Sunday Funday!!!!

So, as my therapist says, “You’re overdue for fun.”  And I’ve been denying myself love and creativity.  Which, in theory, could be the same thing.  So, I turn on a playlist to create by and it’s my celebrity boyfriend, Pitbull, with, Time of our Lives.  Yup, you are so right Pitbull.  I need to go to the Allegan Antique Fair Opening Day, Ballin’.  Hee hee.  That is so ridiculous sounding.  But, it’s true!

I’ve been all work and no play.  I was supposed to go Friday to see a band and their last show in Lansing, Friday.  Potential problems:  From the nineties- i drank that whole decade away, one of my ex-boyfriends used to drum for them, so he would’ve prolly been there, did I mention it would be in a bar?  And yeah, I had been crying all day Friday.  It was a recipe for disaster.  My friend will not speak to me after I told her the deal:  I haven’t slept in three days- I forgot to tell her about my anaphyalactic* reaction to Bactrim- and I had been crying for days and crying that whole day and I had no business being in a bar.  I tried to let her down easy and set boundaries with her:  We’ll listen to the first set, then leave, right?  It was also an hour away.  I’m done.  So, now, she won’t speak to me.  Rightfully so, I did cancel on her, but I gave her plenty of time to find somebody else. She’s not the type to go out on her own, I was kinda hoping she’d do that.  But, I can’t control shit. I just tried to do the right thing, and take care of myself.  That, right there, being the biggest thing:  Taking care of myself.

So, usually my mom and I go to opening of Allegan, but she volunteered for the church garage sale, so I think I’m going to go regardless.  I’ve got some cash, a check book, and a charge if I see anything my little greasy heart cannot live without, I’ve also got an iPod to listen to because I really don’t want to be bothered, it’s colder than a well digger’s you know wut, and it’s great exercise, so I’m up early, and some fresh air leads to fresh perspectives…

Plus, I have been working really hard on my system and this week ain’t going to be fun.  With new maps being drawn up etc.  More dialoging, more uniting, more integration.   I just want to get to the point where I’m at least cohesive enough to work part to full time.  And I’m grieving a lot of relationships.

Like, my first love, after some hinckey shenanigans, he clearly hasn’t changed, so any romantic notions colored by rose tinted glasses were abruptly smashed this week.  Worked through the Greece guy, which was hard.  We actually reunited twenty years later.  About three years ago or so.  He has MS and is a RAGING alcoholic and has PTSD up the yin yang and is one sick puppy, and then, there’s my Issues of Vogue.  Ms. Train wreck waiting in the wings…  So, all in all, I think after this past week’s shit storm, I deserve to go walk the fields of dead people’s stuff (Yes.  There is actually an antique store called, “Dead People’s Stuff”).  So, I have to leave by seven.  It is 6:13 EST here, and I need to shower and prep.  But, my brain droppings are not done, I’m sure.

I spent yesterday with a friend eating Thai food.  Thai iced Tea is the best.  I don’t care who you think you are, that stuff is the bomb.  I’m a lil worried about her with this guy she is dating.  I did voice my concerns.  She has the same ones, but I told her: three months and the warts come out.  Meaning:  The ugly patterns, insecurities, etc come out.  They raise their ugly heads.  Both people think their comfortable, so they let the facade slip.  And if you’re not careful, vigilant and mindful, all those red flags that were and have been unfurling can wrap around you tight, and next thing you know, you’re trapped.  Trust me.  Ms. Queen of unhealthy relationships over here knows what not to do.  I have no idea what to do, but I definitely know what not to do.

Sometimes, I like to think that when I integrate and learn to love myself fully, learn to be my own hero, I’ll have a healthy relationship.  Like, I’ll get a happy ending, you know?  But I know life doesn’t work like that.  I can’t wait for anything or anyone.  They aren’t waiting for me, so wtf?  I have HIV.  I have an ex who qualifies as a serial killer/infector.   He’s notorious.  I’ll always have a part of him in my body.  You know, like a constant reminder of him.  The five Stairsteps.  God, I hope so.  Cuz this shit is getting old.  I had to detox myself from men and especially unhealthy people/men.  I’m still detoxing.  I need to purge my system.  My other friend is going through the same thing.  It’s hard to admit you’re codependent.  Or, as I like to call it, CO- D- P!  and make the hand/gang symbols of the letters.  I’m silly.  But it’s hard when your whole life you have been programmed to save people, diffuse volatile situations, soothe ruffled feathers all so you don’t have to look at your own shit.  Then I just feel depleted and resentful.  But it sure can be easier than looking at your own shit.  Nice diversionary tactic.  Doesn’t work very well, for very long.  Because I grew up in chaotic environments on all fronts, this detoxing is scary as hell, as well as doing parts work.  My friend found some CODA meetings.  I think that would be a good place for me to start. Mmmm, “Secrets” by Mary Lambert.  Good stuff.  I looooove this song.  So over it.  I don’t care if the world knows what my secrets are- sing it girl!  Preach and Testify!!!!!  Yup.  Lay it all out there.  Our secrets keep us sick.  I’m tired of being sick.

The ENT asked me how old I was when my nose was broken: 6 years old.  What happened?  They busted it with a 2 x 4.  They both cringe,  Sorry!  My truth is fucked up.  But it’s got to come out.  People may not believe in DID or want to accept the concept because they cannot and WILL NOT accept the etiology of DID.  Yes, I was four years old watching people and children and babies be sacrificed.  I went to the police with the one sacrifice I remember- have I heard from the cop?  Nope.  Okay.  I’ll go to the county tomorrow.  Because that family needs relief and answers.  My Shrink asked me what we did with the bodies- cannibalism?!  Destroy the evidence.  We held the rituals in the basement of a funeral home in the town I grew up in, and all the big wigs of the town were Satanists in the cult.  I was supposed to kill myself when I reached 40.  I was a potential, “Bride of Satan”.  Do you seriously think anyone wants to really: A.  Believe Satanism exists in this day and age?  B.  That barbarism like that can exist in the 20th and 21st century?  C.  That children are utilized in the rituals and the adults in charge of these children let it happen?!  It’s jaw-dropping, stomach turning, revolting!!! NO!  NO ONE wants to accept how people like me- Survivors of SRA- can walk around and walk and talk AND Chew gum.  No One wants to admit that this kind of disgusting and vile shit exists.  Well, yeah, it do.  And I’m living proof it do.

Inhale.  Exhale.  Do a little four square breathing.  it’s 6:45 am.  I need to shower and get my ass to the antique show.  DAMMIT!

Sundays are the worst days for me, especially between 3-6 pm.  That’s when I spent the most time with my abusers after the SRA.  When they took over the Methodist church.  I just wish there was enough bleach for my eyes and brain and there isn’t.  I live with this shit everyday.  People don’t like it, so, naturally, they don’t like me.  It’s my reality.  For now.  In due time, it will change and grow.  But for today, it’s my reality.  So looking at dead people’s stuff doesn’t bother me.  I’ve been around a lot of dead people.  And no, they don’t taste like chicken.

Hug yourself, and keep your loved ones close.  There’s no telling.

Love,

Zu

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