem booster.

* Not running out of money to buy cigarettes. It's often what drains my money down to the last .35 cents, but I have the money to buy cigarettes. This is WILDLY good for my trust in my ability to care for myself.

* Not constantly having ugly tv shows, shows filled with screaming, human ugliness and abuse, on tv, surrounding me with triggering images and sounds, playing in the background of my apartment.

* I'm getting better at recognizing my own hunger signals, since I'm the one responsible for feeding myself now. Yay for getting in better touch with your body!

* Knowing that every day I am building the foundation of getting stronger, getting braver, and getting more ME, in this period of being by myself.

* And knowing that even the fear is part of what's making me stronger.

See others

Mar. 29th, 2014 09:08 pm
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Aside from more unpleasant and disturbing dreams during my attempted nap this afternoon, it's been a really cool day.

David and I met up with his brother for dinner. Conversation was light, easy, and free-flowing. We also made my character for a Mass Effect tabletop RPG David is going to be running. I'm playing a Hanar rouge. It's going to be awesome.

I also got a truly exciting gift in the mail. About a month ago, I wrote Dean Koontz a fan letter. I'd just finished Odd Apocalypse and realized that I'd been reading his stories since I was fifteen. That's seventeen years now I've been reading his work.

So I wrote him a short fan letter telling him that, and thanking him for the years of enjoyment and wishing for many more to come.

Today I check my mail and find a signed copy of a book AND a handwritten note, with my name on it, from him. He thanked me for the letter and said he hoped I'd be reading him (and that he'd still be writing) when I'm 64.

Me too!!!!

I was so beside myself with happiness that I squealed. It was awesome.

And I giggled when I realized that along with the note, the signed copy of the book had the word "you're" misspelled. Somehow, that's heartening and reassuring. Even the greats sometimes misspell things!

I no longer believe in a sentient force that runs the Universe, or any benevolent thoughts that tie the greater cosmos together.

But again, as I often am, I am reminded of the fact that we are never alone. When things are hard, there somehow always manages to be at least one person - sometimes a friend, sometimes a stranger - who (often even without realizing they are doing this) manage to give me EXACTLY what I need to keep going. Always at least one person, and often more, so long as the efforts I am making in life are honest and true.

As long as we put ourselves out there, as long as the struggles we find ourselves in are continually evolving into NEW struggles, past the old ones, we are always surrounded by encouragement.

As we see others, they will see us.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Okay, Firsttiger - I think the tears have finally eased up for the moment, but THANK YOU. I can't - I can't even - just THANK YOU.

I am not alone. Other people see me, see the struggle. They recognize it. They validate it. They love me through it.

God I love you.

I love ALL of you.

Thank you.
quirkytizzy: (Default)
Today I got to meet Malikjkr. (I don't think I can ever spell that the same way twice!) I don't even know how long it's been - it might have been the whole ten years I've been here! - since I met you! Long time. Long time and forever in my heart.

You have no idea how wonderful it was to see a face, to hear a voice, to touch and hug this amazing woman who has had my back, heard me scream, and lived so much of the same life I have, for so very long.

*hugs* and * loves* and *squees!*

AND HOLY SHIT I JUST FINISHED THE SANDWICH WE GOT FOR LUNCH THAT WAS A HUGE TASTY SANDWICH! I can't wait to take my local friends to that place now!

(See, folks, I've lived in KC for about a decade. She's never been here before. But SHE introduced ME to a new restaurant here! How fucking awesome is that?!)
quirkytizzy: (Default)
What a strange thing the human heart is.

Nearly all pets we take in will die long before us. We know that as surely as the sun rises, the very moment we lay eyes upon a small creature and deign to take them into our hearts, we will - and always sooner than we'd like - also release them into Death.

This is not a sometimes or a maybe thing. This is an inevitability. There is no escape from this. As we love all small things, all of those small things will go before us. We are left to grieve small armies of pets when we ourselves finally pass on.

And yet, we continue to love. We weep and bury the pet that we've just lost and we turn to the ones still at home to hold. We clear away their beds and toys, only to later put down new beds and new toys for new animals that come into our lives.

Humans know more than anything the cutting loss of time. And yet, we also know more than anything the power of an open heart, no matter how many times it has been broken.

I woke up from my nap to find Pip camped out on my chest, staring at me. I reached over and dragged her into the curve of my neck. (She protested, but tough titty, kitty.)

Molly is gone. Mama Kitty, Kay, Felix, Nestle, they are gone as well. And as I go on, Pip, Piper, Judy, and countless others will join her.

But I will keep loving those that are here. I will keep finding new animals to love as others pass.

A few days ago I said the human heart was small. I was wrong.

