Recent Conversation with My Hubby...

Just had to share this:

Binks: Honey, do you like Boxers or the Boxer Briefs Better?

Tom: Depends.

Binks: You're not THAT old!!!

When do I get my big girl panties?

When does my life stop being about my father? I cannot go a day, hell an hour, without thinking of some dad reference. I get better, sometimes. Then it all comes back. The most bizarre shit sends me spinning out-of-control into an abyss of emotion.

I have figured out that I want nothing to do with the man.

I have figured out that the shit he did to me, my brother, my mother and my son was fucked up.

I have figured out that it wasn't/isn't my fault.

So why does this still torment me so much? I want so badly to live in *this* moment. My life is amazing. I have the coolest kiddo you could ever ask for, the most amazing lover/friend that I could ever ask for, a few really great friends, and a few animals to snuggle with. I have figured out that I like being a wife & mother. However, I have not been able to *be* those things for a while. My mind is so not anywhere near right now, most of the time. I spend my days trying to distract myself but not achieving anything. None of that is his fault, that's all me. It's just all wrapped up together though.

I want to let go of him completely, but I don't know how. I just don't know how to function anymore.

Any thoughts? (other than medicating me into a coma - my doctor is already trying that)

PHENOMENAL WOMAN (wow)

A friend of mine had this on her MySpace page. I wanted to post it somewhere that I would have access to it regularly (in case she changed her page). It's an amazing piece, and, incredibly, something I *needed* today...


PHENOMENAL WOMAN
by Maya Angelou

Pretty women wonder where my secret lies
I'm not cute or built to suit a model's fashion size
But when I start to tell them
They think I'm telling lies.
I say
It's in the reach of my arms
The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

I walk into a room
Just as cool as you please
And to a man
The fellows stand or
Fall down on their knees
Then they swarm around me
A hive of honey bees.
I say
It's the fire in my eyes
And the flash of my teeth
The swing of my waist
And the joy in my feet.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me
They try so much
But they can't touch
My inner mystery.
When I try to show them
They say they still can't see.
I say
It's in the arch of my back
The sun of my smile
The ride of my breasts
The grace of my style.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Now you understand
Just why my head's not bowed
I don't shout or jump about
Or have to talk real loud
When you see me passing
It ought to make you proud.
I say
It's in the click of my heels
The bend of my hair
The palm of my hand
The need for my care.
'Cause I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me.

Fathers and Daughters

I finally gave in and listened to that Alec Baldwin thing. It took me back. Even the tone of his voice was just like my dad's. I remember answering the phone once and my father saying, "Hey lard-ass." My mom had answered at the same time I did, and heard the whole thing. I was embarrassed. I didn't want her to know that my daddy hated me. Not doing my chores, not looking the way he expected me to, not being the miniature woman that he thought I should be, not being good enough in any way.

My heart is breaking for Alec's daughter. It hurts so bad to have the most important man in your life speak words of hate to you. And now, the poor girl knows that the world knows, too. Her pain is going to be deep and lasting.

I certainly hope that this ego-maniacal, misogynistic man realizes how harmful his words are and gets some help.

I feel so silly right now. I feel like the 12 year old girl. Why am I bawling because Alec Baldwin said some mean shit to his little girl? It's just fucked up.. Why is it so hard for us to simply LOVE our children?

Crazy Bitch

Apparently I am going off the deep-end and don't even know it. Well, actually I do know it and I try to suppress it, but I am not doing a very good job. For the most part, I am physically feeling pretty good these days. Not too many electric pulses and not too many migraines. I still get both, but not several times per day.

My sleep patterns are all fucked up and that really bugs Tom. I don't know what to do. I've tried to be as respectful about it as I can, but laying in bed staring into the dark doesn't work for me. So, I am relegated to the guest room for now. Until I can get things figured out with my circadian rhythms, anyway.

