It's my official coming out party, damnit.

OK, so another fun filled weekend of DXM and drug induced dissociation.  And I have officially had enough.  I freaked at 11pm last night and called both therapists and left messages and was completely out of control.  Which is fine, if I weren't fucking HIGH.  Actually its fine even if I was high, but it's not what I want to be doing.  Summer did a great job of talking me through it last night though.  She also called me on the getting high.  I have to get the info when I am sober or it is tainted.  I have to internally communicate everyday and accept that I have D.I.D.  I have DID.  I have it.  I do.  It's time to finally fucking accept this.  It's over.  It's beginnning.  I have it. I have it. We have it.  We have it. We have it. :)

So who's here?  Gabriel, of course.  He's me most of the time.  Him and Victoria.  And Allison Lee.  And the little one with her cap of black hair.  And a little boy.  And a baby.  Gabriel and Victoria are groups.  Groups of parts?  Still working it out.  Allison Lee is part of Victoria.  I think.  She's the smiler.  Real smile.  Victoria is the Chesire grin.  But she does it for everyone.  We were doing the chesire grin at the beginning of therapy today.  We were so embarrassed about calling Ryan fucking high.  But he was cool with it.  I love him.  He is so good at his job.  Yay! I am going to miss him. 

Man, I got caught.

I am forcing myself to sit and write this.  This is like when J says she has to do things bit by bit, dragging herself inch by inch to do them.  This is that.  I don't want to write about this, mostly because I am not use to it, it is stretching, it is uncomfortable.  But it has to be done.  Now is the time.  It is time to write about stuff, when I am not fucked up.

I got caught on the phone last night with a new butterfly friend named E.  We were talking, doing the therapy story swap when she asked if I was high.  I immediately snapped as back to reality as I could, and said "there is absolutely nothing wrong with me."  So I lied.  Panic, then immediate shut down about that topic set in.  She let it go, so I guess she believed me, or she didn't and she just allowed me to lie.  But that is not OK.  She is also a trauma survivor and I cannot lie to her about reality.  It is absolutely unethical.  So I am going to tell her the truth today when we meet for the first time for dinner.  Yay, great.  I am a fucking asshole.

I've been mulling this over in my head every spare moment since it happened, and that's why I'm writing, because I need to process this BEFORE I talk to E, not WITH E.  I don't know her that well yet, and it would be innapropriate and unfair, and immediately fuck up our new friendship boundaries, and I don't want to do that.  So maybe I'm not the right friend for her right now.  And if she decides that, that would be fine, I have to be fine with it.  It does not mean I am a bad person, but just not healthy enough for her.  And I don't want to be perpetrating my crap on her.  It is not fair to her.

I'm also almost gleeful that somebody FINALLY fucking caught me.  I didn't know this, but I was waiting to be caught.  And this is where this stuff gets personal and vulnerable.  I think I am using DXM to test dissociation vs reality?  Like, if I can handle everything on DXM, then I can handle anything?  Or maybe, if I can handle life while on DXM, I can allow myself to dissociate in real life (in safe supportive setting)?  That's it.  I am so fucking afraid of appearing "crazy" or "out of control" or "not rational" that I have a major steel fucking door on anything that seemed irrational, which included allowing voices in my head telepathically telling me something.  So I shut that shit DOWN.  And I learned to concentrate.  CONCENTRATE. To the point of a laser beam.  So nothing could distract me.  And for the most part on the surface at least, nothing ever did distract me.  It worked.  Welcome physicist Civil Engineer.

But now through 3.5 fucking years of INTENSE fucking therapy with many different people, but mainly L, I have learned it is safe to let go.  If you learn when it's safe, when it's the right time.  Because it isn't always the right time.  But my problem was more that I NEVER let go, rather than letting go in the wrong places, which seems to be what is the problem for most other butterflies I've met.

And with DXM it is so easy to get to that open, creative sweet spot.  Without it I have to....  what .... I guess I have to concentrate, hah.  I have to let go.  I have to allow myself to be silly and make intuitive leaps that may not seem normal or rational.  And it is not being crazy.  It is being creatively co-consciously altered.  It is being a healthy butterfly.  Without drugs, and without being crazy.  It is NOT crazy.  People may look at me weird, but that's because they don't understand.  And I think that has been what I've been doing in therapy, learning exactly what dissociation is and isn't, completely and thoroughly, enough so that I could teach it to someone else.  And that someone else I was teaching was me. 



