Paperback Writer

I decided to turn my December 2014 month of wallow in self pity month experience into a book. Here are my EXTREMELY rough chapter outlines. I will change the order most likely, I just wanted to get my "goal" out to the universe.

Be the Light You Want to Follow

What I learned from my month wallowing in self pity

1. Swimming in self pity is like getting a colonoscopy. It's a shitty test but necessary once in a while.

2. This blog and I are both awesome and I have shiny thoughts

3. Dream shitters can fuck off now. Support my crazy ideas on the off chance they're not crazy and you're just afraid.

4. It's OKAY to feel good during a month of wallow and tell funny stories about tragic things or during funerals. You can't force people to "lighten up," but when they do it, you can bask in the glow.

5. I'm sad that my mother is Attila the Mom, but that isn't about me. She has sickness and also did the best she could. I know that. I'm still never going to speak to her or any biological family. I don't see any point. Not from hopelessness, but from awareness. They lack that "be nice" gene. I wish them peace.

6. The goodness or badness or lesson comes from experience only on reflection. Destiny looks only backward.

7. Feeling all the pain heals. It's like picking up the pieces after an explosion. Repressing feelings is like holding a beach ball under water. After a while, we get tired and the ball pops up and bashes us in the face. Better to let it up to float away.

8. Grieving heals.

9. Mistreatment leaves a scar. There is no "magic" in "forgiveness." Forget leads to future mistreatment. However, we can learn to remember with compassion for ourselves and the person who harmed us. US first, though.

10. Reframe failure as the steps to success. No one criticizes a baby falling down when it is learning to walk, so why beat ourselves up for making mistakes? I am an emotional baby taking my first steps into self awareness.

That's it. I'm going to expand on each of these points as chapter heads. I hope to have a completed rough draft by the end of February. I feel that's a very ambitious goal and I think I can do it. I choose happy. 

Kind comments welcome.

Crazy

Drama filled my first marriage. Drama ended it too. I brought it in, but he kept it going long after I decided to give up the sound and fury signifying nothing.

I did the best I knew how. He never hit me and never drank. He did betray me and he had little respect for my things. 

My ex slept with my best friend on our anniversary. He might argue that I told him because I did say the words. Though if I'd told him to go away and die, I don't think he would have done that. 

I needed the drama to wake me up from my fantasy. I held myself accountable for every problem. It didn't occur to me that he could be in the wrong,. His had sane parents who stayed together. I thought that gave him the relationship edge. It doesn't work that way.  

Once we were apart, I could see clearly he liked for me to be sad. He felt like a hero comforting me. He learned this from his mother that he could be confidant and comforter. He learned from his dad that anger equals crazy.

He didn't like when I was angry about anything. I don't blame anyone for our troubles. We both did the best we knew how. 

He told stories to my friend implying that I struggled with sanity. It seems a very common theme for cheaters. "My wife has a problem with...."  

Looking from the outside, I realized that I began to grow and change. I had a good therapy gal and attended regular meetings of Survivors of Incest Anonymous. I also had another friend who liked to spend time with me separate from my ex. 

He didn't understand any of that. He wanted to stay the only hero in my life. It confused him when I started to calm down and feel confident. 

The "she's crazy" lies spread to our mutual friends. It hurt some that many believed him. Though I guess in a way it held some truth. Growing up crazy leaves a mark. 

I'm glad for the two great therapy people and the survivors group. Those people let me get the crazy out into the open. They supported me through my separation and divorce and lead me to amazing emotional breakthroughs. 

I wish my ex husband and ex best friend peace and happiness. I know I've found such things for myself. I don't have to live in so much drama anymore. 

Kind comments encouraged.

PS this post has some similar themes to a previous post seen here: Do that to me one more time

We Are Family

I went to Survivors of Incest Anonymous meetings for just over a year. After a few months, I separated from my ex husband and then moved out of the area. They helped keep me sane through all that. I loved those gals and the fellowship we developed over that time.

In 12-step programs we talk about two kinds of relationship ties:  family of origin, the one you're born into and family of affiliation, the one you form from friendships. I've always been closer to people outside my family of origin, mainly because I felt unwanted by the people who were supposed to care for me.

Since my father died last year, I've been quite wary of contact with my sister and niece. I don't say this to hurt them. I wish all people peace. I say it to explain my point of view.