Once again, if you are ever to consider going on an SSRI/SNRI, do it very carefully. It seriously screws with your system.

much love
the lunatic

One Week....

...and I am finally feeling really human again. I am still getting horrible headaches, but I think I have found the proper thing to manage them. The shocks only seem to come when I am tired, which I get easily.

I didn't feel the overwhelming desire to curl up and hide from the world today. I didn't need to cover my eyes and pray for the nausea to pass.

I am really feeling like I am coming back.. it is like this weird rebirth process or something.

hoping this finds you well

Binks

Day Three, attempting to climb out of hell...

hahahaha.... well the side-effects are still there, but they are waning. I haven't taken ANY Effexor since Thursday, when I took about 1/8th of a 150 pill. I've figured out the only way to make things better is with orgasms and sleep. So, guess what? I am going to go nap... lol

luvs
binks

Don't hit the kids...

it f*cks them up later in life. hahaha! Like you didn't know that, right.

It's funny. I spent my whole life denying the shit that I went through as a kid. Now, let's get some things clear about this. I am not whining. I am just talking. My childhood wasn't fabulous, but it sure wasn't terrible either. I just forgot to deal with any of the bad shit until I was 30 years old. Up to that point, I just pretended that everything was honky dory.

I've spent the last two years working through some shit. I am learning how to like me. I am realizing that my self image is totally fuc*ed up and that I need to fix that. I don't need to see myself through rose-colored glasses, but I don't need to see myself through the fun-house mirror, either. It's funny, I had to get fat to realize that I wasn't fat. Now I just need to get back to not being fat again...

I went to shrinks, I talked with friends, I thought, and thought some more and more and more... you get the picture. I spent the last two years of my life processing the first 25ish of my life. It was hard work. It got the better of me a lot of the time. It made me cranky, cantankerous, and I often self-medicated myself into an oblivion. In the end, I got through it.

I am learning how to take care of myself. If you read the "broken" blog, you will understand where I am at mentally. So, I've been making appointments, seeing doctors and getting some things taken care of. Because I am worth it. I am slowly weaning my way off of the Effexor that I was on. It is hard. Shit, let me rephrase that. It sucks balls! I just really don't think I need it though. I think it was a band-aid that I used when I was looking for a quick fix cure to my brokenness.

So, I went to the doc yesterday. I had seen an otolaryngologist about a year ago and he was a total prick to me, so I never went back. This new one seems to be pretty nice, and he explained a lot to me.

When I saw the ophthalmologist last year, she told me that I would have to have surgery on my brow because of the damage done to my forehead by blunt trauma. She asked if my husband beat me. Of course he doesn't. So then she wanted to test me for Bells Palsy. Well, when I told her that I had been hit repeatedly upside the head, but it was just a long, long time ago. She told me that is why I needed the surgery on my forehead. Anyway, so it tore me up. I was so angry and so bitter with my father. I cried. I screamed. I got drunk. I got more angry. I called my gramma (his mother) and told her that she should tell him what he had done.

So, I keep digressing, I am sorry. Here's the thing: He f*cked up way more than just my eyebrow (my eyebrow is slowly falling over my eye). He f*cked up my nose and my ear, too. It is all fixable, thank goddess. Anyway... these things we do in the heat of the moment, in the throws of anger, they last a long, long time. These are wounds that heal very, very slowly.

I really think that I have gotten myself to a good place. I think that allowing myself to be angry and sad about all of these things is good. I was never allowed to be emotional about any of it before. Either I was expected to be a grown up (at 4 years old) or I wouldn't allow myself to feel things. I was uncomfortably numb.

