Thinking Too Hard and Running With Scissors

Things That are Hard...that shouldn't be hard.

2022-07-04T10:25:11Z

'Cause if there was blood upon the floor
And I could see your fist went through the wall again
Maybe then I wouldn't have to fight no more
In this psychological war

If there were bruises on my skin
And they could see the pain you put me in again
Maybe then I wouldn't have to fight no more
In this psychological war

Living with an ex when you, supposedly, both want to be amicable and live together for economic reasons (because seriously, this economy and the housing situation? sucks ass). Especially when he seems incapable of sticking with agreements or releasing his attempted control of you.

There's so many things I want to do, even just here in the house (the house that is supposed to be MY living arrangements), that I cannot seem to manage to even start. When I'm at work, I think of all the things, get excited about making progress on them, and then when I get home...I curl up on the couch or on the bed and try to work on a project or read or cuddle with the furbabies. Functioning seems beyond my capability. I've been trying to figure this out for months, and I think I might have finally made some progress.

Living with him is like living in a room where every single object has the capacity of being electrically charged - not just like static electricity charged, but electrocution level charged, where it's going to leave a mark. Usually only one or two of the many objects in the room are actually charged, but you can't tell which ones. So as you go about your life in this room, you're constantly on edge wondering which object it will be today, how badly will it hurt, and will it be somewhere excruciating or somewhere the pain is relatively minimal. Eventually you get electrocuted so many times and it's so bad that you just sit down in the middle of the floor, trying not to touch anything, because trying to go about your day is an absolute torture of anxiety and you can barely do enough to survive, let alone do anything "fun" or extra. Because everything hurts, everything has a negative memory attached to it.

Living in a house that he still has a key to feels like that. I never know when he'll be here or not, and when he is, 9/10 times he says something horrible, calls me some degrading name (day before yesterday, it was a fucking two-faced lying trashy cunt), and or does something petty and childish just to try and get under my skin. He's actually stated that he intends to pick an argument every time he sees me, because he feels I wronged him that badly. Or something. He's not here that much - he hasn't actually slept here in over a week, but he's been in and out at least once or twice every day, at random times. I want to set up a routine, a routine that includes cleaning the house, doing things on a schedule, making progress on some goals like dog training and my own fitness, and I can't manage to do it because if I'm in the middle of doing something and he comes in, I inevitably have to deal with comments or questions that always - ALWAYS - end up being derogatory or leading to a fight.

I have begged him to just leave. His response is that I need to give him a month or two without paying on the rent or bills, in order to allow him to save up to move out. I say he shouldn't have bought an expensive vehicle if he was actually intending on moving out the way he said he was. I shouldn't have to PAY him to leave, which is what that seems to amount to. I won't do it. Especially because paying ALL the bills for this place is going to make me "house poor," so I can pay bills but not do much of anything else, and I have to be able to get out of here on the weekends or I will lose my fucking mind.

And he says *I* am keeping *him* hostage.

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Seasons Change

2022-06-12T19:25:52Z

Trains and winter rains
No going back, no going home
Trains across the plains
And in the sky, a star alone

Every time; it's the same
One more night, one more train
Everywhere; empty roads
Where they go, no-one knows

Trains and winter rains
No going back, no going home
Trains across the plains
And in the sky, a star alone

It's over, legally, now. It shouldn't have been a big deal, but I got the final divorce decree in the mail the day before what would have been our 7th marriage anniversary, and just...so many memories, and so many feelings. Feelings, feelings, feelings - and they all hurt. Even the ones that are good memories...they just make me so sad. And at the same time, I'm angry, I'm hurt - and I'm glad, glad it's "over" and that I'm moving on, however painfully and slowly. I just wish things were different.

I wish I could have told him as I slowly discovered myself more. I wish I could have shared with him my real thoughts on relationships, on sex, on sexuality. I wish I could have been as honest as he wanted me to be - but he couldn't handle my honesty. I tried - in small pieces, I tried - and every time, it ended up being something that hurt him and upset him so much he would just lash out or completely shut it down.

I miss him. I miss his hugs, I miss cuddling on the couch with him. And today, that's all I can remember.

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Am I a Stone?

2022-03-03T13:57:41Z

He says he screamed and cried for two years, for me to show him that he mattered to me.

He says we've done everything my way.

He says he's given me everything I wanted and asked for, and that I do nothing he asks.

He says I'm the coldest person he knows, and that all this is why I'm alone. He says I have no empathy at all.

I guess it's a good thing I like being alone.