My sister told me that my mother made her take care of me and I bonded to my sister as if she were my mother. I have no memories of it, but my she told me that I wouldn't let my her new husband sleep in bed with her. I do remember when she had a baby and I didn't want to hold him. I wanted to push him off my lap and step on him. I didn't. I was four. Sounds like sibling rivalry to me.

I am closer in age to my sister's oldest children than I am to my own siblings. Though I didn't bond that close with them. Mainly because my sister's family moved far away not long after she had her first baby.

My parents divorced and my other sister and I went to live with dad for less than two years. Then we moved in with a babysitter. That lasted about the same amount of time as living with dad. My mother took custody back and I lived with her and her new husband for just over a year.

My older sister had her own family difficulties and after she moved back to my home town, I ended up living with her and her now two children. At some point her first born went back to live with his dad. My sister started dating a man and they decided to live together.

I'm sure my sister didn't want to be taking care of me. Though I know I was never her child to raise, I felt rejected again. I deeply resented my sister's now husband. As I got older, he never made any effort to understand me.

While the rest of the family praised my brother in law's high powered job and monied background, I felt he put me back into a terrible family. I have no memories of further abuse, but I had to live with my mother and the man who molested me.

To be fair to my sister's husband, he might have had zero knowledge of what had happened to me. It's also possible that my sister didn't know. I hope that if they had, they would have take care of me.

My brother in law always treated me like the outsider "bad seed" child. Well, no, they all treated me that way. In light of life threatening abuse and sexual molestation, the rest of my family's action seem almost mild.

No one ever spanked or did time out punishment. It seems they all had either crazy over reaction or ignore as their parenting tools. Mom once pulled me around the house by the hair because she was upset I didn't answer the phone. She left me home alone at night and I went next door to be around the neighbor kids.

I happened to be at my sister's house when her husband returned from an out of town trip. He brought trinkets for the little ones and I asked if he brought something for me. He replied, "You're not my kid." I didn't think about it at the time, but neither was my sister's daughter. He didn't have to be an asshole about it. I so desperately just wanted to be part of a family.

I remember being quite a needy little girl. For years, I felt guilty for being molested because I liked the attention. I learned that guilt runs deep and springs from a common river in children who survived sexual abuse. Kids take on a lot of family problems.

I don't feel guilt or shame about what other people have done to me anymore. At least not for the really bad stuff. I do feel some guilt, a little naggy bit, about all the rejection. Knowing that it isn't about me helps. Not always enough.

I have some small talent for finding a family of affiliation. Though, I do see that I don't bond too close to people. I put Murry off four years before I would even meet him in person.

When we had to ask a customer to leave because he was rude to one of our employees, he asked, "What? Are they like your kids or something?" I thought, YEAH, they're FAMILY! Now get out of my store and stop being a jackass.

Either stop being a JACKASS or get out of my life. I know that sounds harsh, but I put up with and felt guilty for..  too many already. No more. Kind people are part of my family. Unkind people  are sick and I hope they find their happy place, it's not near me.

As always, kind comments welcome!

Helter Skelter

I had the flu and am still getting over the lingering cough. I think it's minor and I doubt contagious. This meant I couldn't go to my exercise and after about a week, I started feeling deeply depressed. I  didn't figure out what was going on until I went back and my mood improved.

In my youth, I felt suicidal. That lasted into my 30's. I know that Iyanla Van Zant had a lot to do with deciding that wasn't working for me. She was on the reality show Starting Over, talking to a lady who kept talking about how much trouble her father's infidelity caused her. Iyanla said what about now? She didn't say "get over it." or "stop dwelling, she asked what about now?

Then she said the most life changing thing to me: choose okay. That's it. CHOOSE OKAY. Make a choice to be okay, for as long as you can and then keep choosing.

So I sometimes forget to make that choice. A week and a half ago, I crawled in a hole and wanted to die. I have never ACTED on my thoughts. I have a weird kind of self pity that whispers in my ear. It says, "you're too much of a fuckup, If you try, you'll only make things worse." I do need a better life affirming strategy. One that doesn't add to my self doubts. Until that happens, I'll keep the one that keeps me alive.