Wow.  OKay, so back to E. What is the gameplan?  What is enough and appropriate to tell her and what is a boundary violation to a new friendship?  OK. 1. Tell her she was right about me being high.  Validate reality.  2. Apologize that you lied to her, because you understand that invalidating a trauma survivors reality is extremely wrong.  3. Tell her you are working on it, and promise never to talk to her high again without telling her.  4. Tell her you are working on the problem, that you take it seriously, but it is not completely under control yet.  5. So, with this info if she thinks its not safe to be around me, I perfectly understand.  I am see-sawing trying to figure healthy out, and I'm going to even out eventually, I'm just not totally there yet.

If she wants to know what I think about it:
I think I can be a good friend to her.  I can watch my boundaries.  I will utmostly respect her path to getting better.  But I honestly don't know.  That's the truth, I don't know what's right.

What I don't need to tell her about:  why I do DXM.  My personal science experiment with DXM.  No talking about the creative sweet spot with her.  No talking about dissociation too much with her.  I can later, but not today.  We don't have enough intimacy yet.  We ARE NOT IN THERAPY together.  There is a difference, although right now I am having a hard time figuring out what that difference is.  She does not need to know every thought that is in your head.  You are not lying if you are not telling her every thought in your head.  That is not deceit.  That is technique.  Your insightlfulness can hurt people, including yourself, if wielded at the wrong time, just as if you were carrying around a sword, an epee.  Very useful tool, but you can't just slash it around like you've been doing.  Which is Ok, you are learning.   But really, you seem to have a talent that others either don't have or don't admit to having, and just like if you were an X-men, you have to learn to wield your power correctly.  Really, it is just like the laser beam eye guy.  Except you have to build your own glasses to control the beam yourself.  And you are.  Yay.  Cool, in this metaphor, L is Dr. X.  I'll have to tell her. :)

and stealing. that has to be addressed.

maybe not immediately, but it's a topic that needs work.:) do it.

The summit over Bailey

Don t for get this.  Bailey needs love, and we maybe think you need to get him back form      her.

I'm doing therapy when I do DXM

That's pretty much it.  I am toooooooooooooooooooooooooooo scared of this shit in regular chemical land, so I go to DXM land to do it.  But it is becoming absurd.  Because I know what I'm doing, the curtain is pulled back, the wizard is revealed.   You use drugs to think about things you don't want to think about when your brain is normal.  You are afraid you will die, I guess?  Or that you won't get it right?  We have to

 I N T E G R A T E

Trauma world with the fucking real world.  Integrate Trauma world with real world. integrate trauma world with the real world.  then we would not need DXM, but we are being a little bit of a chickenshit and will not do this without the fucking drug.  you need to be fuckind dead fucking sober and call your mother out.  Not to her face.  But to yourself.  And mayber your therapist, and a friend.  Because DXM land is possible in the real world.  its called facing the truth.  Serioulsy, I think thats what we've been doing this whole time.  We've been fucking frankenstein manhattan projecting this shit, trying to chemically get our brain in the right frame, the right ecology to understand and believe these truths.  Because we are a scientist first, (slowly changing to scientist/poet, but whatever) we fucking experimented with ourselves to cushion the blow?  It's not that simple.  We were not capable of hearing it any other way, or else we would have done it that way.  This is the way we found.  It's  not perfect.  By a long fucking shot, thank you Gina,Brian, Michele, Jeanette, Chris, etc.  But it is a workable solution right now, and I guess thats why I'm not stopping.


WHOAH

Fuck. I am not stopping.   BECAUSE IT FUCKING WORKS. i can access things very much more easily than when i'm regular.  When I'm sober, to get in the same state I have to feel safe and free.  Hah.  So... That means that I have to be alone in the woods but knowing support is available, with sunlight and privacy, and no shame.  I have to be able to do or say or dance or speak or type or fart or whatever I need to do with no shame... 

Shhhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiitttttt.  I just called myself out.  I don't need a big 3 fucking ring circus.  I need time, privacy, support, aloneness, nature, basic needs (ie food, shelter, in a nice way, etc), sunshine, growing things, water, and time.   And then more time to record what I just went through.  Record the thoughts.  Write them., sing them, dance them? :), whatever.  So. again. Support. Green beautiful nature. Aloneness. Privacy, no shame. Time. Share with someone, that's it!  Even if it's sharing with yourself.  Share it.  Shout it. Dance it Scream it.  It is the truth and it loves when it's spoken.  The evil is washed out when you say its name.   ......           ......           .....            ....     


That's fucking it.  That's all I need. How did it take this damn long to get here?  I'm joking but not? I had to take every step I took, but it's funny that in the end, it's so simple. 

OK, so I'm peaking on Dxm, and I want to go enjoy it and it's not good for writing anyway.  or maybe itis?  I want Brian to read all of this, if he could continue to be my therapist.  Otherwise I guess, theres not enough time.  It's all coming down tomorrow Yay.  Tellin him everything.

I know why I'm getting high

My talk with Jem has loosened something else.  He remembers so much more than I do.  It's all real, I believe him, it all fits, but I don't remember it.  But its something else as well.  It's not just not remembering.  Its the perspective.  My perspective of how things were was deliberately subconsciously

OK, it's hard to record this, but I just had a dissociative moment, it's like my thoughts became teflon and not able to stick and I grab but it is all confusion.  What are we talking about?  Perspective.

Body Tremor

OKay, reread what you wrote...........bang it happens again, I can't think. wtf is going on?..................................................................................................................................

It's something about the perspective of being deliberatley evil.  That Mom and Jem shared a perspective of being deliberately bad, and she tried to

ow neck ow, searing tendon,

relax, breathe, ok,
what?

OK, no we are going to fucking do this.  Neck roll, check.  Fuck Mom.  What I am having trouble holding on to is the fact that mom ........................................................................dizzy

i dont know how to say it

mom does things that are wrong on prupose and she tried to get jem in on it and that makes me scared and andgry and sick


good. ok. done. break.

Long Talk with my Bro

My brother and I have been talking for the past coupla months.  Which is a big deal.  Because of the way our mother manipulated us, we have stayed pretty seperate as adults.  So Jem (my bro) has had a helluva month.  He basically has had a trauma breakdown.  And we talk/have talked a lot lately about our childhood and our mother and her behavior.  There is so much I want to say about Jem, but right now, I just need to get down some points that came up in this convo.

1. Mom sat with Jem at a table and said "You have to become a lawyer, it is like a license to steal."  This may not seem like a big deal, who cares.  But it is huge.  Because the mother I know would never say something like that.  So our mother talks to us in different ways.  Meaning she is manipulating us, and is fully aware of doing so.  The Allison/Mother connection would never think "a license to steal" is a good career choice.  We are all about nobility and truth and working hard and making money that way.  And doing good, and being ethical and trustworthy.  So basically, MY MOTHER IS A LIAR, AND QUITE PROBABLY A SOCIOPATH. A PSYCHOPATH, SINCE I NOW KNOW THEY ARE THE SAME THING.  Not just a narcissist, a psychopath.

2.  I found out about yet another time when my mother did not tell me that Jem was sick and had had a suicide attempt.  She has never told me that Jem's problems were that serious, and thus I was never able to support him.  I had NO IDEA how bad it was for him.  NONE.  And I think my Mom deliberately kept the information from me.  She never visited Jem in the hospital, never comforted him.  Nothing.  Angry, anger starting.

3.  Jem just found out that 15 or so years ago, when he was in a relationship with a girl I'll call Mary that Mom did some fucked up stuff.  Mary sent a letter to Jem that she was pregnant, and Mom got her hands on it and Jem never saw it.  Mom then proceeded to attack this young woman (maybe 19) and call her white trash and a gold digger and that she was making it up to get money from Jem.  Mom then paid Mary some amount of money to go away and never talk to Jem again.  16 year old Jem had no idea any of this happened, all he knew was his girlfriend went away and never talked to him again.  He was heartbroken and depressed and started smoking weed.  Which I now understand, probably made mom very happy in her fucked up head.  So fast forward to now (a few months ago), and Mary and Jem connect via Facebook.  Mary asks Jem, what was that all about with your mother? Jem has no idea what she's talking about.  Mary thinks Jem is bsing her, pretending not to know to not take responsiblity, and it takes four or five conversations before the truth becomes clear- the Jem had no idea, and that mom is a monster.

