I need a baby kitty

I'm researching lately how to convince my Husby I need to get a baby kitty for my PTSD.

After a long conversation over too many margaritas with his grandma and off beat uncle we decided I totally deserve a kitty. Husby however, has been put through a lot with the past cat I tried to bring home. I made a poor judgement call and was pressured into this bad decision by an abusive husband who was married to my Husby's aunt. Follow me? He said to me if I took the cat I'd really be helping them out. Their other family members said I'm probably helping their marriage stay in tacked. WRONG. I got the cat home (on Husby's birthday) as a surprise. Turned out it had a over active thyroid, pissed everywhere bucket loads, shrank in weight, and ran like a maniac around the house. The medication was horribly expensive and I thought I was just going to get a lazy old cat to lay around and pet. WRONG again. This was a Siamese cat. I felt horrible and kept the cat. Tormented, my husband lashed out a the cat and at me. Our marriage now was suffering at it had only just begun. I gave the cat back. Every since, I've been lonely without it. I missed having a companion at home with me. I talked to it. It didn't judge me. I just felt calm around it when it wasn't freaking out. We decided I just went about getting a cat the wrong way. I should have got a little one to grow attachment to and train it. While we are young and in our prime we needed a cat that was healthy and not needing extensive vet visits and expensive medication. That's when I asked the offbeat uncle about finding us one because they have the laziest cutest Persian cats. The only problem is my Husby might be allergic to fur. I know there are hypo allergenic kitty options but man do I just want to lay around and brush one of those fur balls all day. We could get a naked cat. The only problem is they need lots of attention and crave activity. Far from the lazy cat idea. That would just mean we have to get TWO!

CPR and a Piss Purse.

Norman Rockwell Spanking

Dear Freshman Health Ed Teacher,

Today I came to class late. You made sure to point that out to everyone there. Today was the start of CPR training. That was when you would call us up in groups to perform on a stupid doll to show we could save someone's life.

You didn't know this but when I was in 7th grade I got raped. That sort of ruined everything good I had going on with my elementary school friends. You also didn't know I had to put him away in jail. That is a hard process on a 13 year old. It took a lot of time away from making good friends and a name for myself in this cruel place.

Earlier this week I had the house covered in eggs and toilet paper. I was told to clean it up by myself. Then, I had the car I drive to school covered in toilet paper. Today the icing on the cake was having my purse stolen at school. When I saw it was stolen I went to report it. The school didn't care. They didn't look it up on their fancy security cameras. They didn't even look it up from the camera that was pointing right where I had been with my purse. They found it though. Right before this class. They found it in a urinal covered in piss. The janitor cleaned it and gave it back to me empty.

When I cam to your class this morning you called on me to do CPR alone in front of the class. I just stood there and started crying. I told you I couldn't handle doing that today. That's when you gave the "emergencies don't wait" speech and said if I didn't I'd lose points. I was okay with that and told you "I'm NOT doing it today".

The next day you awarded extra credit to everyone that volunteered to do CPR. After I watched the whole class do the training and get their extra credit you called on me. I did the stupid CPR. When I was done you said, "now, was that so hard to have done by yourself? You don't need to cry about it". You didn't give me any extra credit.

I wanted to stand up in your face and scream at you asshole. I did nothing. I said nothing. I went back to my seat and let you hurt me and get away with it. I wanted to see the look on your face if I told you all of this. I wish I had because you made me so angry that 10 years from now I'll be burning so angrily that it will wake me in anger and pain Christmas night. I hated you for the ridicule and unfairness. How dare you teach high school.

Once Upon A Pair of Patriotic Panties

"Howdy do Uncle Sam..."

