Monthly Archives: April 2013

Just a thought

I think there should be a special judicial system created to try bad significant others (SO). Divorces in most states are now no-fault, so the dirty spouse doesn’t get punished and the (less) innocent spouse doesn’t have the satisfaction of justice.

The court I envision would not be only for married couples, though. It would be for ANY couple where one party alleges some form of abuse that isn’t covered under criminal or civil law. I had an addendum to an old post that added a discourse on fighting back bullies, but decided to leave it for another time when the post could stand on its own. That’s what emotional abusers are–bullies. There is nowhere to bring a case like that in our current judicial system. One might think of “intentional infliction of emotional distress,” but getting that in by itself won’t usually work. There should be other allegations.

In my mind, I envision a jury of women deciding the fate of an abusive man. As they hear the evidence, they yell, heckle and boo him. The penalties for being guilty should be between 10 days and life. I mean, are you really going to give a guy whose only “crime” is watching sports continually all weekend as if his SO didn’t exist five years? That would be a bit extreme.

There are some things for which no penalty is enough. I am morally against the death penalty because it is not meted out fairly. However, if anyone were to deserve it, it would be SOs who physically and/or sexually abuse their SO and/or the SO’s family members. Someone who does that just needs to die.

I’ve often believed that all males should be isolated once they reach puberty. At that time, they go live with men who teach them how to be human AND male. There really are men who are quite comfortable being both. There is no shame in showing one’s emotions or having empathy with another. Women love men who are like that. Kindness is a virtue across the sex and gender divide.

I am reminded of a couple of documentaries I saw that either had a segment on elephants or was about elephants. Pesky, randy male elephants are thrown out of their herd because they are a nuisance. Some roam around solo and wreak havoc; some roam around with others like themselves and wreak havoc, and; some find themselves in the company of an older male who teaches them not to be a pain in the ass. Unfortunately, there are those few who never learn and become dangerous to other wildlife and have to be moved or put down. Most often the latter.

So, in my fantasy, boys are turned over to someone to be trained in the ways of manhood. They are provisionally released at 18 and permanently released at 21. If they mistreat or misbehave after that, they go in front of a judge while the State brings charges against them.

Mind you, the system is set up for females too, but they are taught at home and during regular schooling. Somehow, I sincerely doubt that women will appear in this Court nearly as often as men.

As I said, this is just a thought.

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Ouch!

There are so many things I want to write about, but my mind and body are exhausted. I’ve been setting the scene for my photo shoot that should have taken place weeks ago. Thank you, TEWSNBN! Fuck it. Thank you GLENN!! I spent so much time scanning pages from journals I haven’t read in ten years and re-living the horror of that period because he swore up and down that he had no idea what I was talking about. Then, when I tell him several days and about $50 later that he needs to choose whether he wants me to put the scans on a cloud server or risk the package arriving on the weekend when it was likely to be seen by nosey eyes, the little shit basically declares war. God, he has become the man I dreaded!

I think I may have mentioned this before, but a former mutual friend said that he is often overwhelmed and confused. Yep! And despite growing up in the NYC area and traveling all over the world, he is rather plebeian in his acceptance of people and his view of the world as it is. In fact, very plebeian. I honestly never thought I’d say this, but my worldview and acceptance of different peoples and lifestyles is FAR more broad-minded than his. If readers had known Glenn when we were attending the same college, I think there would be a lot of surprise. Then, he came off as worldly and sophisticated. At 16 years old, of course I ate it up. Then, after spending 17 years more together than not, he married and my life had to go on. I found the leather/kink community online and immersed myself in it both in the virtual world and the real world. I also began trying my hand at writing fiction. It seems I have a gift for writing little scenes that say a great deal. I also wrote my first full-fledged short story with something like six chapters about a bi-lesbian couple that became very well-known around the net because it has a killer BDSM scene in it that took me two days to write, all while listening to Pink Floyd over and over again. I really would love to continue writing stories about their relationship. I need a muse. Then, I had one in the form of this gorgeous blonde chica with lovely pierced nipples I could nestle in and suckle all day long. I have tried to find her, but no luck.

