yes

I am

 

You can be, too.

PBS

 http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/ancient/write-your-name-in-runes.html

maybe more crap

Maybe not.

I had a teleconference meeting at my attorney's office this afternoon.  It is really and truly so difficult to trust anyone, for anything.  I am working on that as hard and fast as I can, but, you know, the old limbic system continues to struggle.  I can hardly blame it, truth be told.

So, anyway, I got there early, paid my most recent bill and waited until the guy from the investment fund(s) called.  The gave me a soft drink today.  Certainly getting my money's worth there.  That is only partly a joke, as given how amazingly and stunningly jerkified my ex is, was, always was, will ever be, my attorney and her legal assistant have done as much for me as, I guess, it is possible to do, factoring out that whole losing me for a couple of months.  Water under some bridge, somewhere. 

The conversation with that guy was fine, mostly because I quickly understood that he wanted this conversation because he believed that I had not understood some of the similar conversation more than three months ago, and that I was trying to conserve as much of the funds as possible and might not be drawing as much as I should from said fund.

Except, the chances that I will receive anything, any portion of whatever is left in those funds by my ex are so small that it can be seen only with an electron microscope.  Thank goodness I found one to rent from the party rental store.

If anything remains, the investment guy is ready to go with transferring half of what is in those accounts.  I signed the paperwork directly after that first conversation in January. 

You know, I left that marriage grateful to have my life and the clothes on my back...literally.  All I wanted was out, but my attorney insisted that my ex would be compelled to do the right thing.  The assistant mentioned that again today and I asked her to think of one time when he has done that.  She started to speak, paused and then shook her head and looked away from me.  They all feel badly for me, I get that.  They are trying to get my ex to sign new paperwork that would reinforce the original court decrees, and I just do not think that will happen.  Everyone keeps telling me that this will work and that things will work out.

I wish that I had insisted on not having anything from that marriage.  I wish that I had found the strength to just go through the process, sign papers and never have any thing or thought or quasi-contact with him again.  I would still not have anything, but I would have avoided all this time of doing and going and filing and waiting and hoping and being disappointed and being threatened and paying and paying and paying in too many heartbreaking ways.  

That would have been a kind of freedom.  Now I am stuck following through on this.  There were so many times during all of these months when I had to assess the cost/benefit ratios.  Each time I felt hope growing in me and I went with whatever anyone wanted me to do.  Now, after this meeting today, I am supposed to have hope again, and fuck it all, I do.  Damn me.  That guy was so convincing and supportive and I bought right into the myth again.  Fuck me.

Nearly everything from the house proceeds is gone, and apparently there is no learning opportunity too expensive for me.  Nope, not passing up any of them.  Lordy.  And, I am trying so hard to not feel bitter.  I am not angry or even upset that they have failed so many times in trying to force him to comply.  Even his own attorney cannot get him to do that. 

These bitter feelings come from the same old process:  I am supposed to accept whatever scraps are offered to me and I am expected to be crazy grateful and never feel, much less express, any discomfort or problems with always having next to nothing.

So, I did what I usually do when the sadness and all that jazz rolls in, I went grocery shopping.  I controlled myself and got salad stuff, mayo to make macaroni salad for lunches this week, a piece of beef for dinner tonight and two of the smallest turkey wings I have ever seen for dinner tomorrow. 

I am feeling better already, and I have not started cooking yet.  Kind of regretting not getting any chips and dip, or cookies, even better, cake.  I used to love pie, any type or flavor of pie, but now I desire cake, chocolate (especially if it is double/triple/gazillion times), but I will eat just about anything even remotely resembling cake.  Like scones or bear claws.  Oh, besides chocolate, my other second favorite is those rolled cake rolls made with ubu that they sell at the Asian market. 

All in all, I have managed the day well.  Mondays are the end of my weekend and I am not supposed to get dressed, much less go anywhere.  My utility bill arrived yesterday and was one-third less than last month's, so, in an effort to mood alter, I took some of the money I had put aside for the utility bill and had my hair cut before the appointment. 

Too long hair, angst and a little hope, all gone.  In their place, well, we have me, or I have me.  Stronger.  Less easily rattled or discouraged.  I even managed a joke during the teleconference, when the guy asked me if I had any more questions (after apparently asking some good ones, go figure that one), and I thanked him and told him that given the past difficulties, that we would be having this same conversation next year.