I am very specifically writing these things down so I can take them to my therapist tomorrow.  I am so disgusted and angry that I think I am in intellectualization mode and am numb.  But actually, it may be just acceptance.  My mother is a monster.  I am lucky to have survived.  I hope Jem survives this breakdown part of the trauma fucking path.  I can only suggest to him what I did, which is to cocoon yourself and GO TO THERAPY. He is a different person, so his path will differ.  duh.  I just want him to know that he is lucky to be alive, and that he should pat himself on the back for surviving not only our childhood, but also the past month of shenanigans he has self-harmed hisself through. (I am fully aware of my atrocious grammar).

OK, now I am going to fucking be dark and angry and usefully vengeful and watch "Men Who Hate Women" Swedish version, with the amazing kick ass Noomi Rapace.  GRRRRRRRRRRRR

Zero

OK, so we just published the last post, but the time is going to be off because it was sitting there ???????? it was a ...... ? few hours ago?   ?a few minutes ago? I'm not sure right now.  yay dxm and dissociation time dilation. 


OK.

So Reboot. Our mother is not on our side. she never has been.  There is something wrong with her.  We cannot trust her, she is (evil) untrustworthy.  Her narcisisistic structure will not allow her to actually boldly steal from her children, so I am pretty sure my money(whatever the hell it is) is safe.

The Reboot means that it is a new understanding of our mother.  which may not sound catyclysmic, but it is.  Accepting that she likes to hurt us is               life                       ch                    an             g                                ing.  It is as if the entire frame of the world is different.


We had a ritual/moment thing earlier, that's why we are writing.  We wanted to be completely clean and disconnected so we unplugged everything, e v e r y t h i n g and then we sat and had , tried, did, physical reactions, sitting, to say

so we sat in a sort of lotus position on the rug in the dark room alone and totally us.  And we said:  Our mother and father sexually abused us when we were an infant/toddler up to 5.  they may have physically abused us as well, but that is not the secret.  the teenage boys who lived there, the stepsons, they sexually inserted themselves or objects or something and they hurt us, and our mother and father did not notice and may have been part of it.  our mother willfully ignored the sexual abuse and allowed it to go on.  she never put you in therapy or believe you in any way, but talked to when you were 5 about bad touches and bad things and that you are supposed to tell, but when you told she said it didn't happen.  So you learned to become crazy.  You learned how to doublethink. doublethink. doublethink. doublethink doublethink doublethink. and because your are organically brain smart, you did a wonderful job.  and at 34, you broke down and went crazy sort of. and then you have been working on this for 3 and half years like a dissertation. and now you've figured it out.  she mindfucked you your entire childhood into believing that it never happened.  BUT IT DID.

IT HAPPENED.

And now the world is different. 

We have what Jeanette has

We have it. We have the same strength. the same beauty.  the same molten core of life.  You have what Gina has, what Bryan has what Jeanette has.  You have it.  And you don't want to believe you have it.  Because.

Because, if you had it, then fucking why?  Why all the pain and hurt if I am good?  Because life is not fair.  And your a beautiful plumed spangly peacock who was beaten in the muck and strangled and told that peacocks don't exist and if they did they are gross and unsettling and unseemly and not right.  And FUCK THEM. Peacocks are real and beautiful and just because you aren't one doesn't mean you have to smash me.   Because you could have been beautiful too.  ......................................  But you chose not to grow. So you are afraid of truth and beauty and light because it hurts you.  Because you are not strong?  Because you chose the wrong choice?  I don't know whats wrong with you.  That is a fact.  I haven't figured that out yet.  But it is not ok.  It is not OK to smash peacocks because you are afraid of their tremulous fully flared blue beauty.  Their beauty will not hurt you.  But I guess you will never understand that.

