Archive for July, 2014

Two Days Later

And my mental health certainly needs help.  Except with no job or health insurance, that help isn’t going to happen any time soon. 

Yesterday was slightly better.  Hey, got another Good Reads book in the mail (I have three to read and review which will soon be posts here plus more library reads).  I have food stamps so I can eat.

However, I barely got any sleep this morning, maybe an hour, hour and a half.  I gave up and got up instead of trying to force myself to sleep.  I also did some research into that issue I mentioned, okay sin and how to avoid it.  Some good advice, other advice which I won’t take was more propaganda so it was useless.

I did find another job possibility which will be worked on at the library later today.  I also need to post my new library summer reading post (only two more books to read and then the party).  (Okay, I’ve already read the books but I’m pacing myself so I’ll claim them next week.) 

I’ve realized that since I read a lot of books and I mean a lot, I’ve started a separate book blog.  It will include the book posts I’ve made here already, plus any future posts.  The book blog with also contain posts that go into deeper analysis of a particular book and I plan on updating that blog more frequently.  But we’ll see what happens.

I think there will be another separate post dealing with my mental health after doing that research this morning.  The problem and advice I’m not going to get into but the underlying mental states, the bad headspace I will go into.  Just some things I’m figuring out.


A Bad Night (Morning)

Both.  Physical evidence of my bad headspace and I’m not entirely sure what triggered it.


Yes, I wrote that on my own left leg after writing for several pages in my paper notebook.  Like I said, bad night and now morning since it’s 2:45 am right now.  It doesn’t quite cover the whole leg but it does cover what you see plus a little above the knee.  And I’ve never been one to write on myself because I always thought it was dumb.  Yet, here I just did it to myself.

Bad headspace.  I was journaling working on why I’m struggling with certain sins that I thought had been conquered (which I’m not going to discuss or name) and why I was committing them again. Add to that having been “brainwashed” (for lack of a better term) that for me to be holy and become a saint I needed to be perfect and sinless from the get go.  Yeah, bad theology there but then the people who espoused this theology didn’t care to know the  accurate theology let alone live it themselves.  Believe me, I’ve heard and believed some complete and utter garbage and outright heretical things over the years.  Also add in teachings about saints that bordered on the extreme where it was hagiography instead of their true life story and it’s no wonder I’m messed up.

Add in my mother’s abuse which also reinforced these teachings along with her damning me to Hell for whatever little thing pissed her off this time and I’m surprised I’m still Catholic let alone have any sort of religious belief. 

I was journaling not only to figure why I kept committing these particular sins over and over again but if the past abuse I suffered could have been the cause of it.  I know I’ve written about my mother’s verbal, psychological/mental, possible physical, emotional, and deliberate violation of my boundaries but I was wondering if there might have been sexual abuse.  Maybe not from her but my step-grandfather who’s dead.

I did read, years ago, that mothers can sexually abuse their daughters by violating their boundaries with actions such as
-walking into the bathroom while the daughter is bathing 
-the mother forcing the daughter to be in her presence when the mother is in just her underwear or even nude
-mother going into the bathroom while the daughter is using the toilet and forcing her to interact with her, maybe even commenting on her bodily functions
-making the daughter go into the bathroom the mother is on the toilet and making her stay while the mother does her business
-making the daughter undress in front of the mother and having the mother denigrate her body or use explicit sexual terms and/or vulgar language
-and of course, the physical sexual molestation of the daughter by the mother.

There might be more ways a mother can sexually abuse her daughter but those are the ones I can think of.  My mother definitely had no problem coming into the bathroom while I was showering and using the toilet.  Or using the bathroom with the door wide open and calling me and making me talk to her while she was in there. Things she never did to my sisters only to me. 

She would also go through my belongs, through my dresser drawers (not to put things away but to just snoop which of course she didn’t do to my sisters) and clothes, bought me clothes several sizes too big, constantly called me fat even though I wasn’t, and basically just constantly shamed me.  Add in the screaming and yelling and denigrating and the rage.

Yet, there are times when I think I must be making this all up, that all this didn’t happen.  That I shouldn’t be so messed up. So angry.  In so much pain that all I want to do is punish myself, hurt myself and everything will be better, that things will finally be right.

Because I do have anger and pain but nobody wants to hear.  So I take it out on myself because that’s safe.  Safe and I need to be punished.  Punishment and anger I understand, well understand how they work.  I can inflict them on me with no repercussions but taking them out on others or even talking about them to others is bad and makes me bad.

So bad headspace.  Very bad headspace.

4:10 am update – I did wash that writing off my leg. So that’s gone. It was a dumb thing to do but again, bad headspace means I do dumb things.

Bad Puns

Why don’t cats play poker in the jungle?

Too many cheetahs

What happens when a frog’s car breaks down?

It gets toad.

-Brought to by the one vet’s office and appliance store signs that I saw while out running errands yesterday

A Letter to…

Dear Skunk,

I’m well aware of your ability to offend the olfactory nerve.  I do not want to be smelling you in my apartment.  Please go away.  I’m trying to sleep and your smell isn’t helping.  Quit harassing the other wildlife.  There are better things to do.