Fortunately, he got the joke and laughed harder than I did, and I laughed mightily. It felt strong to find this humorous.  And, now I am at home, not upset, not weepy or frightened or shame spiraling.

It is like I am able to manifest the life I want, the one for which I have been working.  There are so many times when I thought that I would not make it, and yet, here I am.  All of my hard work, the therapy, the support groups are working, and, without cake.  Who woulda thunk it.

choice

Don't choose unhappiness over uncertainty. Define the worst case scenario to change this.

I just found this in an article on how to maximize your efforts at work.  Excellent for where I am right now. 

inspiration

I am so stuck that it is not funny anymore.  It is coming on to two whole months since I decided that the whole frakking fear thing had to end.  Just stop.  So, I have been working on that, writing, talking in therapy and the groups, thinking positive thoughts and fighting every single day with all of the stuff that triggers a fear response.

I am doing well.  I have had several occasions when I have not scanned the immediate and intermediate area before I leave the house or get out of my car and go into someplace and then again when I return to the car.  I am over the big fearfest I had for the accountant appointment for the taxes, when I was convinced that it was the perfect opportunity for someone who is not me to accost me and say mean things.  I refuse to even deal with the other stuff I thought might happen.

Being in fear for my life is terrible.  The chances of an attack of that kind are less every day, every week and month that I am from the mess last year.  I can intellectualize this as much as I like, but my limbic system is lagging behind the rest of us, everyone here is this crappy body. 

Part of moving forward is finding a way to get back to art and stuff.  I started a drawing journal, which contains a bunch of mandalas, including one I did intentionally, some quotes that are flowing out of my dusty memory chambers, and even the panic I felt whilst waiting for that appointment to begin.  This journal goes just about everywhere with me.  Those empty pages are helping me sort through my feelings, emotions as well, although I am still having trouble accessing them.  I wonder at times if I will ever be emotional again about anything.  It is a hole to which I cannot find entrance or begin to hope to fill with new and safe experiences. 

It is my greatest fear that anger will be the first to return and that worries me so much.  What might happen if I find and allow angry feelings to happen.  Will I be able to control or contain them.  What if I find out that I am a nice person only because anger, even irritation, is not available to me.

But, forward movement on all of this is what I mostly do now.  I am finally organizing my stuff, pretty much settled on staying settled here in this house.  That means that I can unpack and use the extra bedroom for the workroom I dreamed it could be when I first saw this place.  A room to sew and craft, set up my easel and paint.  Maybe do some sculpting with the little boxes of Egyptian paste I saved in the big move.  Make jewelry and some of the purse safety things that a couple of friends like and want. 

I am reading hopeful things, some of which are making me insane with their optimism and good cheer.  You know, happiness building, problem solving, angst busting.  Crafty blogs and sites, too.

However, in the process of all of this reading I am constantly finding, coming across projects that are creepily similar to things that I did years ago.  I mean, there truly are not any completely new ideas, not really, so that is bound to happen, finding the familiar things.

And, yes, I am being inspired.  Some.  Too often I am saddened by the loss of those days of creativity.  They were the islands of sanity and meaning in a life that was too often dangerous and broken.  The life where all that fear was created, spawned, encouraged to keep me in line.  When I read some of those sites or see a project or item or whatever that holds memory and energy, I feel so sad.  Yeah, sadness is something that I have always been able to feel.

Tonight I saw some wool felting that looks almost exactly like the tiny embroidery pieces I made twenty years ago.  Crazy.

I am guessing that this is uncomfortable because I am finding connection, right down to the bone connection, with some of the creations that I am finding.  And, you know, that is forward movement of a significant nature.  I need to honor all of this, take from it what is important and use the whole process to grieve for what I have lost, that person who had lost hope but managed to hold on to beauty.

I also need to find a way to mend my relationship with my daughter.  I think that she is figuring out that the life her father and presented was mostly lies, that what people saw was the iceberg part floating above the sea, with all the nasty bits hidden under the surface.  My therapist keeps telling me that I need to provide an opening for her to talk to me, to ask questions, and she is right.  I know that I should do this, it is only that I do not want to have to answer honestly and share any of the crappy stuff, much less the worst crappy stuff.  So, I am not doing that, telling my daughter that she can talk to me about any of this, ask me any questions.  I have been thinking about this for months and I still cannot bring myself to do it.  I know that this is a fail, just not going there.