After I started feeling better from the flu and went back to exercising, I crawled out of the emotional hole. I think I need physical activity now. Not just for health reasons, but to keep my emotions even.

I've always been a moody person. I didn't realize how much exercise did for me. I get to chat with some people too. They're kind. That's a big thing for me. I want kindness.

Even though the emotional me hid for a few days, I found the path back. There will be dips again. I am learning to ask for help sooner. Maybe I'll get a flu shot next year. I'm gonna be "officially" old next month.

What about you? How do you find your way out?

Choose okay when you can.

Hell on Wheels

Goodbye 2013!

I hope to write something else before the last day of the year, but I wanted to start early wishing this one a big ole aideeooose.

Martha Beck outlines a simple strategy for knowing if you're on the right life track. She suggests looking at what you are doing and how it makes you feel. She says if it feels like you're shackled, limited in mobility and feeling "stuck," that's not what you should do. If you feel happier, freer and more hopeful, you should do more of that.

She calls it "shackles on" versus "shackles off."

Starting 2012, I felt deeply shackled to our store. It leaked money like a sieve, We had way too much overhead and I lived with too much stress. Our relationships with some employees broke down and I wanted Murry to start stepping up.

When 2013 came around those stresses and feelings only got worse. I suggested the employees start looking for work. I told them I would accommodate if they got something else. Finally, at the end of March, I couldn't take it anymore.

One of my workers was so angry with me she told me that ended our friendship. I told her I understood. She's since talked to me and while we're not "best" friends, at least she understands I didn't do it on purpose.

Well, okay, maybe I did. I felt overwhelmed and decided to stop that feeling. I do like that about me. I wont stay FOREVER in a bad place. I will stay maybe longer than I should, but that's just hope.

I've already said this today, but it bears repeating. I will always be the person who digs through horseshit looking for the pony. It's just my being. Again, not forever, but long enough to see what I can find.

After we sold off a lot of inventory and paid employees and as many creditors as we could, we locked up and left. I told the landlord what was happening. He said he understood. I felt terrible. He lost the building.

Since I'm disabled and I was feeling terribly useless, I applied for disability. I got it and got on the health plan. Good thing too. Two months later, I found a lump growing on my leg.

I've outlined that on this blog so I'll just tap the highlights. I got melanoma cancer. I found out that people with albinism, like me, have the cells to produce pigment, but they don't work. These melanocites are what give you melanoma.

Lucky for me, it didn't spread. I spent two more months being poked and prodded and had surgery to make sure. I still gotta be checked to make sure no new lumps come up. As Pooh would say, "Oh, bother!"

On the same day, my hubby came home and tells me the big box store he works is closing its doors. So he went looking for another job at a little box store. They hired him as holiday help and he worked there long enough to get his employee discount card.

Then yesterday, they told him Tuesday is his last day.

My life is pretty simple and I don't want for much. I can handle it, he can find another job of some kind. It will be alright.

Strangely, though I should feel shackles on about him losing the job, I don't. I think it will be okay. Butt.....

Grab a shovel, help me find that damned pony.

Coward of the County

"Jail Bars Icon" by Antonu - Own work.
Licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0 via
Wikimedia Commons -
http://tinyurl.com/z7o35m6

Fear used to rule far more of my life than it does now. It came mainly from a person who put the fear of crazy into me when I was six. I've spoken of her before, but I'd like to expand what happened and why I am far less afraid of her insane rages.

My parents divorced when i was four. I have no idea what happened with them, they were both always too bitter to get to any reality of their relationship. I was told there was violence, but I didn't see any. I believe it in that she had violence in all her other relationships.

Now, this confuses me as one would think that a mother's first instinct would be to protect her children, but my older sister and I went to live with dad. I have no memory of ever being hurt by dad. So maybe it was the best option at the time, but it still seems inconsistent with a mother's love.

Dad had a series of babysitters take care of us, I remember a kindly old grandma lady. I am not sure where they came from, but possibly the Mormon Church. We had this one, Ellen, who I didn't like at all, but she did things with my sister like take her to youth groups and the like. Cokie, my sister, liked the attention.

One day, Cokie and I stayed home from school. I was in kindergarten and she was in junior high school. I went over to the little store down the road to buy donuts and when I got back, there was a lady sitting in her car outside. She knocked on the door and took us both to this place called Child Haven for truancy.