I know that the whole BDSM thing scared him because he had no clue. I used to think that he’d be good at it, but I don’t now. A Master must be empathetic, giving and willing to communicate. That’s not him, I’m sorry to say. I think that most men are very intimidated when I tell them that I still consider myself a leatherwoman even though I haven’t practiced in a long time. They are afraid that whatever they may bring to the bedroom won’t be able to compete with my BDSM experiences. Frankly, they may be right. Eventually, I’m going to get bored. Right now, any man who gets hold of me had better be ready for the fuck of his life. Yes, fuck first, then make love. I’d really like to get to know the guy I met at the gym last week, but my idea of “late” and his idea of “late” are two different things. I’ll pop in earlier tomorrow to see if he’s around.

What I wanted to write about in this post is a happy thing. My excursions to the gym are paying off. My body feels better once it stops hurting; my fat is firmer, if you know what I mean; I sleep better, and; I am physically stronger. Oh, I should also mention that I’ve lost four pounds. Granted, that’s not a lot, but I’ve only been at this about six weeks. Nearly two weeks out of six were spent at home, as I said, scanning my ass off and re-living unimaginable pain for someone who didn’t deserve it. You’d think I’d know better by now. Any act of kindness I’ve ever shown him has been met with a kick in the teeth. He is his own worst enemy and his account will come due. No more GLENN! (I hope you see your name in caps, m’dear.)

As I said, the gym is paying off. However, at this moment I hurt like a son-of-a-gun. I have placed lidocaine patches any place on my body they’ll stick. I need a script filled, but money is extremely tight until the first of the month. I haven’t been this broke since I was in undergrad. Still, overall, I’m quite pleased with myself. I realized that there was no iPhone app that met all of my needs, so I decided to just keep records using Notes. I’m trying to remember whether or not I have a spreadsheet app somewhere around. If so, I’d like to use it to track my progress. Right now, though, I’d like to share.

April 23, 2013

Cycling
Distance: 2.09 miles
Calories burned: 41
HR: 144
Time: 17 min.
Resistance: 6

Rowing machine
Strokes/min: 25
Calories burned: 107
Cal/hr: 308
Time: 17:00 min.
Resistance: 5

Pull down
36 reps @ 40 lbs.

Chest press
50 reps @ 40 lbs.

Shoulder press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Leg press
50 reps @ 40 lbs.
40 reps @ 55 lbs.

April 25, 2013

Cycling
Distance: 3.74 miles
Calories burned: 78.3
HR: 140-144
Time: 31:33 min
Resistance: 6

Rowing machine
Strokes/min.: 28
Calories burned: 94 (This is an inaccurate measure due to problems with the computer on-board.)
Cal/hr: N/A
Time: 21 min.
Resistance: 5

Pull down
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Chest press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Shoulder press
40 reps @ 40 lbs.

Leg press
100 reps @ 55 lbs.

I haven’t measured the body metrics yet. It seems that I never have time when I’m close to the tape measure and I do have time when I’m not close to the tape measure. I’ll do it eventually.

The reason I’m so proud of myself is that I’ve heard a litany of “Don’t do that!” and “No, you need to not risk your quality of life.” Basically, if I do hurt myself on the leg with the birth defect, no one has any idea how to put me back together. I can think of ONE surgeon in the entire country who would have more than a clue. The hospital that stole him from Johns Hopkins built an entire new wing just for him. The bad part is that he’s a pediatric ortho and they do NOT like to work on adults.

That’s not to say that my current ortho would be totally clueless because that’s not the case at all. In fact, his primary interest is in bioengineering. That gives him a solid background in the mechanics of my body. In addition, this hospital’s doctors actually listen to me when I tell them I am not just another amputee. That wasn’t happening at the hospital where the first spinal surgery and knee replacement were done. In fact, I kept telling the ortho that I was sick after my first knee replacement surgery. He blew me off by saying that people often feel that way after joint replacements. He didn’t listen until I spiked a fever and my pulse-ox was in the high 80s. Lo and behold, I had pneumonia and a partially collapsed lung. He was frustrated because medicine wouldn’t release me to rehab, thereby screwing up his schedule and stats. Fucking narcissists. If the nurses hadn’t called in medicine, my lung would have completely collapsed. Ever since, there have been times when I feel as though I couldn’t breathe and had pain in my back right over my lungs. That’s when I say a little prayer for myself because I really cannot deal with being in the hospital right now. I’m hoping that my breathing is better now that I’ve spent six hours cleaning off my dresser. Yes, you’ve read that correctly. SIX hours. I didn’t even dawdle in the process! I found all sorts of things I’ve been looking for for years. I have to clean off the dust, (this house collects it like a magnet collects iron shavings), but a little Pledge goes a long way.