I'm so tired of being the reason he's hurting, when all I'm really trying to do is just exist. Exist, find my truth, heal from past traumas, and be happy. I don't want to hurt him, and I never have - I just don't seem capable of being the kind of partner he wants me to be or that he needs - and I've hurt him so badly he doesn't even want to be friends.

It just hurts all the way around and seems like nothing will ever feel right again.

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The Fluidity of Human Experience

2022-02-21T14:07:41Z

Something I've been thinking a lot about lately is the fluidity of human experience, as far as how we identify ourselves. This would encompass not only gender, sexuality, and relationship style, but just our preferences in general. Could be music genre or clothing style - though those are much less likely to attract the censor of the world at large than the first three mentioned.

I've been accepting of other people's fluid journeys through life basically since leaving the cult I was raised in. What I had never really done was allow myself that same fluidity. Instead I assumed that what I thought I new about myself at 19 would never change. Things like being heterosexual.

19-year-old me had no idea how much a person could continue to grow and change after becoming an "adult."

19-year-old me thought she had herself figured out, that she knew what she wanted.

19-year-old me didn't know shit.

33-year-old me is a bisexual relationship anarchist that prefers solo polyamory. Or, as I've seen popularly... SoPoRA.

Now if only I can eventually post something like this without feeling the need for the relative anonymity of this blog.

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Trying to Find Myself

2022-01-26T15:00:09Z

I really feel like I'm too old for this shit. I should already have this figured out, I should know who I am and what I want in relationships and in life in general.

Oh, what's that? Fluidity? In life? Oh and in relationships...what, and in sexuality? Preferences? You mean what I wanted at 18 might not be what I want at 32 and...that's okay?

But I might - no, no might about it, I'm *going* to end up hurting people...people I love and care about so deeply that I would rather hurt myself than them.

I can't find the compromise.

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Marriage Sucks

2021-07-04T18:11:46Z

How can two people who love each other so much, also hurt each other SO MUCH?

How can the person you thought you could tell anything to, and they wouldn't judge you or think you were a horrible person for saying whatever it was, judge your every action as though it was thought out to try and hurt them?

Why does love always end up hurting?

Why can we not just assume the best about each other?

Why does love have to be all or nothing? Can't love sometimes be stepping back and giving space? And if that doesn't "make the heart grow fonder," realize that maybe that season of life is over?

People change, they grow. Sometimes they change into someone you realize you don't want to spend the rest of your life with.

I'm 99.5% sure I'm that person for my husband. He keeps telling me I've changed, that I'm not the woman he fell in love with. Well, no. No, I'm not. And I don't think I can be that person ever again...just because of the things I've learned, and done, and been through since then. And I'm sorry for that, for him, but I also feel like...I just can't go back. He's changed too...though most of his changes are much more outward than mine. Almost all of the ways I have changed, are in my head, in how I look at the world, in how I look at people, even in how I look at relationships. My husband has made huge leaps in changing his behavior to be a healthier, better person - like no more binge drinking, no more smoking - a lot of unhealthy coping mechanisms he's let go. He's changed his viewpoints on race, religion, sexual orientation - he's actually a tolerant, supportive person to/for minorities now, where before he said there was no racism or oppression in America - which is no small thing for a white boy raised in a southern Bible-thumping family to realize. It's a huge mindshift, and one that has made him question everything he was ever taught and even a lot of the things he's believed his entire life - and it fucking sucks. I get it. I had to do it too, albeit at a younger age and because I WAS one of the oppressed, not because I just saw it happening to other people. It's HARD to unfuck your brain. It's hard to teach yourself actual truth to replace the lies and illogical propoganda you've been taught, and maybe even tried to teach other people. It's a hit to your pride and confidence, to admit that you were wrong and that you've changed your mind.

We've been through a lot of that together. It's been hard. We've had to work on ourselves individually while still trying to work on "us" as a couple, and unfortunately we also have different ideas of how "us" should look.

I don't know what to do, or how to proceed. I love him so much, but I'm not willing to change some parts of myself to make him happier. Which yes, sounds incredibly and horribly selfish.

I don't believe in happily ever after.

If I had kids, my relationship with them would take precedence over any I had with their father, or any other romantic relationship, for that matter. At least when they were underage. I think adult children-parent relationships are a bit different...because once your children are adults, you're no longer "responsible" for them - though I don't think that a parent is 100% responsible for even underage children (saying in their actions, not in their care!), because children have autonomy too.

