F.R.I.E.N.D.S

I've got a neat group of friends.  Every conversation is one of a kind, totally random, and unexpected.  Sometimes we don't see each other for months or sometimes we'll talk several times in one day.

I've known some of them for over 10 years, while others I have known for a few weeks.

There's A.  She's got everything figured out.  She can cook, wrangle kids, take care of our sick friend, likes Pad Thai, and is fiercely protective of those she loves.  I love that A will level with me and put me in my place when I start to get overwhelmed.  She assures me that I'm not responsible for fixing our sick friend.

There's V,who cracks me up.  She's the teenager in group.  Seriously, she's 16, maybe 17.  I never remember and her age is dependent on what day of the week or hour it might be.  I love to tease her that she'll be shopping for Depends with me in the future, which she flat out refuses to acknowledge.  She loves pink nail polish and is a great baby-sitter.

I recently met S and although I don't know her that well, I do love her artistic talent.  She draws really pretty flowers.  

D is another friend I met just a few weeks ago.  Our first exchange was through text messages.  She can't spell well, but one can't expect much from a 4 year old.  I gave her a candy flavored lip-balm as a gift shortly after we met and the joyful look on her face could have lit up a stadium.  

I've hung out with OG once or twice.  She doesn't like to talk much, but when I tell her about the summer days I spent at the Florida beaches as a child, she listens.  Once we painted our nails blue like the ocean.

EJ and I hung out in college, but she left about 6 months ago and I haven't heard from her since.  She had an eating disorder but my friends and I didn't know how to help her.  I hope she's at peace.

I met N about a year ago.  We hung out for about 20 minutes, but in that short time I learned that she loved to spin in circles and play with dolls.  She told me that her mother took away all her dolls when she was about 6 telling her 'only babies play with dolls.'

Shortly after meeting N I met C.  I found her curled up on the kitchen floor, crying and shaking.  She was scared and convinced that there was a terrible man lurking just outside the house.  

There are several other friends I have met, but some are so shy that they haven't properly introduced themselves.   

And then there's H, the most important one of this group.  She is amazingly strong, funny, loving, zany, and intelligent.  We've had so many adventures, near misses, and countless laugh-until-we-can't-breathe moments.  She flew to Florida when my wedding was cancelled and held me when I was inconsolable.  I couldn't imagine another woman who has more endurance and strength to overcome the most awful circumstances.

All these wonderful friends of mine, all these different people with their own sets of likes, handwriting, hobbies, and tastes in coffee share the same body.

They share the same body.

They were born to take care of my friend H when she was unable to take care of herself.

They protected and still protect her.

They share the same body. 

And I love everyone of them.

(Image credit: iStockphoto.com)

Dissociative Identity Disorder was once labeled as Multiple Personality Disorder.  People hear that and immediately think of United States of Tara or Sybil, the former a bastard-Hollywood version, the later a bit closer to the truth.

DID generally occurs when a child under the age four experiences HORRIFIC abuse.  Not your run of the mill 'being-smacked-around-by-alcholic-parents' or 'bullied-by-siblings' abuse.  


Think of every horror/psuedo-sexual slasher movie you've ever seen advertized and then multiply that by 20.

And then forget that. . . .Because the abuse suffered by person who lives with DID is not quantifiable.

In an attempt to cope with the trauma and abuse that is happening the brain shatters like a dropped mirror.  Each piece reflects the victim but in a different manner, at a different angle.  Each piece of the mirror become a new person, an alter.  Someone who shares the same body of the victim, who comes into being to help the victim cope.  These alters are a testament to the mind's capacity to struggle to survive.

I've listened to the stories and I've read the dairies of my friends, these alters.  Everyone has their own tales and memories of horrifying, unspeakable, unbelievable events.  
Sometimes I've wept; at times I have gotten physically sick; other times I've felt pure hatred and anger course through my veins.  

I yearn to take away the pain and suffering H has dealt with since she was 2, but I can't.  I can only love and support her.  Listen to her when she needs to talk, laugh at our shared history, sneek a cigarette when our kids aren't looking, and hang out with her alters when she needs a break.  I can't thank these friends enough for taking care of H when she couldn't do it herself.  