It’s time for me to turn out the lights, continue listening to some music and close my eyes again. I came in from an appointment with my pain doctor and immediately went to bed after feeding the girls. The pain doctor was concerned that I was unhappy because my body is not cooperating. He asked me if the medication was working. That’s a loaded question when asked by a pain specialist because if you say no, they may think you’re drug seeking. If you say yes, even though the meds aren’t working, you’ve conceivably missed an opportunity to get the medication adjusted so that the whole cocktail works better. He told me not to be depressed because there are so many things going on with my body and my life that I have to be realistic about my goals. Thank you, God! He understands! I didn’t even have to prod him. Even if I weren’t at the gym at least twice a week where I theoretically risk injury, I have a specialist for just about every system in my body. That’s a lot of doctors, but there is a lot to be examined. I’m getting a cortisone shot next week if I can get my cousin to take me to the appointment. I have to be sedated because that damn needle HURTS.

At any rate, Bruce is singing Badlands and it’s time for me to magically envision the place about which he’s singing. Every time I hear his music now, I think of The Big Man, Clarence Clemons. I miss him a lot. His nephew is good, but he doesn’t have the experience his uncle had and won’t until he’s been through the trials and tribulations his uncle had. Oh well, Better Days came up next. I think some spirit knew that I needed to hear that song. I wish you all better days ahead. Remember, “Strength above all!”

Odds & ends

I’m sick. I don’t know whether it’s from morphine withdrawal or I have a bad sinus infection. I got the morphine script filled tonight, so we shall see.

It’s 3:09a and I am so totally exhausted I don’t know what to do. I’ve taken my sleep meds, but I only got sleepier and did not fall asleep. What is up with that? They’ve always worked!

I went to the gym while awaiting my prescription. I wanted to check my theory about my “late” being too “late” for someone who has to get up and go to work in the morning. No data yet. The person for whom I was looking didn’t show up. Oh well, perhaps another time.

However, speaking of the gym, I think I’m beginning to see some definition in my muscles. If I had to guess, I think my thigh is going to be quite prominent because of the quadriceps. I also think that I’m going to be able to nip that whole “wings on my upper arms” thing in the bud. I didn’t want to change shoes, so I concentrated on my shoulders and chest tonight. I’m still good at only 40 lbs., but I’ll move up in a week or so.

I got home and didn’t feel like cooking at all. What I should have done was make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. However, if I made one, I’d want another. Granted, I hadn’t even begun to approach any calorie intake, so I could eat what I wanted. I just didn’t want to get in the habit. Instead, I broiled a steak that’s been marinating in the fridge for two days. This time, the girls didn’t steal it from me and I actually got to eat it! Coupled with King’s Hawaiian rolls, it was divine. I tried to wait for the broccoli to finish cooking, but I was too exhausted and just wanted to eat. I’ll finish up the broccoli another day.

Finally, I just wanted to let you all know that the other, private, blog has been set up. That means you guys won’t have to suffer through my anger, angst and bewilderment regarding GLENN as much here. I hope that scum bucket’s eyes fall out since he’s checking to see what I’ve written. The posts on the new blog are password protected and the blog itself is hidden. Therefore, I can get as real as I want to be with my feelings and work out the nitty gritty of the book, thereby leaving this blog for other matters.

That’s it. I’m going to try to sleep now. Did I mention I was exhausted?

A “Wow!” moment

I’ve just written on a younger cousin’s Facebook wall to say that I’m here if she needs me because, clearly, I’d missed something important that was going on due to my own angst. I told her that I’ve adopted a new motto: Strength above all! However, a second part of that motto has taken shape. The whole thing is: “Strength above all! Family above all else!”

I believe in that motto wholeheartedly. That is not to say that I won’t or shouldn’t have bad days, they are inevitable. What it does say is that I will push forward and through those bad days to get to the other side. I may take a little time along the way to get angry or upset, but in the end, I will prevail.

I look back on the obstacles I’ve had to face to reach this age and they are many. I can lay here in bed and recite my tale of woe as well as the next person. I can also bet that my tale would trump that of most people. However, wallowing in it, unless answers may come from doing so, is pointless. It is in my nature to examine inconsistencies and information voids from all angles because I need answers before I can let go and move on. Nevertheless, the goal is to move on. It is when I feel trapped with no way out of the pain–physical or emotional or both–that I engage in self-harm or self-destruction.