The morning of my rape it was about 3am. I had set my alarm to wake up and had gone to bed wearing what I was going out in. For some reason I decided it was a good idea to go with a patriotic theme. I hate patriotic colors. I never had worn this before. The undies I had picked out were my least favorite. They had this itchy tulle stuff wrapped around my hips with giant glittery blue sequins. I had gotten a matching red pair when my mom picked them out and put them on my bed as a present. I remember getting really excited about having new undies but not these. These were hideous. When I wore them to school, they would leave their glittery sequins behind in the bathroom. Sometimes I'd walk down the hall and see some on the ground. I swore I'd never wear these monstrosities again. Tonight was different. I had some idiotic notion to put this blue pair on. I chose a white bra to. That one was my favorite. It fit my newly grown in B cup boobies. The straps were nice and didn't pinch my skin. All of the other bras I had were too tight and made those itchy red clothes lines on me. When I went to fake going to bed I had put on a night shirt. I mostly wore this shirt for PE. It had a V neck I hated. I liked my shirts to be normal shirt shaped and my mom had gotten me a V neck for school PE class. It was cozy to wear it to bed. When my alarm woke me up I grabbed a pair of pants from the dirty hamper pile. They were something I had worn earlier in the week and didn't smell funny from bad laundry. I sprayed perfume on them just to be sure. I had gotten love spell as a present for Christmas one year. I dug the purple bottle out of my dresser mess drawer and spritzed it on the pants. I shook the pants out to air them. My mom always said, perfume makes people nauseous if you bathe in it. In my closet I had about 20 pairs of shoes. I liked collecting them. I didn't wear them all. Tonight I especially didn't want to risk getting any of my favorites dirty. It had been raining and probably was messy outside. I put on the shoes I wear to get dirty. They were slip on sketchers. To stick with my color scheme, they seemed good because they were white. My shoes had glitter on them. My mom disliked me wearing them in the house because they left little glitter presents all over the carpet and especially the edge of the couch. I liked putting my feet up while I watched TV after school. I stared in the mirror in my room. It was hanging right where my closet wall was going to be. We had put up curtains in the basement to wall off a makeshift room for me because I was becoming a woman. I loved having my own room. I didn't have to step on my sisters exploding toy messes anymore. My hair was a mess. I looked all ragged and sleepy. I wished I was able to wear makeup. I was never invited to any slumber party thing where everyone learns how to put on lip gloss and stuff. I brushed my hair flat as I could. I never let my hair down. It was too hot on my neck and got in my face all of the time. My hair was heavy and there was a lot of it. It grew all the way down my back. I had to keep it in a pony tail or sticks and leaves got in it when I played outside. When I looked in the mirror once more I thought I looked ridiculous with big feet and fat legs. I played softball so my thighs were humungous. I knew it was going to be chilly outside so I dug back through my clothes bin to find a sweat shirt. I had a red one I wore all of the time for school. Everyone at school knew it was my sweat shirt to because I had forgotten it at recess before and people took it to me. It had my initials written in sharpie on the tag.

I left the house through a door in the basement. We never used this door because there was junk for camping behind it and spiders lived in there. It seemed like a good plan to get out. The air was shockingly cold and for a minute I stood there to shiver and think about going back to bed. I left anyways. There was a flashlight there next to the wooden crates of snow chains and ropes. The flashlight had been mine for camping. I used it to go to the bathroom by myself in the middle of the night. This felt like that so I brought it with me. It wouldn't turn on and that was super frustrating because it was dark out there in the woods. I could hear our creek below the hill. It was rushing louder than usual but that was the only sound. My heart was in my throat and when the flashlight turned on my path was cleared. We had a long driveway with one of those motion lights that go off for security. I walked past it but it didn't turn on. When I had got to the bottom of the driveway I looked both ways for cars. There was none. My house looked funny at night. I had never seen the house at night like it was then, empty looking.

The road had gravel on it that crunched when I walked. I past the neighbors house where our babysitter lived. They had big black Rottweiler dogs. They didn't bark or come out when I went by. They usually tear out from behind the house and choke on their leads at the edge of the yard. My stomach was sick feeling because no one was around. Their houses were dark. I was completely alone. The air was so cold my nose ran a little and I was afraid to sniff it up in the silence. I pulled the red hood up on my sweat shirt but it was only an air trap for the wind that was coming at me. My hair was cold against my face.

I got to the place where high school catches the bus. For me the bus always came down the street to pick me up at the driveway. The sign for my street was on a tall pole at the end of the road. When we rode our bikes up and down the cul de sac we weren't allowed to go past the fire hydrant marker. It was dark blue in the middle of the road. I stared at it for a long time wondering how they put it in the road.

