rrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhh
sometimes it feels like the whole world, ever word, every bit wants to come down on my head and poop on it.
sometimes it feels slimy like chicken egg, and sometimes it makes me laugh because it is ridiculous. sometimes there is so much hate I laugh.
dear narcissus,
you do not deserve to talk to my husband you do not deserve to talk to me you do not deserve your daughters. what is the opposite of "dear"?
loathed narcissus,
you do not deserve his time you do not deserve his breath you do not deserve our love you do not deserve our children.
pained narcissus,
you have fallen and fallen and you like it down there. you like the muck and the cold. you like being hungry all the time. you like what you take as sympathy. you suck everyone dry.
abhorrent, false narcissus,
you you you you you.
each petal is a head and I am tearing it off. I do not want to care what the outcome is. I do not want to think "he loves me (not)". I do not want to smell you anymore.
I have little molecules, little seeds in my belly and I can feel them sometimes. they do not speak and they do not feel the way I feel. the way people feel. they are seeds. but I feel that I need to protect them. I need to protect me not just for me but for the seeds. they comfort me and that makes me feel dirty. I am afraid I am using the seeds the same way grown ups used me when I was small. for comfort, for love. at least they do not have sex organs so I cannot use them that way.
I am afraid I will leave my body completely, that a force that is evil and cold will take it over, with all the little seeds, and hurt little sprouts. I am afraid I made myself go away so that I don't know I hurt people. I am afraid I am like my parents. amaranth says I am afraid of this because I still think my parents weren't in their bodies when they hurt me. rather, I think that they weren't themselves. that they didn't mean it.
yesterday I spent some time with a friends' daughter. she was so sweet and cute and adorable. us three young women were delighted. I was putting her in her car seat, and it was the first time I had held her, and I was terrified. I didn't want the baby to know I was terrified, and I was so zoned out, my vision was blurry.
my vision was so blurry that I hit the baby's head on the car door.
I was deeply ashamed. the baby was alright (I mean, I did hurt her, but she cried and we cooed and she forgave me, and reached her little arms up to be held again, and I said "no baby remember last time?" but she insisted and I held her and was so so careful). I was so angry. not at the child! of course not. not even at myself (though that was a hard battle to fight in my head. I didn't want to sink into utter depression, not around a child. I feel like it's my duty to keep on as much of a smile as I can around a child. that doesn't mean fake it... oh well, it's hard to explain. maybe you'll understand). I was so pissed at my dad for raising me that way. he was so scared of molesting me that (he did) he was always zoned out. just gone. he didn't hear me calling him half the time. and I got injured a lot too; he was always accidentally shutting doors on my hands, or bumping my head when he would carry me.
why didn't he do something about it? why didn't he heal so he could-- oh it doesn't matter. what matters is that I heal so I don't bump any baby heads on doors any more.
because I know I won't molest children, I am aware of the danger of being a sex abuse survivor and so I won't. and I won't ever hit a child, I was hit as a child and I would never do that. but can I guarantee I won't be so out of my body with fear that I neglect children? no. I can't guarantee that. and until I can, I won't have children.
and you shouldn't either, mean people I see on the street. mean people who used to be in my life. mean people who raised my friends (though I love my friends, and I'm glad you started their "seeds," even if you are terrible gardeners). even nice people. superficially nice people, I discover more and more, can harbour vitriol towards themselves that shows when they have babies.
so please don't, people. please love yourself first. and please stop yelling at me because I love myself first.
Showing posts with label alienation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label alienation. Show all posts
Saturday, December 19, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
I hate the pressure
I hate the pressure for trauma survivors to get over it.
Even if someone doesn't say the exact words, "get over it," the implication is EVERYWHERE. It's there for people who admit that they were abused and those who don't and those who weren't abused. It is a foundation of our (American) culture. It is poison and it kills me.
Programs set up to "help" people-- the homeless, the drug addicted, the suicidal, the homicidal, the neurotics and the psychotics-- are set up to "integrate" people. That means truss us up, drug us up, and send us out into the world to Get a Job.
I have a few things to say about Getting a Job.