After that, somehow we ended up living with Ellen. We saw dad occasionally but I don't remember seeing him often. I went to school with Ellen's son Teddy for the rest of kindergarten, but in first grade they put me on the bus to go to school with the other sight impaired kids.

Ellen's strict ways manifested in cruelty. I suspect the transgressions that got me in trouble came mainly from "being a kid." She turned toys into weapons by "spanking" me with hot wheel track. She regularly beat me while I was eating and had strict toilet rules. To this day, I will cry if I have to poop in a public bathroom. I try and avoid it, both the crying and the pooping, but sometimes ya just gotta go. I do better if I remind myself that I am safe and allowed to do it.

Once while playing a board game with her son Freddy, he and I got into a tussle over a game piece. Freddy bit my finger to get it out of my hand and I cried out. She called us into the living room where she was ironing. I have no idea why either of us would argue in ear shot of her, but once we were standing there, my biggest fear that someone was going to get burned. Ellen had a different idea.

After she knew the story, she decided that I should bite Freddy's finger. I feel such shame that in that moment, I wanted to make him bleed for hurting me. I'm truly sorry, Freddy, wherever you are.

I have no memory of what I had done to get a beating this one afternoon, but as part of the punishment after the beating, Ellen made me stand in the middle of the room. I passed out and came to in a puddle of my own blood. I'd fallen on a drawer knob and cut my chin open. Ellen did take me to the emergency room and I got stitches in my chin. My dad was there, but I don't know if anyone ever told him anything about what was happening. Cokie never told anyone. I think that's sad that neither of us had anyone we could tell.

During a holiday gathering, Ellen took me with her when she needed to go pick something up from a store. Again, I have no memory of what I'd done to set her off. We were in the car when she started by pulling my hair and thrashing me from side to side. Then she wrapped her fat arm around my neck and began to choke me. I wish I knew what made her stop.

She made a second attempt on my life another night, only this time she didn't care there were witnesses. I don't remember which one but one of her sons was pushing me while we were riding in the back of the car. She slammed on the brakes and told me to get out of the car. She told me to walk in front of the car and get in the other side. I told her NO and I turned and ran into the desert. She would have left me there, but Cokie wouldn't let her drive off.

Toward the end, two incidents stand out. First, I went to first grade without wearing underwear. I didn't have any clean in my drawer and I asked her for some but she said I should just stay home instead. No way was I going to be alone with her so I went to school without any. I don't know why I went on the monkey boars. The look on my first grade teacher, she was so frustrated with me.

This time I remember exactly what I did to get a beating. Ellen took us to church every Sunday and I took two pieces of bread from the sacrament tray. She took me into the bathroom, picked me up by my collar and my underwear and threw my head against the sink. I could clearly hear the congregation, so I'm sure they could clearly hear me being abused.

She put me in the car and after services I saw people file past and stare at me. As I sat there with blood dripping down the side of my head, I cried. I'm not sure if they talked to Ellen or if it was her own idea, but not long after, she took me to Child Haven and told them "She is an unmanageable child."

Mom came into the picture and Cokie finally told that Ellen was abusing me. I had to stay at Child Haven while they sorted the custody.

I carried version of Ellen inside my head that kept me fearful for many years. In my late 20s, I found a therapy guy who helped. He suggested I draw a picture of her in order to confront her. This TERRIFIED me. I had no idea how much she scared me until he suggested that.

She would come off the paper and GET me! He suggested I draw a cage around her. I couldn't figure out how to draw the cage, so I drew me some body guards first. Then I drew her, then I drew the cage. From that moment on, the fear I felt decreased by 90 percent. I didn't even need to "confront" her. The act of drawing her out, confronted enough.

I still carry some damage. When I'm feeling low, I hear "unmanageable child" and feel like I'm worthless. I can usually get out of it by checking on the facts.

I try and remember to hold my head up. I am not defined by what was done to me. In a way, Ellen gave me the gift of courage. She taught me that I can be afraid, and still go on and do something. That's why I write this blog. I want to remind others, wherever you come from, whatever you've been through, it doesn't have to be everything about you.

Lets go do something bold.

Ya gotta have FRIENDS!