Euthenized Goldfish and Grand ashes.

I went to therapy last Friday. Apparently I'm doing awesome and giving her warm fuzzies when I tell her how angry I allowed myself to be. She suggests writing more about my trauma and trauma brain which I'm not looking forward to. It's this angry foreboding cloud on my horizon that I just can't stand to face. There was a snippit I told Husby last week at 5am but, that was after a horrible night terror episode. I'd hate to start that whole thing again. Trauma likes to tell me it makes the world uncomfortable to hear it and it makes me sick to go over it with myself so it's best to just let it be. I'll work on it.

Recent news: I vowed never to name my goldfish. I've gone through so many that have been unnamed and when I finally name them, they die! This one was beautiful and my mother in law wanted me to name them. I said, " You name them, when I do...they die!" She refused to name them and coerced me into doing it. WELL! This past weekend my fish got organ failure, floated around, then bent in half at the bottom of the tank. I have a sucker fish in there that started eating my still partially alive goldfish. What the fuck! How was I supposed to just kill my fish? Husby said flush it and wish it luck. That was horrible. Instead, we decided on the best thing and that was to freeze it in a bowl of water. I fished it out of the tank and placed it in a mixing bowl with ice and water. For a moment I cried looking at it's eyes twitching back and forth. Then, I put tinfoil over the top of the bowl. That's when I lost it. Tears poured down my face. I was so angry that I named it. I watched my dog skip and Second hand lions. Cried. Fell asleep.

I went to see my parents and Husby's parents. My mom gave me a 6 shooter shot glass with "what bothers most drink at that level" written on it with lines near spouse, job, boss, etc. I also received a photograph of my family throwing my grandparent's ashes at 3 Sisters, Oregon. Dad then said, "Oh wait, I've got something else". He plopped in my hand a little baggie of ashes. We just laughed and I shoved it all in my purse. We hung out and my parents left. That's when my brother decides to offer us pot. Heck yeah. I smoked it and he put the rest in my purse.

My purse contents:

• Wallet
• misc papers
• makeup
• 6 shooter
• shot glass
• Grandma and Grandpa in ashes
• Marijuana

Let me be angry

Marion Peck(1963)

Slowly, with therapy, and a safe comforting husband I'm learning to be angry. People have always given me message against anger in my life. I'm sure I'm not the only one. I'm just going to list a few messages I've got about anger.

"Let it go"
"Don't be so hot headed"
"You need to control your anger"
"Girls don't get angry"
"Young ladies act like ladies"
"It's not your place to be upset"
"Women are meant to nurture."

Since therapy I'm trying to learn that angry is ok to feel. Seriously, It's not like I'm going to go ape shit all over the world and murder. I'm not even going to throw a glass against the wall or hit someone. When I'm angry I have this ability to suck it down. I swallow a lot and hold my neck high. I'll bite my lip and furrow my brow. My body will physically be swelling up full of angry. I hold my breath and when I'm completely full of angry, I blow it out hard and slow until I have to gasp for more air. Then, the angry is repressed. I never talk about it. The angry just becomes deflated. Over time I've gotten very good at avoiding this emotion. With a religious upringing I've even been told my church "It is sinful to be angry" and that "we need to be more like Jesus and become righteous in our behaviors".

"SCREW YOU ALL JESUS GETS ANGRY TO!"
"Angry is natural"
"Anger is not bad."
"A legitimate response to an injustice is ANGER"

So many times in my life I've received the message that I need to have forgiveness and peace. I've been told I'm not receiving peace because I'm sinful or I have UN-confessed sin in my life. What I think is UN-confesed is how pissed off I feel about being told it's not okay to be angry.

GET YOUR ANGRIES OUT Has an article describing healthy and unhealthy anger and ways to express the anger. I found the website helpful to a point. I feel that the ways to decompress from anger are good and people should utelize them when they are angry. However, in my circumstance I feel that I had pent up anger that is a different type of anger. I'm still working on figure out how to be healthy about it. Obviously repressing it this whole 10 years is not healthy. One particularly interesting point was to draw a picture of your anger. This is mine:

Is it just me, or are other people's lives this chaotic?