Go away.

Olfactory Offended Apartment Dweller,


(Yes, indeed there is a skunk outside my window and I can smell him/her very well.  Joys of living in urban wilderness. At least it’s not a possum.  They’re downright surly.)

Third Time’s the Charm: The Library Made Me Do It

Another sequel.  And sequels typically tank.  Especially the Police Academy movies.  But this is about books so we should be okay.


The latest Inspector Rebus mystery.  I actually love thus author and have read most of the Inspector Rebus books, at least all the ones the library has.  This one has Rebus back from retirement with several murders.  The first case that pops up isn’t a miser but a car crash or smash, as it’s called in Scotland.  But there is also an investigation into a murder from.when Rebus first started with the police.  Inspector Matthew Fox is brought in to investigate that.  Fox is another Inspector series that Rankin has written and it’s interesting to see them interact in the same book.  I love reading mystery novels from other countries. It’s interesting to see how these police departments work and the characters are fascinating

A definite recommend.


My knowledge of apartheid in South Africa is very limited.  This book covers the massacre of Sharpeville starting with the first chapter relating first person accounts of that day.  Lodge actually starts out with the political and historical events that proceed Sharpeville starting with the decade before events, covers the shooting and deaths, covers events after especially in Cape Town, covers anti apartheid movements especially in Ireland, and covers up to the recent past. 

Overall, this book was excellent.  Very in depth.  My biggest issue lay with me because I had no real knowledge of apartheid except as a repressive ideological political system so having a human connection was lacking.  This book helped though I still felt a lack of a connection to the victims.  It was an excellent book even if I was a little lost occasion.

A definite recommend.


Typically, American history taught in schools doesn’t really teach about what happened to Native Americans.  There are books about it and it does get mentioned but there is no real depth.  Hoxie write this book thirty years ago because of that fact and looks at the federal government angle versus the Native American angle.  Hoxie covers the politics, laws, beliefs, and programs that Congress enacted.  He covers the growth of racism especially in how the hierarchy of whites on top, Native Americans and African American/descendants of slaves were on the bottom.  How they weren’t really human, how they couldn’t be trusted, how they needed to be taken care of as if they were dis-abled children.  Again, a very excellent read.

A definite recommend.


This was the last in the Shadowmarch series of four books.  I recommend the series even if it takes a but if slogging through all the information overload in the first.

Crazy leaders, assassins, fairies but not the cute, cuddly kind, people of all shapes and sizes, a king held for random, a throne under contention these books have it all.  The Eddon family has rules Southmarch for generations even if the current king is being held for random.  Then his eldest son does and his daughter, the Princess Briony, acts as regent.  But then the fairies come to take back what is theirs.  More acts of treason and Briony escapes.  Her brother Barrick is lost in the land of the fairies.  Add in the crazy autarch Sulepis with his mad plan to wake the god’s and it’s engaging.  A lot happens and some things take a while to fully coalesce but it’s worth the time.  Read the chapter headers because they provide important info as well.

A definite recommend.


Mormon fundamentalists.  Always a good time.  Musser not only covers her time with in the FLDS as the 19th wife of Rulon Jeffs but also the actions and behaviors of Warren Jeffs.  She covers her escape as well as testifying against Jeffs.  The Yearning For Zion ranch is covered along with the discovery of child abuse and the rape of a twelve year old girl that had been recorded.  Musser covers the trials of those FLDS members that were charged with Warren Jeffs being convicted of the rape of a child. 

You should read this book along with the two books by Carolyn Jessop to gain a good understanding of how the FLDS operates, how men and women were and are treated, and why their actions and many of their beliefs are criminal.

A definite recommend


Having read Rosemary’s Baby, I decided to read more of Ira Levin.  I kind of wish I hasn’t.  He’s not a bad writer, just predictable.  Supposedly a suspense riddled book, this one fell flat.  It does have an interesting premise: being watched without knowing.  And that premise is interesting in light of the popularity and celebrity of reality TV but overall the book just didn’t deliver.

Not likely to recommend

A Tuesday Sunset

I’ll let the photos speak for themselves (though I do wish I had a good camera better than the one on my phone that I took these with. Oh well.)





More Poems


You crash in
Carrying the ocean of your emotions as if a hurricane has sucked them all up.  You release them not caring about the consequences, the blown down trees, the ripped roofs, the shattered windows, the complete destruction of a town.  For you it’s all about
about you sharing
when nobody wants you to.  The winds keep howling but you don’t hear them.  You’ve moved on while I drowned. 

I couldn’t breathe under that deluge.  It may not have lasted forty days but it certainly felt Biblical. 

Then you were back again, that ocean,
that hurricane
winds and rain and destruction.  I still have water in my lungs from the first drowning.  I can’t survive a second but that doesn’t matter to you.

It’s the same stories, all centered on you
When you aren’t sharing secrets that shouldn’t be told
You violate people, talking about them out of turn, saying things they’ve said in secret that you blare out for a wink and a smile.

