Category Archives: cousin

A strange day

First, be advised that I’m typing with a critical finger either broken or badly sprained. Please forgive any spelling errors. Second, I’m really sleepy. Only God(dess) knows what’s going to pop out of these fingers, broken or otherwise. With those caveats in place, I’ll carry on.

I dared to have a happy moment Friday. That happiness continued into Saturday. It’s gotten so that I’m afraid to pinpoint the happy days because they are followed by bleakness. This would all be perfectly explainable if I were bipolar, but I’m not. No, I’m more paranoid than bipolar. At times, I do believe the world is out to get me. I can’t be allowed to get too happy before shit starts falling apart. Tonight is a good case in point.

Unknown to me, one of my cousins lost her mother earlier in the week. Maybe someone tried the house phone, but I keep it off the hook because some of Mom’s creditors didn’t get the memo that said: a) she’s now deceased, and; b) unless you’ve made a claim against the estate by last August, you are SOL. I got tired of having to be a stone bitch and so I only use it for faxes now.

At any rate, Bea died and I didn’t hear about it until this evening and even that was a fluke. I sent condolences to my cousins and then another message to the larger “family” to ream them out for not getting word to me. I was actually somewhat nice, all things considered. I just don’t want this crap to happen again.

Well, now, I’m not as happy. In fact, I began to think about Mom. I was able to make peace with her passing because I think her incredible gifts with children were necessary. I’m sure we all remember the Newtown, CT shootings where so many children were killed. Can you imagine how frightened those poor little souls were arriving on the other side? That’s when I knew why Mom was taken at such an early age (for my family, at least). She was very desperately needed for those children. To see my mother with a child was a remarkable thing. Those kids are her legacy. I only wish I had an once of her talent as a teacher, but I don’t, and that’s why I don’t have a teaching certificate although everybody thought I should get one as a fall-back. Their reasons were good. I just don’t have the patience. I’m also no good at following tight rules. I’d see a kid in trouble and I would do something about it immediately, without going to the principal. If it isn’t the kids, it’s their parents. I have too hot a temper and can get fiercely protective. Unfortunately, very often the person the kid needs to be protected from is one or both parents.

As I said, I began to think about Mom and so I had a bit of a chat with her. I’m noticing that my hands are beginning to look like hers. As I lose more weight, I suspect they’ll look vary much like hers, but a darker color. She had exquisitely delicate hands. I used to love looking at them from the time I was around four. Those hands held so much talent as an artist. I truly wish that I had more of her work. Alas, I only have two or three. My understanding is that she still has pictures hanging in the local board of education even though they’ve been there for well over 60 years. My larger family is full of visual artists. I just happen to write. I can barely draw, but I do occasionally try.

I think that I’m really afraid to be happy. I always feel as though I have to watch for those around me. My mind tells me that this is a symptom of post traumatic stress disorder. Yeah, well, that doesn’t mean I’m wrong. I just want to get back on my feet financially and breathe a bit. I know there are things I haven’t done because I’m too proud to do them. I have to get over it, but it’s hell.

There are things I want to do. I’m seriously feeling the magazine as I work on a logo with one of my artistic genius cousins. am so very close to being in a position to get two issues out and hope those lead to more advertisers. I’m even afraid to be optimistic about that! Having life get better and then crash into hell is so engrained in me that I don’t know if it will ever change. I can work around it, but this attitude makes doing so like lifting 100 lbs. sitting down.

I have had what normal people would call a “migraine” for eight days now. Granted, a couple of those days didn’t suck, but came awfully close. Now, I can feel the headache rising in my shoulders. I have to lay down. Maybe sleep will make all of my demons go away.

Help with a decision

There is a poll at the end and I need COMMENTS, damnit!!

I was on my way here to post when I saw that the last time I’d posted was way back in August. It’s not like things haven’t been happening, they have. I just haven’t had the energy to write about them.

The first thing that’s happened is that I’ve hired a team of sharks to keep this house out of the bank’s hot, greedy hands long enough for me to repair my credit. They are good guys, too. I paid their retainer out of the largest and last of the small insurance checks. Mother, for reasons I will never fathom, was woefully underinsured. Maybe it’s because she absolutely, positively refused to accept that I will never again work whatever hours most people work these days. I can do about 10 days of a 40-hour week and then I’m in bed, tired and in pain. Maybe it was because she was sick both emotionally and with some form of dementia. I have known that she was mentally ill for many, many years. Given the things she’d been through in her life and at such a young age, I realized that, although I could be angry with her, what she was doing wasn’t necessarily her fault.