And I couldn't ask for a better set of friends.  
~
~
~
~
Coming Apart: Trauma and the Fragmentation of the Self is a good article if you would like to learn a little more about DID. 

For My Next Act I'm Gonna Be A Female Version of J. Jonah Jameson. (Except Less Pissed Off At Toby McGuire, I Mean, Peter Parker)

Just As Colorful, But Less Inspired.

Once upon a time a little girl lived on a dead-end street down by a river, but she didn't live in a van down by the river.  She had a great imagination and was so full of confidence that she believed that everyone on the street would enjoy reading a newspaper that she created.  So throughout one summer she made up stories about neighbor's houses catching fire and lost dogs that never existed.

Having no access to a mimeograph machines (kids, that what we called copiers back in the day) she painstakingly re-wrote each article in perfect D'Nealian handwriting and illustrated each copy.  Critics would later likened those surviving first editions to St. John's Illuminated Bible. 

Days passed.  The little gazettes were ignored by most neighbors.  The papers, lovingly bound with rubber bands were mistaken for mass mailing flyers and were tossed in garbage cans without a second look.

The little girl saw all this.  Her labor of love and creativity trashed.  She pondered for a moment and thought, "Well, there goes two days of work for nothing.  I'm gonna swim now."  Because really?  What kid wouldn't want to swim in the neighbor's pool?
________________________________________________

Twenty plus years later, on this particular day, this now older girl (because she maintains she will NEVER GROW UP) met up with two editors.  Between these two editors their resumes spanned the globe: NY Times, Boston Globe, Miami Herald, Tampa Tribune; they had worked in Germany, South American, Thailand, India.  To say the least, it was an impressive meeting.

What began as an interview for a recurring column on health, fitness, and dog care (how those go together, she wasn't sure), turned into an offer to be a manager of a regional newspaper. The editors were impressed with her background, her skills, and her adventurous spirit.  Her first business meeting will take place on Saturday and by Monday, she'll hit the ground running.

And she lived happily ever after.  Until she couldn't fall asleep because she was so excited!
________________________________________________

(So these are the details of the story.  I had answered an ad on Craigslist that advertized a position of a writer for the Dade City community for a on-line newspaper.  After speaking briefly on the phone to one of the owner and playing telephone tag over the holidays, I wasn't too convinced that I wouldn't be meeting up with two retirees who decided to take up on-line news reporting as a hobby.  However, I kept the appointment and the rest is as above.

Long before we had giant news corporations, towns and communities put out their own papers.   So my job is to launch the Dade City version of this newspaper.  It'll feature local events and people.  And seeing as we all have a natural propensity towards narcissism it shouldn't be too hard to have the highschool kids phone their sports scores to me, soccer moms to email pictures, and the garden club to wax poetic about their spring blooms.  People love reading about themselves.  Small businesses will get exposure on a level that they couldn't afford before.


I have to sell ad space in addition to managing articles that need to be published, editing documents for quality, and making contacts within the community.  And I think I really can do it.


The wonderful thing about these editors is that they understand the meaning of community.  15% of each client's ad fee will go into a community slush fund.  Once a month, 10 members from the community will decide where that money will go, whether to a needy family, replacing flower beds around city hall, or improving existing buildings.  

I'm going to be helping small businesses develop.  I'm going to know that children will smile when they can point to an article and recognize their face from the action shots captured during a game.  It'll be amazing to know that whatever ad revenue I can pull in will go to help those who might not be in a good spot, places that I've been in before. 


It's going to be a lot of hard work, especially in the beginning.  But I can still work from home, (yea for yoga pants!), set my own hours, and keep working with The Band.  This is an amazing chance for growth for me.


I know I will still have my days where my demons want to drag me down into depressive, anxiety ridden pits of self-doubt.  I know that I will freak out and get writers block.  But I know that I can keep fighting through it.  I know I can do it.)


And I know that I have you, dear readers, to thank.  Your comments, your warm wishes keep me up.  Thanks for believing in me thus far.

I Don't Have Many Original Ideas Right Now And Need To Post

If I'm going to admit it, I've been a lazy blogger as of late. Wish I could offer legit excuses, but I'd be blowing smoke up my own ass.  Been watching too much TV, reading too little, and writing even less.  Bad, bad, bad girl.