"Ladies and Gents don't mess with fierce and f*%#@ed up"

My day started with waking up after rape dreams in a hot sweat. When I showed up to work, all the lights were off. It's very cold in Oregon this time of year so I shivered trying to fumble with my keys in the frozen lock. This probably gave the proper amount of time for someone sneaking around in the office to set up a scare post. As I came through, I thought it was weird the computer was on ( I usually have to turn it on). While I am beginning to type in my code for the day out screams the other dental assistant. My body became rigid, nauseous and like I would pass out. I fell backwards and horror movie screamed. She laughed. "Got you good that time!" When I pulled my ass back into my body I panted a wimpy, "I have PTSD! damn". "OH! So you don't like gettin scared then" as she laughed.

Therapy tonight. It's been on the horizon and has finally arrived. My ability to repress everything is going well. I absolutely can't begin to decide what to talk about tonight. There's too much. Then, I panicked. What if I can't get feedback on all my issues? Blog about it.

The last 10 days of work it turned out that I've only worked 4.25 of them. Yeah, I busted up my hand but I was trying to come back and was told not to. At work every little thing I do just seems wrong. I'm being called out every morning. I show up for chart huddle in the morning with a smile and a can do attitude only to be shattered by my boss's bright blue sticky note. The words on that note state: (patient's name) chart note COMPLETELY WRONG, (patient name) chart not MANY MISTAKES, or today's note that said several patient names with the words COME DISCUSS ALL WRONG. My self esteem is so high. It would be alright if the things they had told me to fix months ago would have been explained a little better. That's not the case though. In my feeble attempt at understanding the UN-understandable, I've apparently made myself and everyone else look like complete retards. Oh that was the exact wording. "You are making it seem like you are retarded". Did my boss call me stupid? Holy shit that can't be happening. I just stood there with turds in my pants thinking GOD HELP ME HAVE CONFIDENCE! My lip just quivered and I said okay a lot. Every mistake she corrected, "okay". It was like I wanted a mantra for myself in those moments to tell myself I was going to be okay!

• my chart notes are "retarded"
• Every time I'm in a procedure I'm corrected in front of a patient (which has not happened before)
• Rudely pulled to the side to be told about mistakes I should have known already even though I had never been told something.
• "You must have forgotten but bla bla bla is the new procedure make sure to correct accordingly". Yeah well you never told me that before now.
• "I can't use that right now, that is the wrong instrument for this particular thing, get me the right one, I thought you knew that before we can't use it for this". Um, NO! You have NEVER said that to me before now.
  
• Don't bother coming in today just stay in your jammies. Too bad I'm already on my way in!
• Turns out we don't need you to come in until the afternoon.
• I don't want you deciding to assist me on your own you need to ask me first at the end of each day. We need to keep more control over that sort of thing. Don't assist me we have it covered by the other person so just do whatever it is that needs to be done when you don't assist me.
• I'm patronized like I can't even begin to explain. I have to give scenarios like: "Listen to me read this and you tell me what sounds more stupid." Reads chart note in a proper tone. "okay"? Reads chart note in hillbilly tone. "Can you tell me which one is the right way to say this"? Giant grin, "Good job, now lets go to the next one"

I also had a full on mental breakdown on Wednesday after work. The oppression had begun and was piling up on me. My body couldn't understand what was actually happening to it. That's when rage came out. It felt so good to scream. People forget that when you are raped at 12, your life gets put on hold, your development is on hold. I have the emotional range of a 12 year old. Too bad I'm 23 and the world thinks it's unacceptable. Most 12 year old's experience rage early in their relationships with people and learn who is bad who is good and how to determine if someone is about to be bad. Also, they learn how to cope with this new emotion of rage. I'm still at the people care about me part. NOT ACTUALLY TRUE! Just realized how many people actually don't care and that that world is full of them. I believe I have the greatest husband in the world. He channeled his inner 12 year old boy and remembered the rage he once experienced and coached me on how to release the beast within. I never wanted to blow something up more badly in my entire life and Office space the shit out of everyone. We got KFC chicken and it was the greatest decision of the entire week. I spent that night eating stupid amount of mashed potatoes and watching mean girls. Bitches.