The point is- Mom- Abuser- you are not interested in communicating and fixing.  It would be OK if there was a problem because you were hurt as a child and didn't know how to love correctly, but you wanted to learn as you got older and fix it.   BUT THAT IS NOT YOU.  this may be the saddest sentence i ever write, you do not want to make things better, you want to lie and be comfortable. 

i am sobbing. i am so sad.  it is so anticlimactic.  my mother is not on the force for good. I want to say "right now", she's not on the force for good "right now", maybe she'll get it later.  so sad so sad so sad so sad so gross

.

had a moment, fuck, dont understate it fucking say it.  Ok, Had a physical body reaction to our discoveries/feelings, heaved was sick in the sink felt completely disconnected and reoriented myself subconsciously to not think about what i had been thinking about.  then cut out mentally and started talking about Dxm and realized we were avoiding mom.

our mother is not interested in fixing this.  otherwise she would have done it already. she had the chances, she has had therapy.  she did not use therapy.  in fact she denigrated it.  she is evil.she is not worth your time anymore.

physical reaction  happeninga

knowing you exist

Knowing you exist helps me so much.  Knowing you wrote your ground bone poems, your pole dancing to gospel hymns, your sweating blood truthfullness, you advice to adolscent girls with pink hair and crooked teeth.  You did/are doing the same thing i am doing.  creation? reacreation? from the pyre.  and just knowing you are there is enough sometimes.  i can't actually click the link, i can't hear the words, they would hurt my new skin, but knowing that you lived it, you felt it, you wrote it, then YOU SAID IT.  helps.  so. fucking. much.  thank you.  thank me.  we are miracles and warriors and princesses and princes and we deserve all the beauty and love in the world.  thank you.

Bryan's Poem.

OK, we are high, that is a consideration.  We just fucking cyber stalked our therapist, but we didn't mean to.  We were trying to find his email to email him this stuff, and then well, internet addiction type of click, click, click, oh, he's been quoted on ABC!  Fuck. He's a good guy. I think. I don't want to get a crush on him. But I have a therapist crush on him, because fuck, how else does this shit work. Fuck I wish I had more time with him.  Maybe he'll take me on as a private client when the summers over.  But, wow, he's a keeper.  He knows what he's doing and he cares and he is intuitive and honest.

And I am soooooooooooo afraid of falling in love or whatever that state is with him, because when you are that open and honest with someone it's like its a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens.  You just fall for them.  And I know that it is not the right course and that it is not useful and that it is part of the therapy and all of that, and IT STILL FUCKING HAPPENS. aaaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrggggggggghhhhhh.  And I think if I had more time with him, I could work on it.   But we don't.  Because I know he could handle me having a love feeling for him.

when you are that open and honest with someone it's a sticky tentacle grasp that just happens.  you just fall for them.  but it is OK.  this is part of the healing.  having him take my red wet bleeding heart and hold it and hold it and hold it and hold it.  and hold.  and hold.  so i can look at it, i can see it is OK, it is not gangrenous, it is not communicable, it is not green with pus, it is not going to infect anyone.  it is not going to infect him.  it is not going to infect me.  it is going to heal me.  and it is strong, but it will not kill me.  it will not kill him.  he will not blow up.  he can take my strong wet heart and hold it so i can look at it.  so i can study it.  so i can learn to love it.  and he is strong so he holds it.  and it drips blood down his hands.  but he has studied, he has friends, he has a therapist, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary.  he knows it is not his blood.  he knows he can wash it off.  he knows he is helping to heal, not having a love affair, so he holds my heart.  and i look at it.  i study it.  and i see its strength.  and i am so scared of it. soo sooo sooooo scared of it.  ......................................................

.......................... so i keep trying to give it to him.  to put in his chest.  but he explains that he won't take it because he can't take it.  it is not his to take.  it is mine.  it is in his hands right now but it is mine to take back.

so i think.  and i watch the bleed on his skin.  and i watch him.  i watch him, i watch him.  i watch him.  i wait for his grimace.  his disgust.  the briefest flutter of an eyelid, the smallest unconscious curl of a lip.  and it doesn't come.  he is calm.  he has studied, he has friends, he has a supervisor, he knows the boundary, he has the strength.  he holds my bleeding heart.  it drips my blood down his hands.  he is calm.  he is kind.  he even smiles once, with my blood pooling on the floor, he still sees the point of living.  he shows me i can feel.  because he is feeling.  so i watch him.  i watch him.  i watch him.

and one day, i take my heart in my hands.  i watch him.  how do i do this?  i watched him, so i know.  i am calm.  i let it bleed on my hands.  i feel.  i let the blood pool on the floor.  the pain will not kill me.  it did not kill me the first time,  i lived then.  i made it then.  i can make it now.  oh, the pain.  pain.  pain.  but i am calm.  i feel it.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  i cry.  then i am quiet.  then i laugh.  then i smile at him.  he smiles at me.  i made it.  i still want to give my heart to him but i keep it.  it is mine to keep. 