The human heart is big. It's an ocean of continual life, loss, and love. It is so much larger than anything can ever be known.

Not Broken

Nov. 23rd, 2013 08:28 pm
quirkytizzy: (Default)
An email I just wrote to WG, that suddenly makes things make sense. Finally, after months, something worth having written.

.....It's important - or seems so at this moment. Time. My mind isn't so good at putting things in order. It's why I write everything down. Everything. People think I'm being attentive, but in truth, I'm circumventing my own mind and its terrible habit of letting the slides get mixed up in the folder. So I write it out.

That's the not the point of this. The point is the year - the space - the time between 2010 and 2009.

I've told you before, 2009 is when I left Patrick. April 18th. Roughly 7 PM. That half-hour where I told him this - I avoid thinking about it. No, not so much *avoid*, but just....steer the thoughts away when it comes up. It hurts more than any other memory I currently have. Almost five years later, sometimes I can poke at the edges of that memory. This is progress.

Someday I'm going to be brave enough to write it out. Write it out the same way I write everything else out, shape the memory onto page. I TALKED about it in my creative writing class - or at least about the reason for leaving him. I want to be brave like that again.

That's not today, though.

In the shower today, I slipped and almost busted my head on the shower ledge. Scary. I have a thing about accidents in the shower. They scare me. Accidents in the shower claim lives. This is SERIOUS business to me. But when I'd righted myself, profusely grateful that I hadn't been shaving when I slipped, I realized that the shower I slipped in was mine.

My shower. Mine. Paid for by me. I looked at the shower curtains (replaced recently due to David complaining about my "girly" purple ones). Those are mine. Got out of the shower, toweled off with my stained towel (hair dye, man - that shit never comes out), grabbed the hair brush, and saw myself in my bathroom mirror.

WG- I am 32 years old. And this is MY life. I don't know why it hadn't occured to me before. But everything in my home is mine. I work for it, I pay for it, I care for it, I clean for it. And everything that I love and fear and become exasperated with and trip over and slip on - that's all mine, too.

It's mine....and I like that. I have things that I didn't have in 2009, when I left Patrick. Not just the shower, not just the stained towel or my cats, but.....me. I have ME.

I have this whole life that I never would have had if I hadn't left him. This completely divergent life that sprung up out of what I thought would kill me. Not even the life experiences, the people I've met, the school I've gone to or the treatment I've gained that I KNOW I wouldn't have had if I'd stayed, but....

Who I am is different. Who am I today would not have been possible without the last nearly five years away from him.

And WG? Something I didn't think would be possible happened. Something that I didn't realize until I damn nearly brained myself in the shower today.

I like who I am because of that. Not only that, but I wouldn't want to go back and change any of it.

When I left him, I was not well. I was manic, though undiagnosed. For a very long time, I thought that meant I made a mistake. That I'd somehow irreparably damaged myself and my chances at being a good and full human being.

I'm no stranger to making mistakes, nor am I a stranger to finding beautiful things out of those mistakes. But this is the first time I think I would go back and do the same thing because for the first time since April 19th, 2009 -

I don't believe I made a mistake. I believe I made a decision. I made a decision and the consequences were hard. So much harder than I thought they would be.

And the beauty of my life today is not because of the harshness of what came after.

It's because I am who I am today, and part of that is because of that decision. No diamond in the rough story to have to be gleaned from it. No great strength to have to be ripped from the horrible confusion it was.

There's just me. Just me and the girl who was staring back at me in the mirror this afternoon. The girl who was wondering if her shin would be bruised (so far, not bruised. Yay!).

There is yet grieving for me to do about that time. And that memory of actually telling him this - one of these days I will have to face it. But for today, even realizing this, it is astounding.

When I look back at the stupid or reckless things I've done in my life, I am often grateful for the lessons that came of those. For the strength and grace in learning how to fix those things, or for learning how to live with the resulting scars. There is great beauty in that.

It is me. It is me and it is a me that would not have been possible otherwise.

I don't know why this surprises me so much. I also don't know why it came out right after I nearly concussed myself. That's actually pretty funny. But it's been kicking in my head all day and I wanted to share this. I'll put it onto Livejournal eventually, but I somehow thought that you might understand this.

Maybe I'm always going to be crazy. Maybe I'm always going to be coming to things only after I bruise myself. Maybe that's true physically as well as metaphorically. But, after five years of thinking maybe I'd done something that would irreparably damage me....

WG, I'm not broken. I forget that. But if I was really broken, I wouldn't be here. I wouldn't be able to know that I didn't make a mistake.

I'm not broken. And even if some memories inside of me are....I'm not.


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