Category Archives: random
I’m not sure who I am today.
I look in the mirror, and I don’t look like my usual self. My hair doesn’t lay right. I move it around, and it just looks weirder still. My face looks … not me, so I add some makeup. And then different makeup. And I still don’t really look familiar.
This me is sort of empty; a husk of the formerly bold me, maybe, that has now outgrown its previous self, and flown off to live in a better, more exciting place. Leaving behind the shell, that seems to wander around blank faced and thoughtless. Dropping things. Forgetting what she is doing. Milling about looking for something to jump out at her and tell her what she should be doing.
This might be a dangerous me to be; because she seems so unaware, she might easily follow the Pied Piper into the depths of darkness, or disappear into the fog of the night.
part two ….
This strange, vague memory has haunted me many a time in my life. I’m looking through a window, and there is darkness all around me. I feel frightened and alone, and as I look out of this small window to the bright world outside, I feel panicky and stricken with fear. I’m looking at my mother, and I am filled with sorrow and worry. And everything seems to fade to black, fading into a dark fog, like a giant eye closing itself up and the memory is gone along with it.
For the longest time I wasn’t sure if this scene was from a movie I’d seen at some point in my life, or maybe a book I’d read. It was strange, and disconnected, and I couldn’t recall anything surrounding it, no context for what this memory stood for or what it belonged with.
It is my memory, actually. Many memories that I have – that people with MPD have – can be in the form of a snapshot; like a tiny picture in a photo album, or feel like a tiny snippet from a movie reel. This snippet felt like a movie for a very long time, until I was able to connect it to the girl I call Mexico.
When I was in second grade, my life was almost good. Sort of OK. I had many things around me that I enjoyed; friends next door that I played with, who invited me to their house where they had Spanish TV and lots of colorful decorations. I had neighbors on the other side who let me swim in their pool, and gave me Barbies they had outgrown, as if one can really ever outgrow dressing up tiny people. I had a semi boyfriend from Guam, and walked over the train tracks every day on the way to and from school, and Kumquat trees in the back of my house. Life was almost alright.
But then summer came, and I found myself kidnapped.
Well not really; but it felt that way to me. My mother was working a lot of hours at the time, and I don’t know where my dad was, working or doing school, but we had a baby sitter that watched us every day during the summer. She wanted to go to Mexico with a group from our church, and so she asked my mother if she could take us – me and my sister, ages eight and ten. Sure, says my mom. Why not. A week in Mexico, maybe two? This way of course she doesn’t have to plan out meal times, and she will have a respite from my never ending complaints about flea bites.
The trouble is, I don’t think anyone told me about this trip.
Suddenly one day I’m being herded onto a long, dark bus, and waving out the window at my mother, wondering if I am ever going to see her again. I know the people I am with in the bus, and of course, there is my sister, so it’s not as though I’m all that crazy right now. But I don’t quite understand what’s happening. Am I going to summer camp? Am I going to a new church? No, I guess I’m driving for hours and going to Mexico.
Not that it wasn’t fun or anything like that. I got a cool piggy bank I would never have gotten otherwise. I got to attend festivals and carnivals and watch my babysitter haggle with a man for the best prices over cookware. I got to sleep on a concrete floor in a sleeping bag and stay up all night while the wild dogs barked ferociously at the overgrown cockroaches. And I got to wonder if maybe I had been kidnapped and was going to be sold or donated to this orphanage I was being forced to work at.
And even though it was really only a week, and my sister seemed to have the time of her life on this trip, for me this excursion was full of fear and confusion and diarrhea from drinking the water. Because I have MPD, and the smallest thing – like telling your child she is going on a work vacation with her sitter and not, in fact, being sold as a slave or loaned out to a neighboring family for work needs – well those little things can be very important. Without this information, I’m messed up. For years and years I walked around feeling a little dead somewhere inside, because when I left on that bus and was dropped off in Mexico, that part of me never really came back. THAT girl, who didn’t know what was happening, never really made it back into my fold of people. She sort of turned into a little ghost; a hanger.onner, who is sort of part black blob of misty memory, and part ghost child with a ball and chain. That girl left home, never to return. Because sometimes MPDers can’t handle certain things, or are overwhelmed by situations. And she just got lost in Mexico, when the rest of me came back home on the bus.