And I take it in.  I take me in.  I take my strong red wet beating heart back and put it in my chest.  And I smile.  I say "We made it."  He says, "I think we did."  And I shake his bloody hand with my bloody hand.  And we stand and we look at each other and we smile with our hearts in our chest. 

Do the Work

Fucking fuck.  I don't wanna do the work, but i do wanna do the work, but fuck.  OK, we gotta do the work.  we gotta write the poems.  we've gotta go for the walks.  we gotta fucking do the fucking yoga.  we gotta fucking meditate. fucking meditate. fuck.  we don't wanna.  we wanna do drugs and get high in the sky and teach beautiful theoretical math and fuck the world.  and eat what sugar crap.  but we gotta fucking drag ourselves outta this.   we gotta. we gotta.

We have to do the work.  It's on now, I guess.  It's on.  We are high right now, but I guess it has to stop.  Eventually? (With a Chesire grin?)  Fuck.  Drug Problem.

Drug Problem.

We love the way we feel so much on DXM that we do not want to give it up.  It almost feels like a "gimme" quick cut pull away to me kind of thing.  My precious.  It's MINE, AND I LOVE IT AND FUCK OFF.  fuck. 

And we gotta focus on what the problem is, and actually the problem is not DXM.  The problem is that you are healing from a childhood of SEVERE abuse and mind-fucking and sex abuse and hurt.  And your mother is a very sick person who is not going to be able to go on this journey with you.  And your brother may not be able to go on this journey with you.   He has come a fucking long way, and he may find a way to be happy, but you can't do it for him  I ABSOLUTELY will help him any way that I can, but I can't control  his path.  It would be grotesque to do so.  You are alone.  You are going to make it.  You have to stop doing drugs.  You have to stop doing drugs.  You have to stop numbing reality.  You have to feel the freakiness in real time, not drug time.  You have to feel weird while you are sober.  You have to feel dissociative and wonky while you are sober.  While you are not chemically affected.  It is OK.  It is safe to be dissociative and wonky and sober.  You will not let go and become fully crazy all the time.  You can control it.  It is actually beautiful.  And you can do it.  But although the drug is beautiful and it helps, it hurts you, it is a chemical not meant for your body, it is probably hurting your liver, it is probably hurting your heart muscle, it definitely hurts you ability to have mental perspective and clarity.  Yes, it helps you feel and get to the truth.  It does. I absolutely will not dispute that.  It does fucking WORK.  But it can't be a lifestyle.  And you want it to be a lifestyle.  I do. I want it to be a lifestyle of wonkiness and gut intuition and truth and weirdness and calm and beauty and truth.  I am so scared to do it.

You have to fucking live out loud.  Yeah, that movie.  Cheesy, fuck yeah, but correct.  Live Fucking Out Loud.  You have to.  You can't keep going doing this drug thing.  I mean, you can.  You seem to be handling work, money, therapy and drugs sorta well right now.  You can do it.  You just have to decide is that the life you want?

I've been watching Weeds. Probably a bad idea.  but someone on it said he did all this terrible stuff, just to see if he could get away with it.  And that is sort of how I feel about the DXM.  Like, holy shit, I am dissociated to the fucking moon, high on chemicals and totally living my life.   And it's working just fine.  The only chinks are literally my own truthfulness.  If I didn't go to therapy, if I didn't have a true relationship with my friends, I would be fine!  It's sort of gross.   I could live like this forever.  I'm the one who keeps telling my fucking therapist I'm using drugs.  If I didn't go to therapy there would be no problem.  But I keep fucking going to therapy.  I feel like I need it.

BECAUSE I DO FUCKING NEED IT.  I need to tell my truth and be heard and loved and that is fucking therapy.  OK, I feel like I gotta stop because now I want to defend DXM forever.  OK.  Stop.

We were so strong. I was so strong.

I just have to validate myself.  To tell myself.  We were so so soooooooooooooo fucking strong.  We NEVER EVER hit back.  Never once.  Never once. Never.  Wow.  She is so lucky.  We could have killed her, and we "did not strike back" like the poet said.  We took her hitting us and belittling us and hurting us and being mean to Jeremy and took it all and never broke.   Wow. 