First of all! I am not against supporting my society, but Getting a Job does not do that. I am sick of people trying to tell me that there are intricate-- INFALLABLE- nuances in economics that mean that whether or not I work at McDonald's dictates the state of the Union, the WORLD. It doesn't. Even if our economy were set up that way, there are OTHER WAYS TO SET UP ECONOMIES. WAYS THAT DON'T UNDERMINE PEOPLES' PSYCHES. WAYS THAT FEED. EVERYONE.
The American system is and has been since its inception in the 1600s designed to keep the rich affluent, and the poor either starving or complacent-- because either way, they're not going to take excess money from the rich. (I am talking about the upper 1% RICH here. If you think you are included in the Rich Club and you make less than a million a year, I've got news for you-- ya ain't in it.)
I DIGRESS.
I have a full time fucking job and so does every other trauma survivor I know. That job is healing. Healing means taking the pieces left from being ripped apart over and over and figuring out where they go, and what glue I need to stick them back together. Healing means spending most of my time on me and people who matter to me. Healing means sometimes I have panic attacks so severe I can't leave my house, much less walk.
Healing means no I cannot go get a minimum wage job where I am going to be abused by my coworkers and boss who are so fucked in the head they can't sort their own shit out, and think it's okay to push their vitriolic CRAP on any person who comes within a five-foot radius, ESPECIALLY if they are someone who is working to NOT be a fucking failure leech on humanity because people who are GENUINE really FREAK THEM OUT.
It means No I am not going to subject myself to fifteen panic attacks in an eight hour day so that I can jump through a hoop that was placed there by someone who has no interest in my or anyone's heart and soul.
No I am not going to go to a place every day where I have to deal with being thought of as a lesser human being because I am mixed race, or a woman, or WHATEVER, on TOP of flashbacks of my father humping me as a small child and my mother slapping me so hard I fall to the floor--
NO I am ESPECIALLY not going to take BARELY-TESTED PHARMACUTICAL DRUGS that are shoved down my throat by cruel doctors who just want me to shut up and get out because I am uninsured, who have no interest in bettering the world, who are only interested in their money and their distractions after work, who are only prescribing these drugs because the drug companies who MADE them PAID their companies to do so.
If I need assistance from the government that I pay taxes to, I am not going to be bribed into taking these pills in the off chance that they will numb and dumb me down enough to be a good little worker.
My goal is not to re-integrate myself into the workforce. My goal is to be an artist and a lover and a mother and a GOOD. WHOLE. PERSON. a loving, compassionate human being who works for the betterment of our whole fucking species.
anyone in my way is there because they are afraid of the work required to get where I am going. and they can be afraid, that is fine because it doesn't need to affect me. I can look forward and not wallow by being honest and true and remembering remembering remembering even if it means I can't "function" like you fucking normal, mean spirited, childish people who call yourselves adults.
stop telling me to be someone I'm not. stop telling my LOVED ONES to be people they're not. they are kind and good and whole and you are just a hole. you are jealous and I will never, EVER grow up to be like you.
this post is dedicated to the social workers who look down on us, the psych ward, the therapist who wants us to forgtive and forget, the random people who threaten us, the smirking co-workers who just want us to "look on the bright side"
oh and every person who ever said "but your parents love you"
Even if someone doesn't say the exact words, "get over it," the implication is EVERYWHERE. It's there for people who admit that they were abused and those who don't and those who weren't abused. It is a foundation of our (American) culture. It is poison and it kills me.
Programs set up to "help" people-- the homeless, the drug addicted, the suicidal, the homicidal, the neurotics and the psychotics-- are set up to "integrate" people. That means truss us up, drug us up, and send us out into the world to Get a Job.
I have a few things to say about Getting a Job.
First of all! I am not against supporting my society, but Getting a Job does not do that. I am sick of people trying to tell me that there are intricate-- INFALLABLE- nuances in economics that mean that whether or not I work at McDonald's dictates the state of the Union, the WORLD. It doesn't. Even if our economy were set up that way, there are OTHER WAYS TO SET UP ECONOMIES. WAYS THAT DON'T UNDERMINE PEOPLES' PSYCHES. WAYS THAT FEED. EVERYONE.