And it’s OK now; I still love tacos and burritos and all Mexican foods, while completely hating sleeping on hard surfaces and when barking dogs can’t settle down. It’s a balance I try to live with. And I’m glad to have finally come to remember my little person Mexico, and be able to attach her back into my system a bit.
Still, it’s hard to lose a piece of yourself to the wild…to the dark and mysterious areas of the world out there. And the memories and experiences with this little one are yet to unfold all the way…who knows what interesting things she might recall in the future!
i just finished watching HBO’s “Captivated: The Trials of Pamela Smart” and my heart is heavy.
the film premiered in January at the Sundance Film Festival, and makes an amazingly poignant statement about our lives today; what the hell is the media doing to our brains?
OK that probably isn’t actually THEIR statement…but as you watch the documentary, it is amazingly clear that TRUTH is not really easily definable or discovered once the media decides the verdict of things ahead of time.
i found this documentary fascinating, and disheartening at the same time. i saw a documentary not long ago about the woman who spilled coffee on her lap at a drive through McDonald’s and sued for damages. i actually remember that situation, and how frustrated everyone was about the situation ~ what world are we living in when people can’t own up to their own mistakes? but the reality was quite different than people made it out to be. and once celebrities and comedians got their routine into the coffee bit, all of America had made a decision on what happened with the coffee and the lap; including me. “Own up to your own mistakes, people” i might have shouted. “we shouldn’t be a sue-happy culture!”
we shouldn’t be a lot of things that we are. one thing i’m pretty certain that we as people will never really get to is smart. we are too quick to judge when there is no information available to judge with. we are gullible and hopeful and biased. we have long records of wrongs done to us, and not a long enough list of goods we have done for others.
i feel flustered today; because it doesn’t really seem like anything ever changes. there is just a big bunch of good, bad and ugly. so what is my two cents worth in the long run? and what kind of stupid question is that anyway, ’cause nobody even uses cents anymore! cents are so worthless you can’t even find the symbol on a modern day computer or device!
* sigh *
so, there’s nothing left for me to do, but just keep on fighting. it doesn’t really feel like it is doing anything. but i can’t just roll over and give up. i may not be able to conquer the darkness of stupidity, ignorance, and cruelty; but i can at least try to spread the healing blanket of acceptance, love, and kindness.
beyond that much, i will just have to have a decent margarita or a really big scoop of ice cream.
I’d love to be able to get ahold of Jake Gyllenhaal. What a minute, let me rephrase that. I mean, of course I’d love to get ahold of him; have you seen those big dreamy eyes and those perfectly pouty lips? So yes, I would LOVE to get a hold of Jake Gyllenhaal, but I’d really like to get in CONTACT with him and tell him thanks for what he’s done. Jake G has really and truly cured me of a long-standing childhood trauma.
I’ve had a little crush on Jake for a while now. When a co-worker heads out for lunch they’ll ask if I need anything, and I’ll reply “number 4 with extra hot peppers, and Jake Gyllenhaal please. Or if they’re out of peppers, just Jake is fine”. I haven’t stalked him in a parking lot, or posted his picture all over my walls, or sent him phone messages with my boobs in the file (because honestly, my boobs are pretty awesome and he should have the opportunity to experience them first hand really). (also I don’t have his number, any help with that is appreciated)
But I happened across this image of Jake and an axe.
Now what the hell is this for?
I suppose a hard core Gyllenhaaler would know exactly what this still is about, or promoting, or how it makes sense in the grand scheme of life. The image on its own is quite worthy of hanging in my room, so maybe I should start a pin-up collection, but the point for me is the axe.
I have written some about my shaky childhood traumas in my blog “Accidental Happiness” via wordpress, so people familiar with my blog know about alcoholism in my family, violence, insanity and other mayhem, and how I have coped with those issues and turned out a relatively sane and happy human being. And they have probably read about the axe.
When I was twelve, someone I adored and trusted completely attacked me with an axe. This person didn’t actually strike or dismember me, but he came within an inch or two of my body while swinging an axe full force, and he was a pretty strong, large man compared to my skinny twelve year old frame. So for the next hundred years of my life I’ve had issues with axes. This fear makes it pretty frustrating to watch movies that fall in the Horror genre, because inevitably there will be an axe involved somewhere. “One out of four horror movies must contain an axe” I think is how the Hollywood handout reads. So movies like the remake of Amityville Horror with Reynolds – beefy and handsome as he is – pretty much stop my brain and I leave the room in terror. And even in movies where the axe is just being used as an axe, to bust something open or to actually chop wood instead of chopping up bodies or opening skulls…I still have the mental freak outs and turn into a pile of weird afterwards.