So, May 14th, they are going to hack up my nose. Hopefully it will stay mostly the same in appearance. I actually kinda like my nose. They are going to fix my septum and shave my turbinates. Then I should be able to breath normally again. The end of next month, I have my consult with the occuloplastics surgeon about my forehead/eyebrow surgery. They will make two small incisions in my hair line and inflate my forehead with saline solution. Once they do that, they will attach sutures to the back of my eyebrow and they will put titanium anchors into my skull. They will attach the sutures to the anchors and that should stop my eyebrow from falling into my eye. As far as my cochlea goes, that should be fixed through medication. It was shifted (probably from being smacked upside the head), but that cannot be fixed. However, there are three small water sacks in there and the middle one is f*cked up. Apparently this medication that I started taking will help make that function properly again. Then, maybe, I can hear normally.

So, I am going to document the whole process through pictures. I want to be able to see any changes clearly, if there are any. I also want the healing process documented. I plan on sending the pictures to my father. I want him to *see* the hurt he caused so many years later. I want him to know what he has done. I also want him to know that it is almost the exact same case with my mother. He right eye, ear, etc. Hers didn't start being affected until she was my age now, though. My face was f*cked from the get-go.

Oh well... I think I've rambled enough today. This blog is really poorly written, and I am sorry, but I am not going to edit it. This one is written just as it poured out.

luvs
binks

Holy Hormones, Batman!

Wow! We spent the last two and half days out in the dessert with 7 boys and a dog. Tom and I apparently had a momentary lapse in reason and asked 5 neighbor boys to go camping with us, our two boys and our dog.

We went to Agua Caliente in South East San Diego County. It is out in the middle of no man's land and has a small hot spring. They've piped this hot spring into two pools and built a camp ground around it.

If you've read Tom's blog, then this is a repeat, but... oh well...

hope you're all well,

loves,
bink

The Red Tent

Goddess, I love this book. It's been two years since I read it, but it still has a profound effect on me. Tonight, Tom and I went to bed early (9) and I slept fitfully, at best. So, I woke up a few minutes ago compelled to talk about this book. I am sure a lot of the desire comes from a long conversation that I had with my Mom today, and the rest of the desire comes from some very strange dreams I had this evening.

If you have not read this book, please do not read this blog. I am not going to tell you the story, per se. I am going to talk about my take on the story. The reason I don't want you to read this is because Anita Diamant does such an incredible job of taking you on this strife-filed journey through the dark ages, all the while giving you all of the pieces to this puzzle. At the end, she amazingly puts all of the pieces together and shows you the glorious things that this strife-filled journey can result in. So, if you haven't read it, go on to something else, please.






I started reading this book, at behest of one of my dearest friends, about two years ago, just prior to my wedding. I read it through the time we spent in Vegas for the wedding and then on the trip from the chapel to my Grandmother's bedside at the hospice. I finished the book whilst sitting with my Memee the last day of her life. I knew when I finished that book that something much greater than myself had directed me to read that book during this transition in my life. I would not have appreciated the time I spent with Memee prior to her death without this book by my side. I would not have realized what Memee *gave* to my life without this book. I am glad I realized that gift before she past, when I could still thank her, face-to-face.

Men carry the names, the land, the jewels, the livestock, the businesses, the public legacy of the family. From generation to generation they create an identity for the family. Women carry something much different. We carry the history, the love, the strength, and the pain. Our legacy is often that of darkness, something so intangible.

I know nothing of the hardships of being a man, so everything I am writing is based solely upon assumption. A lot of what I am going to say is very much a generalization and probably not so applicable in today's society as it was in aeons past.

Men often function on their own. They don't rely specifically upon other people to get them through certain events. Women have to have other women in their lives. When a woman gives birth, she has to have someone to help care for the other children, look after the house and the family, etc. etc. If there were a problem during childbirth, we rely upon another woman to care for our child.

We are a piece of every woman we ever spent time with. Our mothers, grandmothers, aunts, cousins, sisters and daughters shape us into the women we are. Sometimes our stories are not told, but that is OK. Our stories will always live on in the women whose lives we help form. My grandmother's strength will live on in me until I am able to pass it to another woman, and so on, and so forth.