I have been shopping for things.  Some that I really needed, like a full-spectrum light for working and maybe to help with how depressed I am, especially in the colder, darker months.  I was at Walmart (one of my purest of delights), getting groceries, light bulbs and alphabet letter beads.  Yes, alphabet letter beads are a serious and legitimate need.  As I was walking down an aisle, and endcap was filled with Ott lights, the small craft caddy ones.  For ten dollars.  That is less than a replacement bulb costs.  So, I bought that, too.

There is to be a conference call tomorrow with the investment people.  We do not know if this means that I will finally receive my share of our marital resources.  It should be interesting. 

I do not seem to be able to do a credible job cutting my own hair anymore.  This is so distressing.  I now save money until I can get it cut, at the little salon in Walmart by the way, and I am so nervous about the meeting tomorrow that I am going to get my hair cut in the morning.  Maybe if I show up there decently groomed it will translate into confidence, at least the superficial kind.  Better than nothing.

If good things start to happen, then that would be great.  It would be wonderful to not worry so much about money, my future, finding a job.  I am mildly comforted by having begun this journey to empowerment and confidence and the intention to make a decent life for myself.  It seems like such a small thing, but I would feel less good about making these changes if I had waited until it looked like decent things might actually happen.

I will find out in a few weeks what the whole tax mess will be.  I still find it ironic that even though I had no access or benefit from our joint money and investments, I have the privilege of paying half of the tax liability he incurred by gutting large amounts from the funds and by paying half of the income tax on the funds that did well.  And, all on the money he stole from me.  Cool, huh.  I am pretty sure that my personal exemption will cover most or all of the taxes that need to be paid.  One can only hope.

One more thing.  I have been stressing over the lack of proper eyeglasses for many of my clients, as well as the people I have seen at the shelters and the place where I receive therapy.  So, I went to three different stores and bought more than a hundred pairs of readers in a variety of diopters.  I delivered half last week and will take the rest tomorrow.  They are not an ideal substitute for prescription eyeglasses, but they are what I mostly use and they really do work well, great even.  It is such a little thing, but they will help all of us and it gave me an excuse for more shopping.  Yay.

Whatever happens tomorrow and through the next few weeks, I need to stay focused on what I want my life to be.  I need to be strong.  I need to keep finding the humor in all of this.  I need to stay inspired.

I am still not sleeping decently.  Antihistamines and a boring book are my default method of falling into slumber.  One can only hope.

oh baby

Happy Birthday, Baby!!!!!!!

I almost forgot.

Meet me in the morning, help me sort the readers and we will sing our way to organizational bliss.

Hey...hey...it's your birthday!

moronic

Describes me perfectly. 

I could teach a course in stupidity.

There are times when I think that I deserve exactly what I get, particularly the crappy stuff.

I am walking, talking, bumbling cautionary tale.

Stupid = me.

Lordy.

mood altering

I do this a lot.  Food is primary and is my drug of choice.  Tonight I met a master alter-er.  Is that a word?  It is now.

One of the things that I have been trying to be constant with is the domestic violence support group that I began attending when I was living in the shelter.  They make you set goals there, which makes sense because it is not a shelter that offers programs, it is a Program that just happens to have a shelter attached to it.

So, there was a schedule of stuff and you had to choose three things during each week.  They ranged from one-on-one therapy, something you have to be insane to not take full advantage of such a opportunity, especially since it is free, and all the way to Saturday Night Movie Night, complete with candy and popcorn.

I chose the therapy and a couple of support groups.  I took a stab at art therapy, but it was beyond lame and the woman running it was more interested in the stories of the women than any kind of therapy.  When she was not prying, she was condescending.  A sweet, middle-aged woman, simply doing her best to provide enrichment and self-discovery to the poor, pathetic, lower-class abused women.  Even I could have done better, and that is not all braggy or anything, given that I was pretty much of a mess myself.  But, she was a bigger mess.  That is not being judgmental, just more brutally honest than I usually am.  O.K., I am being judgmental out my ass.  The sessions were painful. Sue me.