People will do inhuman, inhumane, unspeakably cruel things to other people. Much of the time, it is simply for the perpetrator’s amusement. At other times, the perp plays with other’s lives in front of an audience so that they can feel better about themselves. They are like the sick, twisted individuals who pour flammable liquid on animals, set them on fire and laugh as the poor creature is cooked alive. I wish there was a criminal penalty for intentional infliction of emotional distress but there isn’t. Retribution can only be had through a civil suit because the act of intentional infliction of emotion distress is an intentional tort (i.e. personal injury). In most jurisdictions, even though this is a recognized harm, it usually cannot stand alone. The assertion must be predicated on another, primary assertion.

What recourse do victims/survivors of heinous emotional battery have? Not many. The most important thing is to recognize that what happened was perpetrated by unimaginably cruel “people” who barely deserve to be considered human. In other words, you, the victim/survivor didn’t do anything to deserve what happened.

The second thing that may bring some small comfort is that, at the end of the day, these sick and twisted individuals feel worse about their own lives than you should about yours. They see kindness as a weakness and trust as a way into your soul to wreak havoc, cause as much damage as possible and then get out. Some will then attempt a coup de gras and lay all the blame and responsibility on you! Their warped sense of themselves colors everything they see and touch, often projecting their own beliefs and reactions on to you. The perps lack a greater understanding of the world. Therefore, empathy is, for them, impossible. Looking for empathy in them is a waste of time that could help nurture the goodness inside yourself.

I have been forced to learn that, while there probably is a reason for the perp’s actions and words, you will likely never know it because they don’t know. The only thing that is known is that being cruel to others makes them feel better. It becomes an addiction that can only be “cured” by having someone stand up for themselves and say “No! You will not poison me with your bile.” Better yet, say that in front of the bullies’ friends. They generally run in packs, btw. By doing so they have witnesses and a cheering section to validate their anti-social behavior. Be that as it may, running in a pack can be used to the survivor’s advantage. Standing up and saying “No!” in front of the perp’s audience will most assuredly cause him/her embarrassment and pain. It will cut more deeply than any knife. Furthermore . . . and this is the really important part . . . you will feel better about yourself. You will realize the strength inside of you. It is a scary proposition to stand up for yourself, especially when others are silent and/or are telling you to be silent as well. You must challenge that paradigm to its fullest and shout your resistance against abuse, the perps AND their enablers. I am strong. YOU are strong. Why? Because we are survivors and this is what we do.

I look at myself now and consider what I’ve accomplished in the last decade. Even after three major operations, one of which nearly killed me because I came thisclose to bleeding out and had to be put in a coma for a day so my body could have the strength to heal, I learned to walk again three times. Indeed, I had to re-learn everything about the way my body moves. Worse yet, I had to do battle for myself when I was least able, but I did it, although Mom vehemently disapproved of my method.

I am scheduled for another major operation to repair or replace the prosthetic knee that was put in in 2010. It was supposed to last 10-15 years, possibly even 20 if I was careful, but there is something very wrong with it, most likely because I fall a lot or the benign, but highly aggressive tumors in that knee have returned. My bet is on the latter.

I’ve also absorbed a lot of losses these last five years due to death. I think there’s only so much someone can lose and not lose their own minds. I came very close to trying suicide again but realized my babies need me.

I’m still working out the kinks in my life, but I think I’m going to be OK. Right now. I need to be kind to myself, refrain from unreasonable expectations for myself and remember that I didn’t make anyone hurt or harm me. I did not provoke another’s words or actions, and believe that I am a good person who I deserving of love and respect. If someone uses and abuses me in any way, they have no business in my life. Period. No matter who that person may be.

I. MEAN. BUSINESS!

New day

It’s amazing what a lot of sleep and a fun-filled gab with your best friend/cousin/brother-in-queerness will do. This says it all:

Stars when you shine, you know how I feel
Scent of the pine, you know how I feel
Yeah, freedom is mine, and I know how I feel . . .
It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me
[scat]
And I’m feelin’. . . good.

Yeah, baby! Nina Simone said everything I feel.

The question everyone asks

Cube with question marks

Questions that will never be answered.

