Friday, May 27, 2016

I have to get rid of the body in the garage

It's time. I am going to put it on Craigslist this summer.

At my advanced age its time to retire from extreme camping and I wish to pass on this wickedly fun little fellow here. The Body is a mumblemumble quart capacity igloo cooler. I want to say 52 quarts but we never put quarts in it...

 It's this big.

Fully packed it makes and impressive anchor to hold your tent down. Your camping neighbors are guaranteed to respect your privacy, as this conversation rings out over the campground.

"Where do you want me to put the body?"

"Put the body in the tent so it doesn't warm up in the sun!"

Make no mistake the body isn't a spring chicken. The drain gasket has expired and no longer works. An easy fix with a sandwich bag placed over it before you screw the cap on.

 If you forget to do this, then you get to share this conversation with your camping neighbors.



It's got a broken hinge and one missing latch. This doesn't affect its function.

It's got some sharpie writing all over it. I am not asking for any extra compensation for this detailing. Your getting the cheerful balloon drawing and Steven King reference for free. IT alone makes this a great find!

There are some names on the front and back. No my name isn't Pam, Pam was the letters on the license plate of my other truck.
 Incriminating evidence/confessions has been redacted since the statue of limitations hasn't expired yet.
 See the body is a happy fellow!

and my favorite feature!

I don't think I will have any trouble finding my old friend a new home.

Thursday, May 26, 2016

Mother's day * * * TRIGGER - but read it anyway * * *

(edit 5-27-16, have been granted permission to link the sermon, and have done so below.)

I am not a big fan of mother's day. Being a mother my self doesn't change this.

The pain is too deep.

real deep.

like, cut my throat deep...

choking for breath as the water fills my lungs deep.

This year even worse with the dementia's complete erasure of me from my mothers mind.

I am still reeling from it happening just a month ago. I had not stopped to process it, because well, it is too overwhelming to even look at it as a whole.

When Richard first opened the subject of my mother with me in therapy. He spent the hour watching me cry uncontrollably. Unable to speak. That is a deep well of pain... multiple bullets to my brain kind of pain...

Richard was working his butt off trying to save my life. He knew he had to take my hate and rage and pain and change it.  He knew in order for me to heal I needed to solve the issue with my mother. It took time and a lot of screaming and tears but he got me to set down my fists and stop hating her. Forgive her? Not possible. The goal to just stop reflecting back to her the hate she directed at me. When he thought I was ready he asked me to open dialogue with her.

The fear welled up so fast I disappeared under its surface without a single ripple giving me away.  The blood spewed from the wound on my arm like a fountain.

Talk to her?

I am afraid of her. I have been afraid of her for a very long time.  Long, long time.

He asked if  I would be able to talk to her if she came to a therapy session, and he was there to support me. He even called her and spoke to her, inviting her himself.  She said no. My life wasn't worth her time.

That was as far as we got in therapy, for me to put down the hate.

There will always be a part of me who desperately wants the loving fairy tale mother. That is the part of me who grieves endlessly knowing...she doesn't exist.

Mother's day became a double edged sword as I grew up.

My mother cruelly told me when I was young that I would never have children.

I grew up believing this lie.

Bitter when those around me had babies. Each year passing amplifying the knowledge that I would never be a mama. Arms aching, soul withering sadness.

Each mothers day a poke with a sharp stick in my eye.

Not only does your mama hate you, you will never be a mama

never ever.

Thankfully my husband didn't believe that lie and we had two children.

So I celebrate and embrace this day now?

Like I said...

I am not a big fan of mother's day.

I've been a mother since 2002.  I still cringe and politely dodge all the "Happy Mother's day!" greetings even now.

My past taints me from being able to get past this day. It's a cacophony of pain.

Now wrapped up in the mix are my own trials and failures as a mother. I hold my self to a high standard, wanting to be the best mother I can be to my children. To do better then my own mother. No matter how hard I try I can't be the mother I want to be.

I worked the night before mothers day this year and had to endure all the residents and staff and family members I can across cheerfully telling me "Happy Mothers Day!!"

I smiled politely....painfully polite. Each greeting a giant horse bite to my hide, leaving my soul bruised.

I came home and was feeling so defeated I went to bed and pulled the cover over my head. I had planned to go to church with husband, but. just. could. not. face. one. more. "Happy Mothers Day!!" cheerfully directed at me.

We have been attending a new church and I have fallen in love with it. They record the sermons and I knew I could listen to it later.

Husband come home raving about how funny the sermon was and he couldn't wait for me to hear it.

I finally had time to listen to it.  (C) May 8, 2016 Honoring Our Mothers - All rights reserved by Pastor Dale and Bear Creek Church, Medford Or., Used here with kind permission.

Between the funny moments was a very, very triggering sermon. Powerful and triggering because the pastor didn't gloss over the realities, he wove a very real picture for mothers....for women. He acknowledged the reality. He addressed the wounded child in me who wants and needed a mother. He acknowledged that mothers day can be painful to many women for a myriad of reasons. He addressed the mother in me who struggles to be the unrealistic super mom. He validated me as a woman.