Months and months and months ago, when I quit everything except for my volunteer gigs, I did so because I was at a point where it was necessary to dig really deep and really intentionally in order to continue to make some kind of forward movement.  A couple of painful sessions convinced me that I should really, really do what I do best.  Quit.  Run.  Go to ground and hide, hide, hide.

So, I did that for two months.  It did not help.  I still needed to do the work.  One week I decided to get out of the house and met a friend for coffee near the location where I had been receiving therapy.  My intention was to go there after visiting with my friend and try to make an appointment.  When I walked in, the first person I saw was my old therapist and I asked if it was possible to come back.  We made the appointment right then and the only session I have missed since then is the one where I had a panic attack and had to leave.  Quit.  Run.  Hide. 

Just a temporary misstep.

So, anyway, I went to the support group tonight.  The schedule got mixed up somehow and the person who wanted help with her résumé was not given her sheet until just before the support group began.  We are going to try to get together on Thursday or Friday so that she does not have to wait until next week.

So, there we are, all together in group, settling in, doing the beginning stuff, reading the night's meditation thing and as we begin to discuss it and another woman arrives. 

It has to be said.  She was high.  Really high.  The shelter is housed in an old Victorian (this city is chock full of those things) and has those high ceilings.  This woman was practically ass over teakettle up there. 

Now, all of us have movement issues.  At least those of us with PTSD.  Chronic, small and vigorous movement is one of the ways that our bodies try to deal with and release stress.  Being in a DV support group is stressful.  All kinds of things can come out, stimulated or triggered by what someone else might say, even something innocuous.  It happens all the time, so we wiggle and jiggle our feet, twitch, crumple or fold or tear paper, although it has been a very long time since I have seen a paper-tear-er. 

It was painful to watch her, hear her speak.  She was all over the place.  The things she shared broke my heart into even littler pieces than it is most days.  She was outrageous and funny and heartbreaking and I think she was able to recognize that she was all that and more, because she started to perform.  I have seem that many times.  I often wonder if I ever did it, but I have, perhaps mercifully, no memory of doing that.

There are currently two women in the group who have had family members, both mothers by the way although that is not essential here, gain legal custody of their children.  It was their lifestyles, of which abusive relationships were only a part.  Drugs of all kinds were taken by nearly all involved, them, their spouses, friends.  All in all, not a good environment for anyone, especially children.

Both of these women are bitter, and who can blame them.  And, I can say this with confidence, because each of them told of how they asked family and/or friends for help with their addictions and/or their situations, and no one helped them.  That refusal to help or become involved is something that I have experienced, and it is my guess that most of the women in that room, most of the women (and men, too) in abusive relationships have asked for help.  Like me, the response was probably sympathy, a vague promise to think of something to help, followed by a short and terse conversation/meeting in which the woman was told some version of "...it's not my/our business, I/we just can't get involved..."

I think, of all the sad and heartbreaking things that have been shared by women in these groups, that the lack of asked-for-help and the loss of children to those who refused to help and then took covert measures to gain custody of the woman's children is the rotten icing on the entire experience for women (and men, too) seeking help.  Heinous.  Disgusting.  Disloyal.  It is a betrayal of the highest order.  Beyond the pale.

Now, I am not suggesting that the changing of legal custody is never a good thing.  In most situations where this happens, it is the best solution to what are mostly unsolvable life issues and just plain crappy and irresponsible choices of the people who lose custody of their children.  In most cases, the custody of a close relative is preferable to allowing children to flow into the public system.  It is often safer and certainly less stressful for the children. 

But, these two women have a valid point, betrayal-wise.  They were brutally honest about how they were not taking care of their children and that absolutely no good could have come from any of those kids staying in their original home environment. 

The betrayal comes from the feelings of shock they experienced, and that is in the realm of appropriate behavior, on both sides.  Those children should not have been allowed to stay in their homes with all of that mess.  These women agree.  No equivocation at all.  They understand that their children are better off without them, at least for now, at least until they get their lives back together.

But, the core of this is that along with the drugs and everything else, these women were abused.  I am not quantifying how that or how much of it was or was not a factor in all of the rest.  The fact is that they are in this shelter because their lives, their physical lives depend on being somewhere they will not be beaten, threatened, demeaned or killed.  Simple as that.

Despite all of the antics the the late-arriving-woman, she said something that struck me like a physical blow.  It sucked the air out of the room.

She said, "Yeah, they won't help you, but they will help themselves to your children."