I think a person who was good for you at one stage in life, can be bad for you in another, without EVER being a bad person themselves.

I think it's possible for people to romantically love more than one person at a time. I also think it’s possible for a person to only love one other at a time. Not everyone is the same. I think it’s possible for both types to be with the other - because having the ability to love more than one person at a time doesn’t mean you can’t be faithful to one person in a committed relationship. That’s a matter of honesty, which should be in ALL relationships, regardless of the sexual orientation of the people involved or the number of people involved.

I believe people can figure out their sexual orientation, or even just their sexuality, later in life. And I believe that abuse and oppression early in life can lead to the repression of one’s own true identity and feelings. I also believe that our sexual identity or preferences can change and grow, just like our personalities and other aspects of ourselves.

And I’m so tired. So, so tired. Why does just existing have to feel like a fight?

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Which Way is Up?

2021-04-21T14:22:10Z

It's been a bad, bad 24 hours.

I want to be alone, and I don't.

I want to just give up on everything, and I don't.

I hate everything, and everyone, except the few I don't.

I'm done crying, and then it starts again and I can't control it.

I want to have my window open, to feel the cooler breeze coming in. But my window - the one next to my desk - is just a few feet away from our neighbor's door. The neighbors are busy people, always outside and coming and going - and I'm playing a game. Just for a little while, to try and get a little bit of distance between my thoughts and...my thoughts, I guess. But now I feel like I need to shut the window because they might hear the game - I want the sound on because it helps with immersion, and I don't want to wear headphones because then I can't hear anything else - and wonder what the hell I'm doing, playing a game when technically, I'm supposed to be in class right now. And they might say something to my husband - because our neighborhood is gossipy like that - and then he might think or say something like, well, if you're feeling good enough to play video games, you should feel good enough to go to class. Or clean. Or make a budget. Or bathe the dogs. Or any other of the one million things there always is to do.

Yeah, I bailed on all my classes today, because it's just that bad. I did send emails though, so I bailed like a fucking adult.

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On Being Annoying

2021-04-11T14:56:21Z

Woke up this morning wanting to talk with someone. But, hadn't heard from them since yesterday afternoon/evening, and had sent a reply to their last message in the evening. This person is a pretty good friend, not really a casual acquaintance. But my thought process went something like this.

Me: Hmm, well, they weren't feeling well, probably haven't seen or had time to reply yet. Might still be sleeping. It's okay to send another message, I always like getting up to multiple nice messages.

Anxiety (A): They also might not have answered yet because they're really annoyed by these long conversations we keep having.

Me: But if that was the case, wouldn't they just...have quit responding?

A: Nope, they're a super nice, kind person, so they're not just going to ghost you that way, even if you're taking up an absurd amount of their time and energy.

Me: ...that's really kind of far-fetched. We only know each other via the internet. It's too easy to block, ignore, delete. I'm not that demanding of a person, I have no hold on their time. If I was really annoying them, we wouldn't even be messaging.

A: Yeah, okay.

Me: Okay, I'll send this lovely picture of the creek in my backyard and a "hope you feel better."

A: You do that.

Me: ................?!?

A: What if they're lying about feeling bad, just to avoid you? What if they're you know, hanging out with RL friends and just didn't want to tell you?

Me: That makes no sense. They've told me before, why would they lie now? And why make up something about feeling bad?

A: To keep you from just thinking they're avoiding you. Because again, they're a very kind person and don't want to hurt you.

Me: OMFG. Please stop. This is stupid. It's not like I'm sending 10 messages one after the other. This isn't some kind of needy significant other situation. And, we've even had this conversation, about how we both actually ENJOY having continuous conversations, and like nature photos, and...geezus.

A: Of course you have.

Me: We have! It's right there...look in the message history. In fact, we're both dismayed by the LACK of thoughtful conversation between people anymore and appreciate that the other enjoys the same.

A: Right.

Me: Are you fucking kidding me right now?!? You know this is all ridiculously far-fetched, right? Like the idea that someone would go to the amount of trouble to talk with me, this much in-depth, about SO many different things, is absolutely ridiculous. There's literally no reason in the world to do it. There's nothing for them to gain. At all.

A: Are you sure? There's always the chance...

Me: SHUT UP.

I sent the message, with the photo - despite having my heart-racing, sweaty hands, and wanting to just hide under a blanket and cry after this mental struggle with myself.