But here is this beautiful image of Jake: a strong, handsome, interesting, probably kind and thoughtful human being. And he’s holding my arch nemesis, the dreaded axe. This image should give me the throw ups, or send me into hysterics, or unnerve me for a good day or two. But with all of that long-leggedness and fierce manliness he’s got going, he also has this ever-present Jake quality of chill. Good guy. Centered wise being thing. And I find I don’t want to run away in fear. I’m actually wanting to look at this beautiful human being, holding the scariest of things I have ever known, and think of what men are SUPPOSED to be like. Not creepy and dangerous, but glorious and capable. Not violent, chaotic and murderous, but protective, vital and healthy.
This might just be my favorite picture of all time now, of anyone, anywhere – because Jake Gyllenhaal has me thinking in a whole new way…maybe weapons are only as scary as the hands that hold them.
Have you seen all those facebook quizzes that people take? “What mineral would you be?” “If you were a dog, what breed would you be?” “Take this quiz to find out what Beatles band member you are most like!” I mean, there are only four of them, we can’t all be summed up into four people. Well, five, if you include that first kid.
Anyway, these stupid quizzes are silly and meaningless, and yet sometimes fun and exactly what you need on a particular day. And some of them are particularly ON. And my response is, ummm, WHOA. That is intense and really deep. I totally KNEW I would be Inigo Montoya!
But what do you do when you don’t like the “character” you turn out to be?
Today I was reading a fiction book, and I came across a character in the story line that made me go, “huh. what a friggin’ bitch!” The main character in my story is an American fellow who is living in London shortly after the Ripper murders have claimed their victims. Main character meets up with a woman during the course of an investigation, and WHOA, this is one tough biddy. This lady has a hard and crunchy shell, but we aren’t really certain there is any yummy gooey center. She has obviously had a difficult life (which is proven out) and has therefore had to toughen up and develop a layer of skin so thick that she is more of a tire than a person. And yes, she has helpful information for the detective in the story, but she is so caustic and controlling, so pushy and proud, so damn removed from human emotions, that I found myself HATING the character.
And then five hours later, it hits me: I’m kind of this woman!
Oh I’m not a bitch. No one that knows me at all would really use that word to describe me. I actually care about people quite a lot. But so does this character. She cares about all kinds of people, especially low life, underprivileged folk. And she tries to help them. But she has been burned so badly in areas of her life that she is now Automaton Woman.
And here I am, going through something in my life that I have gone to great lengths to try to avoid, and I realize I’m trying to avoid it so hard because it makes me feel. It makes me hurt. It makes me human; and apparently I don’t deal with that soft side of life very well either.
I don’t like her! And I don’t want to be her! So what do I do when I find that the character I turn out to be completely sucks!? I mean, where is the “retake this test?” button for the real life questions???
What can I say? Some days there is no way to process life but through writing.
My morning walk started so beautifully, with the overcast sky, the cool air, and the scent of flowers on the wind. A beautiful mourning dove hovered over my head, looking for her nest, I thought. Unless she was hovering over me to bring me a message, which is quite possible because these birds are connected to my grandmother. I saw it as a good sign, along with the three silly squirrels who were playing a fierce game of tag, and a happy black butterfly that smiled at me as she flew by.
The second park I try to visit on my morning walk is something of a fairy wonderland…
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I can’t believe it’s been a whole week since my life-changing day of MAD Monday.
I’ve been doing a recurring blog that I think has made a huge impact in my life, and I wanted to share just in case – you know – it’s a magical formula for world peace or something. Of course, if it is I probably should have Trade Marked it and bottled it for maximum financial rewards…ah well. I must be a philanthropist at heart.
Every Monday on my blog “Luv Lansing” (that’s where I live, Lansing) I do a feature called “MAD Monday”. This stands for Make A Difference Monday. There is a Make A Difference Day, and I just decided, hell…Mondays kind of tend to suck, so why I’m I waiting all year to Make A Difference when I could just waste a little lousy Monday time making a difference.
And then, lousy Monday started making a difference on me. In my Make A Difference Monday blogs, I tend to post approximately four different volunteer opportunities for people in my area to get involved with. Usually I find out about these on Volunteer Match. These might be things like volunteer as a sign up reception person at the Red Cross, or help out at the YMCA. And then I post a little information about the group, a picture or two, link to them so people can go right to the source, or direct them through Volunteer Match so they can check out MORE opportunities if they like.