I found romance through my hobbies and many friends too. I used to go to science fiction conventions. After closing my business I have tons of time, though my funds are desperately depleted.

So now I'm on a quest for friendship. I'm golden with Internet buddies around the globe and though I know a few people here locally, I want more. When I posted this on my Facebook my friend Nancy said she hopes I find my tribe. That's it, I want a tribe.

For most non native American's their first tribe comes from their family of origin. Sorry sister and nieces who might read this, but the only one in my family I had anything in common with was my bad. He passed away not long ago. I hope to someday be as ornery and cantankerous as he was.

In the late 90's, when I still talked to my mother, I saw the way she was around people and I felt so sorry for her. She couldn't find much nice to say about anyone. Everyone let her down. When someone lets me down, I move away and have less contact. Not mom, she went back for more. She begged them to be reliable in a constant game of "prove to me the world is filled with assholes." Then she'd whine about it.

In 2000 I went to visit dad on Christmas day. We met at a northern Nevada lodge of a friend of his. We hadn't seen each other in a good 20 years. The lodge filled up with about 30 folks from around the area. Some of the women came over to find out who I was. My husband, Murry, said he could see the information ripple around the room. "Who's that with Gene?" "That's his daughter." Pointing and head nodding.

These people liked my dad and he was friendly toward them. He still had his own idea of a lot of things, but he got along. This struck a stark contrast in my mind. Of course I wanted to be around him more. He had his complaints, sure, and he had his pleasures. That's what I want. A multifaceted grouch.

Okay, we can do without gripe as our main focus! Here's what I want in a friend. Lets start with an open mind. I'd love to be around people who can consider, not necessarily settle on, all sides of a discussion. I think it's great to have standards and positions on topics. But I insist that people I am around at least think about what it might be like in someone else's shoes.

My tribe must be diverse. I love learning about new and interesting cultures. I don't care what god you pray to so long as you have that open mind I talked about. I am not changing my mind on atheism. I love to learn about different professions, hobbies and thoughts too.

I insist my tribe members embrace imperfection. We all need something to aspire to and I admire great beauty. I feel expecting nothing LESS than exactness limits appreciation of the here and now. I make glorious life altering mistakes. Sometimes they turn out to be the best thing that ever happened. You never know where a lesson leads to more amazing experiences.

It'd be keen if someone had a little free time, a drivers license and car and an interest in local roaming. Mingus Park is a nice easy walk, so is a trip around the mall. I know there's a support group for blind people in the area. They used to meet at Baycrest Village.

I want to laugh to the point I may need adult diapers! My most treasured experiences happened around food. Since I'm being careful about what I eat, I'd like it to be healthy.

I want to try something new. Something I have never even considered. So long as it is kind to others and involves very little physical pain to me. Getting matching tattoos is out!

Do you have friend hunting thoughts? Where did you meet your besties? What did you do that made your funny bone ache??

Our House

Though I loved writing the fiction and a couple people have asked for more, I felt more like writing about something else today. I'll write some more fiction later. The potential in that story intrigues me enough to continue it.

Someone inside a Facebook group I'm on asked, "if you were a house, what kind would you be?" Funnily enough, I've already thought about this.

As part of an emotional healing exercise, I started thinking of my inner mind as a beautiful old estate. Since I had an erratic childhood and moved around a lot, many of my prized things got left behind. My mother even lost my original birth certificate. It featured a print of my foot. The beauty of my infancy pressed in onto paper within days of my entrance into this world.

Since things could be lost and stolen, I decided that my memories needed a place to live. Somewhere inside my mental home, I have all the treasures and trinkets that got left behind.

I loved my grandmother and she had a few things that I coveted. My favorite was a small glass and mirror shelf that hung on the corner in her dining room. Whenever we went there, I'd gaze at the tiny metal horse and the little tea set upon it. When she moved, grandma gave her shelf and a few trinkets it held.

When I moved out of an apartment, my sister Kathey refused to let me take the shelf with me. It had some damage on the edge and she regarded it as "junk." I was young and I let my sister intimidate me into leaving it behind. Now that I have my mental house, I can display my prizes prominently  That birth certificate with my foot print rests secure inside an antique safe. I keep grandma's shelf safe in my private bedroom.