The American system is and has been since its inception in the 1600s designed to keep the rich affluent, and the poor either starving or complacent-- because either way, they're not going to take excess money from the rich. (I am talking about the upper 1% RICH here. If you think you are included in the Rich Club and you make less than a million a year, I've got news for you-- ya ain't in it.)
I DIGRESS.
I have a full time fucking job and so does every other trauma survivor I know. That job is healing. Healing means taking the pieces left from being ripped apart over and over and figuring out where they go, and what glue I need to stick them back together. Healing means spending most of my time on me and people who matter to me. Healing means sometimes I have panic attacks so severe I can't leave my house, much less walk.
Healing means no I cannot go get a minimum wage job where I am going to be abused by my coworkers and boss who are so fucked in the head they can't sort their own shit out, and think it's okay to push their vitriolic CRAP on any person who comes within a five-foot radius, ESPECIALLY if they are someone who is working to NOT be a fucking failure leech on humanity because people who are GENUINE really FREAK THEM OUT.
It means No I am not going to subject myself to fifteen panic attacks in an eight hour day so that I can jump through a hoop that was placed there by someone who has no interest in my or anyone's heart and soul.
No I am not going to go to a place every day where I have to deal with being thought of as a lesser human being because I am mixed race, or a woman, or WHATEVER, on TOP of flashbacks of my father humping me as a small child and my mother slapping me so hard I fall to the floor--
NO I am ESPECIALLY not going to take BARELY-TESTED PHARMACUTICAL DRUGS that are shoved down my throat by cruel doctors who just want me to shut up and get out because I am uninsured, who have no interest in bettering the world, who are only interested in their money and their distractions after work, who are only prescribing these drugs because the drug companies who MADE them PAID their companies to do so.
If I need assistance from the government that I pay taxes to, I am not going to be bribed into taking these pills in the off chance that they will numb and dumb me down enough to be a good little worker.
My goal is not to re-integrate myself into the workforce. My goal is to be an artist and a lover and a mother and a GOOD. WHOLE. PERSON. a loving, compassionate human being who works for the betterment of our whole fucking species.
anyone in my way is there because they are afraid of the work required to get where I am going. and they can be afraid, that is fine because it doesn't need to affect me. I can look forward and not wallow by being honest and true and remembering remembering remembering even if it means I can't "function" like you fucking normal, mean spirited, childish people who call yourselves adults.
stop telling me to be someone I'm not. stop telling my LOVED ONES to be people they're not. they are kind and good and whole and you are just a hole. you are jealous and I will never, EVER grow up to be like you.
this post is dedicated to the social workers who look down on us, the psych ward, the therapist who wants us to forgtive and forget, the random people who threaten us, the smirking co-workers who just want us to "look on the bright side"
oh and every person who ever said "but your parents love you"
Monday, October 12, 2009
i won't eat my friends or enemies and I'll ask for help when I need it
The dreams have been getting worse and worse. I hope that's a good thing. I've been isolating myself in my blankets because having someone else in the bed is too much sometimes. I feel like I owe him something and we both know I don't. So it helps me to be isolated, but I am also lonely. Maybe I should trudge through the inside out feeling? When I get close to someone physically or emotionally I feel like I'm being torn out through my birth canal. Vagina, vagina, genitals are not words we should be afraid of. I miss crowds but I freeze in them. This town is full of fear. Everyones' face is plastered with it. Sometimes I tell myself that that is a construct of my own abuse talking but I think I know better than that.
It's funny to me now, but sad. Because the mountains are right there, and the ocean is right there and I don't think many people care. They look at the sidewalk and go through life one step at a time. Which I think sometimes should be admired as I am not very good at it; my neck hurts when I look at the sidewalk and I want to lift my head even if it's to look at gross things, but of course like anyone the gross things make me cry, and it's hard to cry if you've been told it's a bad thing to do. It's not a bad thing to do. I feel like it clears out the spots I see in my eyes. On days I cry, I don't see spots.