Thank God 2012 is just around the corner.  I can make a new set of resolutions that I will maintain for three weeks days before I break them.  Well, at least I'll follow up on the lose more weight train.  I've got a wedding to be in for April and I wanna look super hot!

Since I "work" with Aunt Becky and The Band, I usually see when she or my other Bandmates have updated their blogs.  I, however, doubt that many don't take much interest in mine.   And I'm not a big Memer, but I figured this was my lazy bloggers way out of getting some writing done. Plus I get to link back to Mommy Wants Vodka, who started me on this little path.

1. What did you do in 2011 that you’d never done before?
Started freelancing, for reals yo!  I've written articles on spider porn, the beautiful nation of Belize, and cycle safety in the UK.  I bit the bullet, opened up my can of crazy and started sharing my fears with the Net and all of my 2 readers.

2. Did you keep your New Year’s resolutions, and will you make more for next year?
Nope and nope.  Because I will inevitably break said resolutions, feel immensely guilty, which will lead me into a shame spiral. So this year, I resolve not to make resolutions.  Dammit!  Now I just broke my own resolution.  Shame spiral here I come.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
Yes.  Several people.  And while my heart was saddened with jealousy, my uterus was doing a happy dance.  
4. Did anyone close to you die?
Yes.  My Gonga died over the summer and I miss her so much.  Every damn day I forget that she's dead and I get ready to call her three times a day.

5. What would you like to have in 2012 that you lacked in 2011?
Money

6. What countries did you visit?
Ummmmmm I'd need money to do so, which I had none.

7. What date from 2011 will remain etched upon your memory, and why:

The Kiddo's first day of school.  September something or other.  (As a History major, it's a crying shame I suck remembering dates).

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
See # 1.  Also?  Became an editor at The Band.


9. What was your biggest failure?

I haven't learned how to stop hurting myself as a way to deal with stress.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Dropped 40 lbs of frozen Kumquat puree on my finger.  The pain was soooooo intense I almost blacked out and the damn cut kept reopening.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
My new phone.  I <3 it so much!  I use to scoff at those who raved about the capabilities of their wonder phones.  But when I found out that my phone had a flashlight built in, I wanted to marry it right then and there.

12. Whose behavior merited celebration?
I was going to say Antoine "Hide Yo Kids, Hide Yo Wife" Dodson, but upon Googling him I realized that was a 2010 event.  (I am always late to the game.  Like I just discovered the awesomeness that is Psych and The Big Bang Theory). So I don't know.

13. Whose behavior made you appalled and depressed?
Sandusky.  Child rapists sicken me.

14. Where did most of your money go?
Gas.  When prices reach $4/gallon, I am trading in for a horse.

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?
Going on a date for the first time in three years.  It was a total bomb, but I was proud of myself for getting out there.  Plus I have a funny story.

16. What song will always remind you of 2011?
Yea, gonna pass on that.  Have no idea. Maybe something from Weezer.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
i. happier or sadder? Happier 
ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner.
iii. richer or poorer? Based on money: poorer, life experience: richer, and I am all the more happier 

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?
Reading

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Blowing my nose.

20. How will you be spending Christmas?
It's over at this point, but The Kiddo and I spent the night at my parent's house so they could see him open up the presents Santa brought him.

22. Did you fall in love in 2011?
I fell in love with an English hot toddy.  Which makes me sound like an alcoholic, but it was the only thing that calmed my cough.  But with a real person--James Roday of Psych, Jim Parsons of The Big Bang Theory.  Always been in love with David Boreanaz. So in the realms of being possible, yea.  No.

23. How many one-night stands?
I'm not capable of that.

24. What was your favorite TV program?
Bones

25. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?
Yes

26. What was the best book you read?
How I Write ~ Stephen King

27. What was your greatest musical discovery?
Les Fragments De La Nuit

28. What did you want and get?
I wanted the courage to write and I got it (mostly).

30. What was your favorite film of this year? That sucks. I’m going to make up a new question:
Where are your pants? 
Not on me.  All pants, except yoga, are bullshit.


31. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
  I turned 30, threw a party where I made authentic gyros with the best lamb meatballs.  Lamb meatballs sounds redundant, but who wants to say they ate lamb balls?

32. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Drunk dialing a long time friend and him not laughing at me the next day.

33. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2011?
Unique.

34. What kept you sane?
A large quantity of coffee and well-timed naps.

35. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?
See #22.  Also, I really have a girl crush on Jen Lancaster.  She's funny, out-spoken, and a former member of the rat race that became a writer after being fired.  I'm trying to do that.

36. What political issue stirred you the most?
Don't get me started.  My days of getting hot under the collar about politics were over after I left DC.

37. Who did you miss?
My sanity?  Oh wait, the question was who, like a person.  My Gonga.

38. Who was the best new person you met?
My many BandMates.

39. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2011:
I must absolutely do what I love, or else I'll run the risk of doing nothing at all.

40. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:
Hide Yo Wife, Hide Yo Kids

If you care to follow suit and link back here, please do so after the beep:

The Difference Between Wants and Needs

Several years ago I when I was still a wreck,* I believed that I NEEDED a man to complete my life.  I was a new mom, very single, very sad, very scared.  I felt rejected on so many levels.  The thing that hurt that most, that I have not gotten over yet, that I know is still hanging like a big, fucking albatross around my neck is the fact that the newsletter writer for my alma mater told me that my 'situation' wasn't something that others needed to know about.**  I hated myself so much.  Like Hester Pryne, I had proof positive of my sins, while the father hid in the shadows.  I felt that if I HAD a man to give some type of legitimacy to my child, than I would be a socially acceptable person again.

Fast forward to present day.  My son is turning 6 on Wednesday.  He's excelling in school where he thinks he's the big man on campus, is loved by his family, and couldn't be more adorably cute if I asked him to be. I have pictures to back that up:

 

I've come to understand over the past 2 years with a lot of help from a wonderful therapist, a handful of loving friends, and an amazing Band  to back me up, that I don't NEED a man to make my life complete.  I don't feel like a scarlet whore any longer.

I've come to a point where I WANT a man in my life.  I want to share my life with someone else.  I want someone to sleep next to me at night.  That person who can meet my eyes and know that the person I am talking to is a complete idiot.  I want someone who will love and respect me the way I know I deserve to be treated.

I'm lonely tonight.  I hate having these feelings that I can't do anything with.  I'm through needing someone.  I'm ready to want someone.



*I don't claim to have all my shit together, but I am a far more happier, SANER, grounded person now. My life isn't the shambles it once was.

**I finally sent an email to that asshole tonight.  He's finally going to get a piece of my mind.

When 18 isn't 18

I was 17 when I met him.

He was 23.  He was a former Marine.  He was a jackal hiding behind a songbird.

I was 18 the first time he touched me.

18.

I was a legal adult.  By the time I was able to admit to myself what had happened, the statute of limitation had expired.

I was 18, but I may as well have been 12. 

I grew up in a very conservative, very sheltered household.  I was a homeschooled, outspoken sports jock, who preferred a good book to fawning over the local high-school meatheads.  But that didn't mean I didn't dream about having my first kiss.

My parents didn't allow me to date, which meant if a boy wanted to see me, he'd have to come to the house so we could be chaperoned.  Of the three boys that dared to come over to my house for dinner, 2 never called me again, the other turned out to be gay.

I had no working knowledge of boys, emotions, or physical responses.  Sure, I knew the physical act of sex and procreation but that was only because I read my science books.  My sex education went like this: "Sometimes boys want to kiss you a lot.  You just have to tell them no."  Put like that, it seemed to me that kissing was an awkward event that girls merely tolerated while they were dating.

When I went away for a weekend visit at what would become my Alma Mater, I met him.  It was at a dance, "A Night in Old Vienna." Girls were dressed in mock ball gowns from yesteryear and boys wore ties and coats.  Dance cards were given to the visiting kids, so they could meet up with different people on the dance floor.  He was third on my list.  For years I wondered how God could have allowed his name to appear on my dance card.  I realized in the end, it didn't matter.  I was his target.  One way or another, he would have found a way to get at me.