I really, really hope, that if any of my friends ever find me annoying, they'll just tell me so. I would rather be told, than think that I might for one minute be a drain on someone's time and energy. Seriously, I would rather be alone - even if I'm already physically alone, I would rather be alone without messages, texts, or letters, than think I am someone's "obligation."

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Reconciling Science and the Unexplained

2021-04-09T16:42:25Z

You cover the road holes before I stumble

Lead me through those fields of traps
The road ahead it starts to crumble
You build bridges over gaps
But when I fall I'm gonna hit the ground
Have to get up on my own
'Cause you run to hold my hand
And get on the wrong side of me instead

Part of a journal entry from today...

So, this is super weird. Suspect. I have no idea what's going on, but for the past...eight years almost, I've been trying really hard to follow my heart, trust my intuition more...my heart is NOT "desperately wicked" as I was taught growing up. Neither is science. :P I do find it hard sometimes, to reconcile what I know and believe about science (as in, how things can be verified via experimentation and study), with anything unexplainable, including things like intuition or "gut instincts." I immediately start looking for scientific evidence to either credit or disprove those things...but unfortunately for my obsessive need to have the right answer and be able to prove WHY it's the right answer...those kind of things usually can't be proven, at least not in a scientifically acceptable way. Which is extremely frustrating and also scary to me. Scary because of all the harmful, hateful lies I was force-fed, and that I swallowed and regurgitated until I was a young adult...and they still live in the back of my mind. I have a very hard time taking ANYTHING on "faith." I absolutely despise that word.

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Morning in the Life of a Trauma Survivor

2021-03-30T13:49:08Z

TW: mental, verbal, spiritual abuse; language

This morning I stood on my bathrug, dripping, with my towel wrapped around me, staring at the bottle of lotion on the counter. Debating...should I lotion my entire body? The body that, even as I stood there, I was scratching because of how dry my skin felt immediately after my shower? Now, hold on. This sounds ridiculous. I know that. My brain completely agrees with you. Dry itchy skin = lotion, you idiot. But here's the thing. I look at that lotion, and consider (all in fractions of seconds) the concept of lotioning myself from my neck, across my itchy, itchy, itchy shoulders, the boobs that (gasp) are starting to show a faint wrinkle in the cleavage, down my (too chubby) stomach, on down my super itchy, scratchy legs...and I feel ashamed.

Ashamed because even as I know that my skin desperately needs this simple treatment of some lotion to feel better, to keep myself from clawing at my skin all day...I hear my mother's voice.

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"You never need to put lotion anywhere no one is going to see. Do you plan for someone to see your breasts? What are you planning? Are you some kind of Jezebel? Trying to get attention? What are you doing when your dad and I aren't watching?"

I was somewhere around 9 or 10 years old, and had slathered myself in some heavily perfumed lotion that was a gift from a well-meaning relative. Undoubtedly, it reeked. But...those words? Uncalled for. Unacceptable. And still stuck in my head. Still guiding my default behavior towards myself. No one else.

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For some unknown reason, despite our family's spiritual beliefs and practices, my mom still shaved her legs. And I, the female child of people with strong German and English/Irish/Scottish descent, had (to my thinking) an abnormal amount of hair on my legs. I hated it. I begged to be allowed to shave my legs. Since we wore skirts all the time, full skirts with pleated waists that, for girls my age, came about mid-calf when standing straight, and with socks (oh yes, we were quite the fashion statement)...I felt like people stared at my hairy legs. Maybe they did - I was always tall, always thought older than I was, so it's possible that people in the 90s did stare, and wonder at my/our strange attire, and wonder why the hell I didn't do something about the fur on my pale legs. (Please note: I now feel quite differently about hair on legs - you do you, if you like it, leave it, if you don't, shave it.). Anyway. For unknown reasons, Mom relented and got me a razor and shaving cream. I was 10, almost 11. I remember, because it was under the Christmas tree.

Here's something else about me - patterns are important. Closure, is important. Order, is important. Things need to be straight. In rows. Dress right dress. I sort my jelly beans by color. I eat my food one thing at a time. I hate things that are unfinished, like a cake frosted completely except for one little square. WHY. So...when I was instructed to shave up to my knees and no further...I complied, at first. But...it bothered me. My thighs were still hairy. I asked why I couldn't shave all the way up my leg, make them match. I was told that to save shaving cream, I should just stick to right below my kneecap.

My little compulsive self couldn't handle my mismatched legs. Even though no one saw them, I saw them, and what was even more, I felt them, as even beneath the frumpy skirts I could feel the difference between my shaved and moisturized calves and my upper legs. Eventually, I decided that Mom wasn't going to check, I would just shave them entirely and no one would be the wiser.