I've been angry a lot lately. I wake up so stiff I want to punch a hole in the wall, but then the cold air would have an even easier time getting in. I feel guilty for the things that bring me the most pleasure. I don't think life should be so cruel for anyone. I'll keep trying to make it easy for me and for others.
We learned that the pilgrims in Jamestown ate corpses and excrement rather than going to the nearby "savage" indians for help. One man even killed his wife while she slept and ate her. I don't feel like most people have changed much since then.
It's funny to me now, but sad. Because the mountains are right there, and the ocean is right there and I don't think many people care. They look at the sidewalk and go through life one step at a time. Which I think sometimes should be admired as I am not very good at it; my neck hurts when I look at the sidewalk and I want to lift my head even if it's to look at gross things, but of course like anyone the gross things make me cry, and it's hard to cry if you've been told it's a bad thing to do. It's not a bad thing to do. I feel like it clears out the spots I see in my eyes. On days I cry, I don't see spots.
I've been angry a lot lately. I wake up so stiff I want to punch a hole in the wall, but then the cold air would have an even easier time getting in. I feel guilty for the things that bring me the most pleasure. I don't think life should be so cruel for anyone. I'll keep trying to make it easy for me and for others.
We learned that the pilgrims in Jamestown ate corpses and excrement rather than going to the nearby "savage" indians for help. One man even killed his wife while she slept and ate her. I don't feel like most people have changed much since then.
Monday, August 31, 2009
misunderstandings and vomit
I feel profoundly misunderstood. I'm prone to this emotion. Like I'm an alien for dissection. A frog maybe, something for people to take apart and look at so that they understand themselves better.
And the anger. Is it only justified if I stuff it in? Like he does and he does and he does. If I raise my voice I am dismissable; of course. Women are excitable. I am excitable. That means you shouldn't listen to me when I have the words. That means you shouldn't look in my eyes. That means you shouldn't believe I put every careful thought into what I say when I think something you've said is fucked up. That means I don't have compassion for you.
I have so much compassion, it spills over and burns into anger spots on the floor. it bleeds from me. I vomit compassion. I burst with it when I'm home alone and finally cry and cry and cry.
and when I try to explain myself, I see these looks on peoples' faces, like I'm talking about penis infections or an ugly rash or something so gross you just don't want to think about it. They say things like "I think you're just taking this too hard" and I say "you're probably right" because if I get mad then I'm a bitch again. and then no one will listen again. and I'm at best a frog on the table again.
I'm sick of editing every god. damn. thing. I fucking say for people.
I believe in compassion and communication. I try my very best to be kind, to be understanding; to phrase things in a way people will maybe get, to be gentle. To take everyone's situation-- as far as I can understand it-- into account. To be full of love and honesty as I am and have always been at my core.
but sometimes
it just falls flat on its face.
I am a human being just like you and I deserve respect too
and I'm not wrong about the way I feel about you
And the anger. Is it only justified if I stuff it in? Like he does and he does and he does. If I raise my voice I am dismissable; of course. Women are excitable. I am excitable. That means you shouldn't listen to me when I have the words. That means you shouldn't look in my eyes. That means you shouldn't believe I put every careful thought into what I say when I think something you've said is fucked up. That means I don't have compassion for you.
I have so much compassion, it spills over and burns into anger spots on the floor. it bleeds from me. I vomit compassion. I burst with it when I'm home alone and finally cry and cry and cry.
and when I try to explain myself, I see these looks on peoples' faces, like I'm talking about penis infections or an ugly rash or something so gross you just don't want to think about it. They say things like "I think you're just taking this too hard" and I say "you're probably right" because if I get mad then I'm a bitch again. and then no one will listen again. and I'm at best a frog on the table again.
I'm sick of editing every god. damn. thing. I fucking say for people.
I believe in compassion and communication. I try my very best to be kind, to be understanding; to phrase things in a way people will maybe get, to be gentle. To take everyone's situation-- as far as I can understand it-- into account. To be full of love and honesty as I am and have always been at my core.
but sometimes
it just falls flat on its face.
I am a human being just like you and I deserve respect too
and I'm not wrong about the way I feel about you
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