I am so proud of us.  So proud.  I am proud that we could get to the point to be proud about it:)  God damn, this therapy has been hard fucking work.  I don't know how the poets and the singers do it.  I know not everyone uses therapy.  But that's how it worked for me.  But now I think.   NoW  I don't know.  I was gonna say now I'm going to be a poet.  But I don't know.  I know I want to be a warrior for truth and growth and health.  How to do this is slightly unclear.

I love you.  I love us.  We are the strongest baddest toughest person and we can take shit and we can protect people and we can protect ourselves.  We are awesome.  You took it. We took it and never struck back.  And that. That is the strength.

I just realized that I was not allowed to love.

OK, so after writing my feelings about Jeanette, I realized that part of the urgency that is happening is not just because of her.  It is because I have NEVER been able to allow myself to actually love someone.  To, in the psychological use of the word, "attach" myself to anyone.  It was only and always my mother.  And that is why right now it feels like FUCKING JOY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!1

TO FUCKING SCREAM:  I LOVE SOMEONE, ANYONE, I LOVE MYSELF, IN FACT.


oh, i love myself in fact.            That is it.                I love me.                And it's not a love me more than her (mom).  It's a I love me, and it allows me to not attack her. Funny.  Seriously.  I am allowed to have myself.  And that self fell itselfness in love with a girl.  a Woman.  who unfortunately is 1. not gay 2. your best friend and 3. someone you went through trauma treatment with.  Not ideal.  But SHE IS SO FUCKING GREAT! Small ones and big ones inside decry.  Yes, she fucking is.  But we can't fuck her. Because she isn't in the right place for that to happen for her with me right now.  It would be bad for her and probably for me.  Although I want to pretend I'm tough and could handle it. ARRRRRGH.  Because it seems so perfect.

We understand each others fuck ups about sex and weirdness and we'd be patient and loving with each other and it would be safe.  But it scares the living shit out of her, so no.  NO.

It is because we are scared.  We only trust her.  Her and Gina.  Hah, which I guess means we'd have real sex with Gina.  Hah.  We can have all sorts of stupid not real sex all over the place, (and we have), but we've only had real sex once, maybe twice with Alan in college.  Real sex meaning connected, all there, emotionally there sex.  And when it happened with Alan, it was an accident.  He was a good guy, I think.  I hope.  Maybe I'll check up on him on Facebook.  Alan Nail.

So we are fucking allowed to own our damn selves.  And when your mother hits you, do not strike back.

I love all the things you love....

I love all the things you love, why won't you love me? Gosh it is so fucking hard. I love you so fucking much and it is not going to work, it is not healthy, it is chemically not right also, because you are not actually gay. Seriously, I chuckle at this point. Futility and hurt. Jeanette you are so smart and intuitive and bright and creative and beautiful and I love all the things you love. And I love you.

You are so pretty. You are the woman that is awesome and is creating her own path and her own healing, I just love you. And I get so jealous of you. I must be projecting myself onto you, which is why we should not be in a romantic relationship. We are tooooooooooooooooooooooo close to each other. We project and triangulate and trigger each other into oblivion. And we both work SO HARD not to do that to each other. I respect us. We try really hard. But I guess...   it's become self evident that I can't be in your orbit right now. I seem to spontaneously combust. Which I wish I didn't do, I don't want to do it, but it keeps happening so I have to heed the signs and stay away. And it hurts me.  Because I really actually in a completely non-exploitative way care about you. And I would like to be there to support you, and I am not, because my path is a swirly mess of dissociation and DXM.

But I swear to you, Jeanette. I love you. And what the hell does that mean, right? It means, that right now and for the forseeable future and I think for my lifetime, I care about how you make out. I fervently wish for your success in happiness and individuation and learning and growth and whatever other Jungian stuff I don't remember. I want you to be happy, and I will do acts towards assuring that happiness.  In other words, I got your back.

So I have no idea if I am writing this to put on the blog or to send to you, but here it is. You fucking rock. I fucking rock. Every person who has gone through this hell and made it fucking rocks. And I am going to make it. And you are going to make it. And we are both gonna rock, but maybe not together at this exact moment.  I love you.  I love me.  OK.  Enough. :)

"Unsolicited Advice to Adolescent Girls with Crooked Teeth and Pink Hair...