Until I sliced my upper thigh open with a razor, as you do when you're new to shaving and using a double-bladed razor. This wasn't just a little nick, either - it was a slice, about two inches in length, on the outside of my upper thigh. And it was flowing blood. I got scared. I yelled for my mom.

"What are you doing? Why were you shaving up there? How long have you been doing that?"

I tearfully explained that I just couldn't stand having only half my leg shaved. Remember, I'm 11, or maybe 12 by this point.

She started yelling, and got so close to my face her spit hit me. "You WHORE! Do you know what this says to me? It shows me that you are rebellious, that your heart is evil, that you don't care for the things of God! You're worried about what men think about you. You're worried about attracting their attention. What do you think your daddy is going to think about this? That his little girl is worried about attracting MEN? That you're just like Delilah, tempting Sampson?"

She hadn't got very far into this before I dissolved into tears. I'm not sure how long she went on, it felt like forever - but she did get a bandaid and some Neosporin and help me stop the bleeding. Then the razor and shaving cream were thrown out and I was forbidden from shaving for an indefinite amount of time.

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Every time I look at my body and consider taking care of it, I think of these things. Even though as an adult now, I know how utterly fucked up the things she said were. Even though I know and wholeheartedly believe that you should do things that make YOU feel good about yourself and your body, no matter if anyone else is going to see it or not! Wear the pretty underwear, do your hair, don't shave your legs because you feel better without constant razor rash. I BELIEVE THESE THINGS. And yet those memories constantly stand in my way of applying them to myself.

This morning, I realized I'd been standing there, staring at the damn lotion bottle, for so long my legs were mostly dry. And they were so goddamn itchy.

I deserve to not be itchy, no matter how much lotion it takes. I deserve to shave my entire legs, if it feels better.

I covered myself in lotion. Then I wrote this. Now I'm exhausted and just want to cry, but I have a therapy appointment in 15 minutes.

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The Strength of My Soul

2021-03-24T12:59:48Z

The flower of my soul grew thorns
And those thorns became steel
I found words of my own
And my voice is both sword and shield
Forged in the fires of indoctrination
Sharpened on the stone of deconstruction
Tested in battle against your lies again,
And again
So be careful
Before you test the strength of your dogma
Against the strength of my soul
Because there is nothing more dangerous
Than a woman who knows her own worth.

- Melissa Stewart, Tiktok (embedded below but doesn't seem to work, so please click the link)

@lissajostewart
##exfundamentalist ##exvangelical ##purityculture ##puritycultureisrapeculture
♬ original sound - Melissa Stewart

I can't even describe how much this means to me.

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Back So Soon?

2021-03-19T23:34:03Z

I finally found a little oasis
Off the map, no reservations
Got this chance, might as well take it
Oh, let's go

What is it about writing an online journal that's different than writing in a private journal? I've been trying to keep a physical journal, at the suggestion of my therapist. It helps, that's for sure, and I thoroughly enjoy the physical action of writing with a pen on paper - helped along by my general obsession with fountain pens and inks (allllll the pretties!). But the pull to write in a public forum behind a veil of anonymity - why? I'm not just asking this of myself, either - why do so many others do it as well, some obsessively?

I think it's because when you put your thoughts or writing out online, you know they can be heard. They might not be, but they could be, if someone stumbles across your blog. Somewhat like talking to a therapist, it's a release, like popping a balloon with a pin. I am NOT suggesting you substitute an online blog for a good therapist, by the way. But it does feel good, to have a place to braindump without judgment. Oh, I'm not kidding myself - the internet is full of judgment, haters, and bullies - but there are also plenty of good people, and I'm not worried about an anonymous troll. On the internet, I pretty much ignore anything that smacks of hate or negativity - I don't have space or time for that in my life.

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Welcome to the Jungle

2021-03-19T18:29:51Z

Welcome to the jungle
We got fun n' games
We got everythin' you want, honey
We know the names

I needed an anonymous place to word vomit some thoughts. I'm writing for myself, not for anyone else - so stick around, discuss, comment - or don't. You do you. I'm a friendly overthinker with a side of ADHD. I'll probably mostly post about the feelings I don't understand, my frustration with trying to figure out what I believe after years of defining my spirituality by what I don't believe, and processing crap from my dysfunctional family. In life outside of my overactive brain, I'm 30-something, college educated (twice), and have a love of travel, books, and the outdoors.

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