Well here’s the thing: I’ve always wanted to do this kind of thing. Volunteer here or there; donate monies to worthy organizations; travel the world working with doctors in underdeveloped countries or helping to save the dolphins. Or some other far reaching idea that is equal to raising unicorns on a sandy beach or having a barn full of dragons. You know? Because I am a civil worker, and live on a very meager income at this point in my life. And I live FINE, but it’s not like I’m able to contribute to all these groups I would like to contribute to, or pick up and go to Africa for a month to help re-establish the dwindling cheetah community.
So I’ve sort of been putting off contributing…until I had all the extra millions I will make from being a smart ass, once the world decides it really should financially support those of us who are caustic, wry and smart assy. I’ve been wanting to donate, but I guess waiting for … extra.
And doing this weekly article about volunteering has suddenly made the leap in my brain. Even if I can’t volunteer myself today, I can help someone else volunteer. Someone who maybe doesn’t have to go to work, because they have a sugar daddy, or they are retired, or they just have oodles of cash they found in their previous job as a pillaging pirate. And now, every week, I look forward to that crappy Monday morning, because I know I’m going to get this buzz from the blog. And it’s OK that I’m saying this all wrong, and not magically, so that you think “Oh My God, this is the most awesome thing ever, and I will do this in MY community!” Because I’m a little crazy right now, cause I’ve just done the MAD Monday blog, and it makes me a little hyper, and excited about life, or it makes me sit and cry all day, like last week. And luckily for me, it builds my karma points, so that I can go to work the rest of the week and deplete all those karma points and still come out OK in the end, cause my MAD Monday gave me so many extra.
Weeee…see? It’s good for you!
Go here to see my blog, and maybe you’ll do one in your own city?? MAD Monday rocks!
was this really my very first blog? whew…
I won’t be beaten into submission by a God that is afraid of my emotional outbursts.
I won’t be tricked into complacency by a religious system that prefers numbness to the powerful and…
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Sometimes I feel broken.
I have seen many dark days, and my journey through the streets of life have left me with a great many battle scars, and worst case scenario reflexes. I have wonderful qualities, a good heart, and am an attractive woman. Still, I wondered aloud today – to my sister – why someone would want to pick me out of the lot, rather than a newer, shinier model.
It’s not that I don’t see my own value.
I’m funny. I’m witty too, which I feel is different. I’m sarcastic, and quick, charming and loveable. I am entertaining, silly, fun to be around, and have a child like appreciation of the world and my surroundings. I am loving, kind (usually), compassionate, and loyal. I am strong, intense, passionate and committed. I have goals and ideas, aspirations and achievements. I am understanding, forgiving and resilient.
But I have been…
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i’m supposed to be getting ready for work. and yet, here i am. 😉 i am going to put down my immediate reaction to something, and i don’t usually do this. mostly because when i have done this ‘trigger-reaction’ responding, i’m usually wrong. i fail to look something up, and comment harshly on the thing, and lo and behold i was completely off base, or didn’t have the whole picture.
well hell, i’m human. it’s what we do.
so my response today is to something i saw here on wordpress, a video clip. i don’t know if the author/group is called this, or if it’s the title of the blog, ok? but it said “only God forgives UK”
so i’m assuming this is a group.
i hate this. i used to be a Christian so i’m not bashing all Christians, and i sometimes understand where they are coming from. but seriously? (sorry Kiki, stold your word) only God forgives? seems to me that a lot of people have to forgive things; indiscretions, abuses, failures. forgiving is something we have to do on a fairly regular basis. every time someone does me a bad, i don’t go around with a bat and smack em a black eye!
now ABSOLVING might be a better word. because where i can forgive – or pass over – someone’s mean spirited behavior toward me, ABSOLVING them of “sin” or their wrong doing is not in my power. not that i necessarily believe in sin. but i can’t ABSOLVE anyone of anything. i tried that once, and only ended up with a lot of honey and a can of miscellaneous motor parts. very bad idea.
anyway, rename your group, stupid! the Bible actually TELLS us to forgive, so if it wasn’t possible, why would your God tell you to do it in your magical manual? and stop telling the world what to think and believe!
OK. rant over. put clothing on. go to work.
whew. being a bitch is exhausting. i think i’ll take up gambling instead.