I’d also known that Mom had some form of dementia for at least three years and probably more. I think, but am not sure, that it was three years ago that I tried to force her to see a doctor to get an evaluation. To my absolute and utter frustration, the only thing they evaluated was her memory. Her memory was fine. It was her ability to make decisions that was fucked to hell and back. She actually sicced her eldest two brothers on me in an attempt to intimidate me. That only goes to prove my point. The old Mom would have known that would do no good. However, given that the doctors’ only interest was in her memory, and my only option was to petition the probate court to order a FULL mental examination and risk whatever relationship we’d managed to cobble together, I chickened out. There would have been no “winning” either way around. If I was right, I wouldn’t “win” because I’d know the mother I had wasn’t the mother she was during my childhood and earlier adulthood. She would know the same and I’d watch the light go out in her eyes when she learned that to be the case. I just couldn’t do it. I loved her too much. Frankly, in some ways, I still see her as having hung the moon along with my father. God, how I miss them both! I did have a short chat with Daddy before bed, though. Things around the room kept falling down, so I knew someone was here. Specifically, some things I had nestled quite stably on his urn fell off twice. That’s when I knew I needed to talk to him and explain myself. I also know that it made him cry and feel helpless. I’ve only seen him that way once when he was alive and yet, I knew that’s how he feels now.

Well, now the lawyers have gone through my retainer and need several thousand more. I asked a cousin who could have easily helped, but thought my business idea was going to tank even though I didn’t tell him anything about it. I don’t tell anyone exactly what it is because I’ve had too many ideas stolen and used by others as their own, including ideas that he balked at first and then stolen himself. There’s no way to copyright an idea, only the execution of an idea. He is of the opinion that I’m spoiled, a ne’er do well, a flake and a number of other things not remotely resembling who I am. He also likes to emotionally torture me for pure pleasure. I’d give the reason I know this, but it’s too long and I’m too tired. In essence, I’ve shown something he wrote about me around a decade ago to three different therapists/psychiatrists. Three terms come up either in concert or isolation: sadist; narcissist, and/or; cruel. I feared he was on the same track again and said I’ll get the money myself.

The reason I’m here tonight is because I do have a way of earning this money myself and it just so happens that it fits somewhat into the reason for this blog.

I was not aware of this until earlier this year, but there is a fetish population of men (and maybe women) who prefer women who are amputees. I wish I could remember exactly who told me about it, but I do remember it was someone in the sexual abuse community. At the time, I was completely creeped out. I shouldn’t be surprised or creeped out given the high percentage of disabled people (mostly girls and women, but also male children and adults) who are sexually assaulted because we can’t fight back and are perceived as easy targets. According to the National Center on Domestic and Sexual Violence, citing a study by the National Victim Center, 683,000 women over the age of 18 are raped each year. Only 16% are ever reported to the police. One in four girls and one in six boys will be sexually assaulted by the time they are 18 years old. Between 1/3 and 2/3 of victims, male and female, are younger than 15 years old. The book Violence and Abuse Within the Lives of People With Disabilities: The End of Silent Acceptance?, women with disabilities are sexually assaulted at twice the rate of non-disabled victims. I’ve known all of this to be true, but I did not know the exact numbers. I highly recommend both of these resources. They will obliterate any previous ideas readers may hold about rape and other forms of sexual assault.

By NO means am I saying that men (or women) who are amputee devotees are rapists or perpetrators of sexual assault. I simply mean that within any given population of people one will find those with a given fetish. Some smaller number of people who have that fetish will seek out the easiest targets and abuse them. That would be true if the fetish were pom-pom girls.

Difficult times have called for difficult decisions. After giving the idea a great deal of thought concerning how to hide my identity since I do have another life and getting down to the nitty-gritty of my comfort level regarding my own beauty and sexuality as a human being who happens to be a disabled woman–specifically an amputee–I have decided to move forward and serve as my own model for a site that publishes photos and movies of amputees. I hope to make the shoots fun for me and fun for the viewers who buy my sets. I began purchasing the masks I’d like to use and, at least until I get used to the idea, I have no plans to show more than a bikini model. Indeed, in some instances, probably less. I personally find a certain level of mystery to be highly erotic. My mother saw a set of photos I shot of myself for someone else about seven years ago. She actually couldn’t help but see them since they were mixed in with the other images on my laptop and had a bright red background. My avatar comes from that set. She didn’t disapprove. She actually kind of liked them because they were very suggestive while, in some cases, being very covered. Of the few that showed my breasts, I still had on a bodystocking. This time, it will be lingerie and erotic nighties. I understand the more explicit I get, the more money I can charge. Let’s just say that no one will be seeing my pussy for at least the next year unless their face is buried in it or there’s an “M.D.” after their name.

My question is whether or not I should keep this space and this nickname AWAY from those who purchase my photos or use it as a launch pad and area to correspond? I can think of several pros and cons for each. However, since it’s you all who have been with me throughout, I wanted to take your thoughts and feelings into consideration. In that vein, I have added an anonymous poll and opened comments. My primary concern is that those who do read this blog not get pushed aside by people panting after more photos. I know what my preference is, but it’s just barely a preference and I wouldn’t mind input that might change my mind and give me new information to consider. Indeed, that’s what I want.

So, without further ado:

I really do want and expect people to comment on this question because it affects how we relate to each other.