It was amazing to hear him say that he understood that mother's day wasn't a happy day for all of us. That some of us were raised by mothers who had their own issues.

Hearing the pastors gentle suggestion on what direction to go on the topic was a distant echo from the past. Watering of the seed Richard worked so hard to plant in me so long ago. I think its going to take root this time.

Pastor's sermon had me crying. His words "saw" me. This wasn't a "honor your mother no matter what lecture" It was a gloves off raw talk that was incredibly healing to hear. My tears were not the usual bitter-angry tears, they were tears of release and change.

...and of healing.

Monday, May 16, 2016

What triggered you? GRAFFIC TRIGGER

********************* GRAFFIC TRIGGER SIV SCARS **********************

Thursday when the man interviewing me probed me for details on what triggered me, I initially froze. I couldn't find my voice due to instantly dissociating out. I struggled to try to become unmute.

It really shows just how little about SIV he understood. Which is why I do what I do. I will educate the world one person at a time if I have too.

It also clearly shows just how easily you can trigger me.

I am not mad at him. He was just being a good reporter. People don't really understand PTSD and triggers. And equally just how fragile abuse survivor's psyches can be.

The human nature of curiosity of course makes you want to know all the details.

Like what could be so awful that it would cause a human to do this to themselves.

Some pretty awful shit, man.

I am keeping a close eye on my selves post last weeks media frenzy. I can be triggered easily just talking about SIV. Its like reminiscing about an old friend. Makes me miss them. Make me want to call them up and hang out with them.

Healed? yes. Still living with SIV? Oh yes.

Last burn was Jan or Feb of this year.

The number of triggers I have been pummeled with this year are staggering.

The fact I am getting triggered is a red flag going up. Need to do a full head check and see why.

Part I know, and can't do anything about, and its that helplessness that fuels the urge to SIV. I want to restore that control I don't have. I can do that with SIV.

Part is a temporary issue that just need the elbow grease to smooth it out. Just need to hang onto the side of the boat as it pitches and not get tossed over board during this storm.

One thing that happened in all this recent stuff is this....after years of struggling to find a name for my "healing journey manuscript" I stumbled upon it while writing a face book post.

Now that I FINALLY have that, I can assemble it.

Richard's Lantern

Thursday, May 12, 2016

Human book debriefing - talk of SIV (triggery?)

I have spent the last three days doing nothing but thinking about and talking about SIV (self inflicted violence)

It was time for the Human Library project again. I did two different places this year. And sandwiched in-between them a live interview with the local new station.

Yeah...shy old me LOL.

Ball of steel man! Balls of steel (and a little bit of Ativan)

It really is an incredible experience. I enjoy it immensely. I love helping others to understand SIV better.

Here I am boring one of my "readers"

I was approached to have a reading videoed by the local news paper. Went in to it a little unsure if the one on one book/reader experience would make that jump. 

I think it came across just fine.

This gentleman I feel got it. He treated the subject with compassion and respect. I appreciate it. There is so much need for this out there.

The adrenaline is wearing off and I want to just debrief and make sure I am grounded and safe.

Each time I have told the story verbally I have refined what I wish to share. I think next year It will be even better.

I didn't ever see me as a vocal champion for the self injure. But that day I did an presentation on it in my Abnormal psych class., way back in the 90's I have had the desire to do it again. I found teaching other on the subject very rewarding.

I learn more about SIV when I talk about it. I will get asked questions that cause me to have to dig deeper and explore it more.

There was only once when I got triggered. One reader was probing for triggering details. I was able to stand up for myself and decline. Once you ring my alarm bells, all trust with you is wiped and you have to start again.

I think I am safe.

Peace be the journey

Friday, May 6, 2016


I like to think that nightmares are fuel for the writer in me. I write interesting stuff when I translate nightmares into stories. The dreamtime is a playground of visual rhythms and melodies.

I like dreams because they are akin to the night and night intrigues me.

Here is a thought for you...

I once wove a story about nightstallions...and nightmares...all part of the dream herd.

It posed a question in my mind. Those writers who can write the dark, frightening stuff, is their contorted views of reality, nothing but a nightstallion? A dream so powerful and muscular it can surface in the light of day and take your waking mind for a thunderous ride?

Yeah, yeah, old cheese from October 20, 2005.

I am having much difficulty writing lately. I sit for literally hours just staring at the computer trying to summon up the conclusion to "Skinned"...any story at this point.  I am left wondering if that part of me has gone? I used to cartoon, that has faded, I used to write novels, that has faded, I used to write/illustrate childrens books, that has faded, I used to draw, that too has faded.

Has my inner writer suddenly died of old age?

Bleah....hate to think I am creatively spent all ready.

I am almost a week off the Busbar. Not taking it has lifted that bland whiteness/feeling of being over medicated in my head.

It's most frustrating.