He was charming and flattering.  Praised my intelligence and wit.  He said I was pretty and that the boys at home were stupid for failing to see what they were missing.  I thought I had found the perfect man.  What I didn't know was that I was going to be another victim to this serial predator.

For six months, we corresponded by mail.  He sent me a country CD of love songs for my 18th birthday.  The man in the letters was so polite, so well spoken, so considerate of me as a whole person.  He said in his letters that he would 'protect my virtue.'  I was in love.

My first kiss was during a walk in the wood.  The next night, he taught me to french kiss by the water sewer lines on campus.  The first time he touched my breast 2 days later, I objected, said I didn't feel comfortable with him doing that.  He assured me that it was okay, that 'lovers have rights over each others bodies.'  I didn't know what to say, how to respond.  It didn't seem right. It felt so dirty. 

I felt dirty.  But I loved him.

I stayed with him for 5 months.  I hated every minute of it.  But I stayed because I was scared, because I didn't know better, because I felt ashamed, because when I tried to say no he always talked me out of it, because the one time I tried to physically run away from him he chased me and tossed me against a building.  But something inside me still loved him.

He did things to me.  He mocked me.  He hurt me.

The night he forced me down on him, I thought I was going to die.  I was choking, I couldn't breathe.  I was crying, begging him to let me stop.  He wouldn't let me.  When I couldn't do what he wanted, he finished himself off.  I was horrified.  I was disgusted.  I wanted to die.  I no longer loved him. 

I wanted him to die.

That was 12 years ago, but this is the first time I've shared this without breaking down in tears.  During those years I did some horrible things, to myself, to others. I hurt a friend, I lied to family, destroyed property, blacked out from booze binges, narrowly avoided arrest twice, and got dumped while 20 weeks pregnant.

I can't undo what happened or how my life was effected, but I'm making peace.  All things happen for a reason, even when they don't make sense at the time.  I'm not whitewashing the pain or the events that took place, but I am understanding how my life path has been shaped and not destroyed by what occurred.   

Getting My Rant On

I've been feeling down on myself for the past few days, in part to reading and re-reading a comment that someone made to me on Teh Book of Face.  I had made an off-color but totally hil.ar.ious comment in an effort to cheer up a friend.  In reply, a guy I once knew as the biggest clown/screw-up/disgusting slacker came back at me with "Dude, who says shit like that?"

To say I was shocked was to say the least.

• A-It's not like I said this in front of a bunch of 2nd graders
• B-You use to say stuff like this all the time
• C-Why did marriage and a child turn you into a humorless bastard?

But being myself, I agonized over it for days, until now when I finally said to myself today, "Screw it and the horse he rode in on." 

That's me, far right, hideous floral skirt from Goodwill

See, one of my biggest struggles in the past oh, I don't know, 12 years is to speak up for myself and not allow the resulting fall back impede on what I was doing/standing up for/participating in/just being me.  One particular time that I look back on with a bit of regret mixed with anger and sorrow was when a (male) friend of mine said that my association with a group of girls (a feisty bunch of women who took shit from no one) was unbecoming and a turn-off.
Still reeling from a sexual assault that no one knew about, I was cut to the core.  I had found some strength in hanging out with these women, trying to recover the shattered person I had become, and yet here was a person who I (had) respected that conveyed my actions, my interactions, my choice of friends, a part of me was something to be ashamed of.  And I listened to him.  And I didn't hang out with those girls for almost 6 months.  I missed out on 6 months of laughter, late night coffee parties, commiserating over a certain professor with a faux-English accent and Slurpee runs 15 minutes before curfew.  All because I was too ashamed of myself, of the person I no longer was, of the secrets I was hiding.

Payback is a bitch

I'm not that person anymore.  I've been working too damn hard to get rid of the insecurities that have hounded me.  I'm not about to allow myself to be cowed again.  I have no right to doubt myself.  I am a strong, kick-ass woman, who happens to be a great mother, friend, sister, and daughter. 

I have a great sense of humor that some don't get, plenty love, and some who laugh but act ashamed to acknowledge me.  To the last group, I say, grow a fucking pair.