I’ve noticed something. I’m spiraling down and I can’t seem to control it. I don’t know exactly why, although I have some possible candidates. Whatever the case may be, the question that underlies it all is this: Why was I born? I used to say that I wish my mother had miscarried me as she had two other fetuses. That’s pretty much how I feel right now. But for the girls, I couldn’t care less whether I lived or died. My survival instinct has never been all that strong to begin with. I refuse to allow my furbabies to tread a dangerous path at the local animal shelter. I won’t do that to them. Therefore, I live.

Some would say that I’ve helped a lot of people. Eh. Maybe. Some would say that they enjoy having me in their lives. Where the hell are they now? Others would say that I have a gift that I should share with the world. I laugh at that. The “world” doesn’t give a rat’s ass about me. I’m just one more mouth that some anonymous woman spit out of her coochie. No one knows why I was born, least of all me.

Yes, I can teach people or at least open their minds to something they’d never considered. The problem is that most people are very happy to be ignorant. I wish I were ignorant a lot of times. I’ve seen so much of the darkness of the human spirit that it makes me feel as though the planet would be better off if humans were wiped out altogether. I really don’t think humans deserve to exist. Yet, here we are, messing up this planet we call “home.” If this is home, what would we do to a planet we were visiting? Humans are why I like animals so much more.

Cries in the wind

There are days when I get sad and I don’t know why. I think this is one of those days. I have a feeling that it has to do with reading my old journals last week. I was deep in hell when I wrote those entries. It was almost a foregone conclusion that I’d suicide. Anyone would under the circumstances.

20130421-193203.jpg

My experience with abuse is long and horrid thanks to the pedophile my mother married. It was so horrible that I had to blank out to endure it. “Blanking out” is called “dissociation.” We all do it at one time or another. The spectrum goes from daydreaming at one end to “dissociative identity disorder,” AKA “multiple personality disorder,” at the other. I don’t remember most of my childhood. I don’t remember most of what was done to me. What I do remember tortures me with flashes and, either when I feel safe or feel extremely vulnerable, I get full-fledged flashbacks. I also get body memories. I think those are the worst. That’s what happened when I began reading the journal entries. I knew that I was in my bedroom–the room where I did my best to end the torture I’d experienced–but I felt the agony that befell me that nightmarish night. For a moment, I seriously thought about suiciding again. Then, I realized that I was in the present, ten years later. Still, I had to scratch and claw my way out of The Pit.

I tried to do the right thing by TEWSNBN and told him what was coming. Since he swore he didn’t remember, I dug out the journals, read them, scanned them and realized it was going to take more time because I was even more prolific then than I am now. I was in the process of a complete meltdown when I wrote those journal entries. The scars on my arms are a testament to the pain I was in. I couldn’t scream, so I burned my arm with a lit cigarette almost down to the bone again and again and again. In addition, I’d cut. Unlike the burn scars, the razor’s scars are barely visible. The irony is that I can blame those on either the cats we had or my dogs because they all have/had sharp claws.

I am so angry that these people thought nothing of what they did then nor today. What was done was so insignificant that it wasn’t even remembered. I don’t know who was at the keyboard that last time, true. However, TEWSNBN was still a huge part of the trap. When I told him what happened, he couldn’t have cared less. What the hell happened to him? Now, I’m just plain curious. It really doesn’t matter because he can’t be “saved.” I’m curious because that’s my nature. I’ll never get an answer because he’s too much of a coward to talk. Oh well.

I am so tired of abusive men. I’m tired of abusive people period. My mother, partly due to physical illness and partially due to mental illness she refused to get treated, was very abusive all too frequently. There were times when I had to hide out in my bedroom with the door locked because she’d charge at me like a pissed off bull. She definitely had physical abuse on her mind. I sometimes kept a knife under the pillow because I was afraid of her. She’d come in when I wasn’t around and take it away. Needless to say, she triggered PTSD episodes, as did her brother, Ted, who walked into my house and started going off on me for something he thought I’d said about him. I hadn’t said anything about him at all. Do you think my mother stood up for me? Nope! The only thing she cared about was that I told him to “Fuck off!” She didn’t care about what he said and did to get me to that point. For example, he said, “That’s why no one likes you!” and a bunch of other stuff. But to come into someone’s home and go off on them about something he thought he heard is inappropriate times two. According to my mother, I was supposed to just stand there, take his shit and endure. No! ! No way!! Why do people think that I’m never supposed to defend myself as if the abuse is acceptable? It isn’t acceptable at all.

I can’t write anymore. I have things that must be done today. I don’t feel like doing anything. I’m tired. I’m just so, so tired.