My mental estate features a large three story house made of light tan bricks with deep set windows with filigree shutters of dark brown. The front shows off a symmetry of elegance with the same number of windows on either side. The main floor bumps out and the windows to either side of the entry way bay out even further. The slight gray of the shingled roofs on each level compliment the tan bricks.

The stately entry recedes back directly in the middle. Two white pillars frame the cherry wood red single large door. A small window with filigree covering sits in the middle upper panel of the door. It opens to query arriving guests. The white steps and porch reflect the solid foundation on which the estate is built.

Inside, dark paneling reflect a calm elegance. An ornate carved banister to the left leads upstairs framing the entry. straight ahead a set of steps lead into the main public rooms. Before the stairs begin to the left, there's an opening into a parlor set with antique furniture including a rocker with a needle pointed upholstered pillow back and lace topped table.

Most of the residents keep to themselves. Each room reflects it's occupant. Most children have all that they need to entertain themselves. Their desire, above all else, is for stability and calm. Their worlds are private, for now. They used to suffer from a mad woman roaming the halls. She would scream and beat on their doors. A few years ago, as lady of the house, I captured her and caged her in the basement. I assigned body guards to keep her confined. Now we only here the occasional echoes of her rantings.

The memory of my father takes care of the grounds. I see him dressed in green shirt and jeans and a cap like a farmer would wear while out plowing his fields. He lives above the garage. There's a small guest house with rooms for my sisters. My mother turned to ivy lives against the house. She tries to block the windows with her leaves sometimes, but my dad keeps on the maintenance and her covering doesn't last long.

I have many gardens with shrubs, trees and a pond with goldfish, water lilies and lotus flowers. The grounds are kept organized but not so tightly planted as to be formal. In my mind estate, I have many walking paths with trellis covered walkways so I can walk wherever I want. I walked on crushed shells under bougainvillea, climbing roses and wisteria.

I like my creative sense of home. Whenever I feel stressed, I can go there and relax. Parts of me who still need the safety of this refuge can live free and happy or cry and carry on as they need.

I guess in a way this is a kind of fiction. It's all very real to me. I live there and I feel safe, most of the time.

Hall of Ugliness

"You're not ugly, " the email read. Thank you, I thought as I raised an eyebrow to the weird comment. Then I got another one.

In those early days of my foray into the Wild Wild West known as the internet, I knew a few things about how to deflect unwanted sexual advances and ASL requests. My witty repartee of "Why no, I don't speak American Sign Language, that's a wonderful skill, your mama must be proud!" usually left the asker confused. In case you live in the real world and don't know, it stands for Age Sex Location. It's a kind of "hey baby, where you from?" come on. 

Could these strange emails be some kind of trolling for chicks scam I hadn't heard about? I asked around and someone found me a URL to a page titled "Hall of Ugliness." It featured photographs of several women from my ISP. My favorite picture that I had posted on our web page gleamed among the array of women. It's the one I still use today, because it's the best one ever taken of me. 

I AM NOT AND NEVER HAVE BEEN UGLY! 

I love myself and I know I am unconventional because of albinism and very little interest in makeup and clothes. If I were gay, I'd be butch, no doubt! Only a select few find me attractive and I get that. I AM NOT AND NEVER HAVE BEEN UGLY! 

I do, however, have issues with weight. As I looked at the other photographs of the other women, I noticed every one of them were big. Then I got it. Some asshole decided to judge a bunch of women based solely on their weight. Oh, this isn't about me at all. 

My weight acts as a shield. It deflects unwanted attention and reflects emotional scar tissue. I love it for what it's done for me. 

These days I'm working toward being healthier and that involves finding new ways to have protection and resolve emotional pain. This blog for instance, gives me great release. Just THINKING about all those butterflies makes me let go. I'm taking tai chi and eating healthier too.

I will share things when they feel like a reflection of courage and perseverance.

UPDATE 2017: I found a group and concept called Health At Every Size. It shows that weight has little to do with health and that attempting to lose weight in any manner is as much a health risk as maintaining a stable weight. We focus on healthy habits like eating more fruits and veggies, drinking moderately or not at all, regular exercise and avoiding smoking. Also, trying all that weight loss crap simply stressed me out. Emotional health IS health. I have learned to love every bit of my body. I'm fat. So? I savor my food rather than feel judgement about it. Life is WAY better!