I need not feel ashamed of who I am, how I act, how I walk, talk, or think.  I'm not harming anyone, causing anyone to do evil, or leading people towards death. 

I am me and I am proud.  I have a great group of girl friends from my past and a great group of people who Band around me when I'm down on myself. 

I am one lucky, blessed, and strong/crazy/fun-loving/intelligent woman. . .and I'll say whatever the hell I want to.

I can't remember if we were Bond Girls or Charlie's Angels

Next Time on House: Dr. Chews Gum While He Amputates Leg

I'm damaged good.  Naturally all women want to hump me.

Search engines, all I have to say is what the hell?  How to you explain that two people searching for "Can Dr. House amputate his leg" and another searching "Why do I chew gum daily" land on my site.  I find it hard to believe that terms like Dr. House's leg has been so underutilized that my page pops up first in Google results.  I don't know if I should be flattered or irritated.  Maybe I should start throwing out random words and see what happens next.

Burbank, California!
Kittens
Old Spice (just cuz I luv the dreamy man your man could smell like man)
The Book of John
Ice Cream Cones

I'll let you know what that brings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 I'm going to introduce you to a new segment of my blog I'd like to call "News that Pisses Me Off (Because It's so Fucking Dumb.)" So without further ado:

News That Pisses Me Off  

(Because it's so fucking dumb)

• First up, Bolton, England where a British whorehouse fitness group is offering a pole dancing class. FOR SEVER YEAR OLD GIRLS!  I understand the way capitalism works.  You make a product, no matter how dumb it is (see truck testicles below) and the consumer will by it, thereby you laugh all the way to the bank.  Now here's what really pisses me off.  It's not the "gym" that is offering the classes.  It's the PARENTS that are allowing their pre-prepubescent innocent girls to attend these classes.  I mean for Gods sake, why don't you just pimp them out of the street for an honest dollar if you want your child to have a career in pole dancing.  That's every pedophiles wet dream come true.  I'm not for Big Brother stepping into peoples lives, but in this cases, I'd be all for it.  Do these assholes even realize what they are doing to these babies, turning them into sex on a stick when most of them can't ride in a car without a booster seat?  For you parents in Bolton, England--You are sick fuckers!
• Apparently a cop in Bonneau, North Carolina had nothing better to do than to hand out a $445 ticket to a woman who had 'truck nutz/bull balls' hanging off the back of her truck.  Here's the thing, personally I find those things juvenile, disgusting, and frankly, if you have to hang fake beanbags off your truck to prove something, you're overcompensating  (i.e. men who drive fast, red sports cars).  Citing an obscure public decency law, her trial is set for August 1.  If he wants to play fair, what's good for the goose is good for the gander, why doesn't officer jackass pull over semis with naked lady mud flaps.  Oh, that's right.  Because he'd be too scared to do that.  

It's late now, I've finished my rants.  I should finish up a page I've been working on for The Band, but I think I'll make some cinnamon and sugar toast. 

I'm With the Band and I Rock At Life

So I did a little dance today.  Actually, it was a dance that I preformed several different times in front of several different family members.  It included a flying Superman dive onto my parents bed while my mom talked with her BFF. 

See the other day, I decided to put myself out on the line.  I sent an email over Linked In to Rebecca 'Aunt Becky' Harks and asked if I could be an editor at a group blog she started up after delivering her third child, who suffered from a neural tube defect at birth, realized, with the help of her amazing Band of Merry Pranksters, a need in the blog world for a place where we could all come to put our thoughts down.

She replied that she didn't need an editor, but she wanted me to join the brains behind the band.  MAJOR YEA!!!! 

I am so happy and beside myself I want to dance a lot more than I am right now.  No money changes hands but it's major boost for my portfolio.  Plus, when (not if, but WHEN) I get my novel finished (please God, by the end of the year) I'll have a much larger audience to work with.  I feel like I got a great big hug today.

So now I am going to learn to juggle SEO articles, DZI, the Twitter, this blog, and whatever I'll be doing over at BBT.  And I couldn't be happier!

Band Back Together strives to provide a safe and supportive space on the internet where anyone in need can find support, resources, catharsis, healing and/or hope by connecting with the blogging community through writing.