So, all of the land, money, jewels, and names can go to the men, that is fine with me. What I have inherited is much more valuable. The strength to carry my head high and cherish my life is worth so very much more, to me.


** This all sounds so very biased. It isn't. I don't mean to downplay the very important role of men in our families, lives and histories. Especially today, because men have assumed many of the roles that our sisters and mothers would have assumed just 50 years ago.

I think I might like this...

Writing that is. I used to do it a lot, but haven't in years. It feels good. It releases stuff. Things I dwell on and obsess about can get out of my freaking head this way. I think it is much more cathartic than anything else I've been doing lately. So, maybe this is the beginning of a blog? Maybe not. We shall see.

I am feeling really good about things lately. I feel like a lot of weight has been lifted off of my shoulders. I am really focused on getting off this medication and getting my body back to a semblance of normalcy. I think working out and looking for a part-time job are things that I need to concentrate on. Working out especially because it raises the endorphin levels and that will be important for me when getting off of the anti-depressants.

As far as a job goes. I have no clue what I should look at. I know the skill-set that I have, but I don't want to do anything in lending. I think I would like to do something simple. Maybe work at one of the little stores on base or something. Maybe find a job with a landscaper or working outdoors? I dunno. I would like to think I can do that, but I am not sure about my knees.

Anyway, I think I might keep doing this writing gig. I am feeling really good about the direction of my life and my goals.

I am not broken...

That's me in the bottom right corner of the picture. I was in 2nd or 3rd grade. My mom was french braiding my hair. She used to do this every third day. I had hair down to my butt at that time.

Anyway, that age... there in the photo, that is about the time that I think I started to feel broken. Less than human. Different. Isolated. Flawed. Worthless. It wasn't too bad at that time, but it got worse. Much worse over the years.

One of my dearest friends told me a week or so ago, "You are not broken." Those four words have been rolling around my head since then. I've been going to shrinks, hating myself, taking anti-depressants, trying to find the missing piece. Well, fuck! There isn't one. I am not broken or incomplete.

I am who I am. I am sick of being on stupid pills that are supposed to make me not crazy, but don't really succeed. I am sick of trying to figure out the flaw in me that made certain people in my life turn away from me or keep their distance. Who fucking knew that all of this time, that was their issue. Not mine.

I am not broken. Holy shit?! It is so simple, but yet... so fucking complex. I am amazed at what I've done over the years to try and make reparations to myself. I am amazed at the things that I have missed over the years because I figured that the people involved would not want a broken person with them.



I was talking to my mom the other day. She told me that she thought that there were three distinct phases of my relationship with my Father. First, she said I was Suzy Golden-hair who could do no wrong. I went everywhere with him. I was treated like a princess. I was his sidekick. Then, after the divorce, I became a possession to be bartered and fought over. He was so focused on the dissolution of the relationship with my mom that he lost sight of the little girl who used to be his buddy. Then, about the time I hit adolescents, I could do no right. Everything I did was a fucking mistake. From the jobs I chose to the kid I had. Hell the place I lived was a mistake. Then men I dated. The friends I had. The relationship with my mother. It was all wrong.

I don't remember the first stage, not really. I remember being Daddy's little girl. I must. That is the feeling I have been trying to get back to for 25 fucking years. I remember being the tool of emotional wars. I remember not being able to do a damn thing right (how can I forget that, I am still there). Somewhere along the line, his attitude change towards me helped me down the path to feeling broken.

Well, I am fucking done. I am not broken. I am not some shitty human being that doesn't deserve the life, love, family, and friends that I have. I am a good, whole person who needs to realize that her father is not worth her time.

So, why am I writing this? I dunno. I haven't written anything like this in years. I don't blog. I don't LJ. I just was laying in bed and realized that my fear of being broken was no longer useful in my life. I need to move the fuck on. So, I guess that is why I am writing this. To share with you all that I am not broken. I never was and I never will be.

luvs
binks