Your own flesh and blood and you cut it mindlessly
because it serves to promote your superiority. 
At least you don’t drown them in hurricanes,
just monsoon rains.

They’re used to it:
The cuts
The gossip
The lies
The inferiority
The second class civilization
The making it all about you

They’re living their own lives which you abhor.  So you seek out others to control


You do to them what you did to your own flesh.  Cuts and lies and gossip.  But the hurricane as well.

I drown every time we meet.  You love seeing me fade out of life.  Your love is for you alone.  There is nothing for me.

You drown me and take from me at the same time.  I’m just food to you, a mindless snack that you’ll complain about later.  But you’ll do it all again and again and again.

Drowning because you pull out the fear and the snake.  Then it’s old time religion and snakebites and demanding me not to tell but only to protect you.  But I keep drowning.

You keep the hurricanes moving but stationary.  The floods amuse you.  Watching me drown is your favorite show.

I know how to swim but you keep pushing
Water in lungs
No chance
No air
Water, water everywhere

But it ain’t to drink

I see your face through the surface ripples.  You’re smiling in glee.  I’m drowning and it makes

This is religion for you.  Hurricanes and drowning.

I’m not talking about the sun or the oven or a kitchen after a mad round of baking.

It’s the anger.  The anger you engender in me.  It burns through my veins, leaving me incapacitated


Not able to act or react
Cracking my teeth

Leaving me in pain, my jaw hurting and I can’t figure out why

I am stopped in my tracks, unable to move except to punish myself.  Because I am not allowed anger nor rage
Those are YOUR emotions
My feelings are not to exist

You hit and scream and yell
And all I can do is take it
Thinking silently that one day I will get to do that to my own kids
Today I know that’s wrong but then it was comfort
Adults could hurt kids with impunity
Kids had to take it
Abuse only happened in other homes
So I took the screams that hurt my ears, the names the scored my skin, the violation of my boundaries just so you could rule your little dark kingdom

Waiting to grow up so I could finally hit back
Hit someone who couldn’t hit back themself
Someone weaker than me

That’s why I took my nails to my sister’s arm over a fight about dinner
Not that she was weaker  She was more loved than I, well
She was loved and I wasn’t and I knew it
So striking Mother’s favorite was a way of striking back at Mother (not that I knew that then; all it got me was more screaming and pain while Favorite got her way, again)

But the anger and rage are still there
But now I can’t take them out on anybody
Well except myself which is what everybody wants
I am to be punished
I am told my anger and rage are unimportant
That they are made up
That they don’t exist

That if I act on them I’m only making things worse for myself
That if I feel them or acknowledge them in any way then I am an offense to God


I Am
To Be

I don’t exist except at their pleasure

Feelings only matter if you are a select group of people
Otherwise you are supposed to buy the lies and obey their demands


Feelings are BAD

Bad things will only happen to you if you feel them.  Well happiness and pleasure in limits are okay but anger and rage and frustration and disappointment are illegal except for those in command
And you always bring them out in them

Maybe if you weren’t so useless
Maybe if I could actually hit back
Forget stupid convention
I just want to hit
To be in control
To not be the victim
To not be the unloved and unwanted child
To not be the ugly woman
To not be the subject of shame
To just not be

But that will never happen

I Said It

I hate you
I said it

You think I’m lying
You won’t take me seriously
But I tell the truth

I hate you

I hate your voice and the stupid way you dress (hello not a teenager any more so grow up)

I hate your favoritism and how you made sure you knew I knew that you wished I didn’t exist

I hate your double standards that only applied to me

I hate your stupid rules that were only about control

I hate how I’m not even a person to you

I hate how you praise and promote irresponsibility and immorality and put down self-control and respectability

I hate the put downs and name calling and just plain shaming because I didn’t fit your plans and didn’t make you the center of my life

I hate the screaming verbal abuse that made sure all I knew was fear and to be permanently jumpy at loud noises.  Or even just hearing my name.  My own name.  Cringing and flinching which I have to hide.  Remember, according to you and everyone else, I wasn’t abused.  I was just a bad girl going to Hell

And I’m not talking about Hell, Michigan

I just wasn’t good enough

I hate how all you thought me going to college for was to get an MRS degree

Which I didn’t
I got a real bachelors with real weight
Then I got a second

So maybe I’m in debt that I currently can’t pay but I have real degrees,
traveled in foreign countries on my own,
worked in a male dominated industry,
gained respect from people who didn’t give it freely,
learned to do without and be happy,
can deal with emergencies without panicking,
can jumpstart a car and diagnose many car issues,
am willing to learn about fields and subjects outside my comfort zone,
can work with a disparate group of people,
have been sought out by my coworkers due to my abilities especially in problem solving and dealing with cranky individuals,
have been recognized for my abilities to do my job above and beyond and to take initiative,
am recognized as being a good listener and not taking sides in a dispute between two people,
am willing to take time to learn not just something new but also how to do something better,

Well you don’t care but I’ve done more without you than with you. 

I still hate you

But I’m learning to love me

Actually, you don’t exist to me.  You’re not worthy of my hate.


Type this later, if I remember.

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