Schedule for today was supposed to go like this:
Go to work
Work
Have lunch
Work
Get cavity filled in my tooth that hurts that I've been trying to have filled for over 6 months.
Go home
Get beautified and wrap up white elephant Christmas gifts
Pick up Husby
Go to therapy
Go to Christmas Party

How it's turning out today:
Work
Get told to leave work early because they called another assistant in
Deposite the biggest check of the month $800 knowing I won't make much next time around
Angry blog and listen to gangsta ass music to get pumped up and reassured I'm way more bad ass than this shit going down lately.

Not this again...

The time is 3:35am. It's cold. It's December. The only way I travel around the house is by the glow of Christmas lights hanging on our house. Last night was a rare event. Husby and I drank adult eggnog and bourbon while watching several classy Christmas movies to drink to. I fell asleep in his lap around 9pm. He had a comforting sort of delirium about him. I got plenty of bourbon kisses and he woke me up to help me get to bed. I was sleeping just fine. My dreams weren't sticking, I wasn't completely wasted, our room is very comfortable, and Husby was especially cuddly. For some fucked up reason however, I am sitting here wide eyed and anxious.

Glass of water in hand.

My mind is having a hard time compartmentalizing lately. Events in my life have large impacts on my brain. The smaller the even the more I feel I can't figure out how to cope. Example: I had an argument with Husby and went to work kind of sad and red eyed. I was emotionally distracted because I didn't know how to put that feeling into me and lock it up. A coworker of mine asked me about myself, how I was doing, etc. I spilled that we had had a rough morning and I'm feeling like a doormat. My coworker exclaimed that indeed I was a huge doormat with no self esteem. Later she gave me advice/counseling about how I need to work on developing more as to not be a wet blanket. I just stared at her because again, I don't know how to handle that sort of thing especially from someone at work. That night I wrote a text message to her letting her know it was nice she was thinking about me and was nice and friendly to offer advice. I'm struggling in that area so her advice didn't really work out for me in that particular situation.

Then, I busted up my hand at work that same day. Work told me to take a week off because of it being a workplace injury they didn't want a liability around until my hand healed. I'm having a hard time with being asked how my hand is doing. When I say I'm OK to come back, work says no, not yet.

Online I read this coworkers status who gave me the advice that states:

you must be mistaking me with someone who cares. Buck up, quit cryin and face life's challenges with less whining and get on with it. And you mothers out there, keep doin what you're doin. We get peed on, puked on, drooled on and cried on, and we keep doin it daily and don't complain

#1 isn't that complaining? #2 is this about me? #3 usually when I have to ask is this about me it's usually not and I understand that. My TRAUMA brain however, seems to think everything is danger especially making people upset. This particular person has not talked to me, not responded to anything I've said to her. Prior to the incident she offered to buy me and my Husby dinner out. She has offered for us to come over for dinner. I want to say she is dealing with something and it's seriously not that I came to work over a week ago sad. Trauma says otherwise. He says, "She hates you, clearly she wrote her status update after your text about the advice. Why should she care about you? There's no one that cares and you put burden on them with your problems so really girl you need to stop sharing with people."

I hate Trauma. He just likes to stress me out. Especially at this crazy stupid early hour of the morning when I'm trying to compartmentalize and SLEEP!

Other news: I made a pot call to my connection and didn't get any. I am reevaluating that idea of smoke pot and your life will become better. My life is pretty far from pot solving all my issues. I couldn't sleep because I started this roller coaster ride of all my issues. Trauma is super helpful at pointing it all out to me. He sometimes even remembers the darkest corners of repression that gets my nausea going. Which brings me to the present moment where I felt so sick I had to get up and wander around the house with a glass of water.

NOTE TO SELF: It's fucking scary as shit when you're on the verge of a complete flashback marathon, to walk ALONE through a dimly lit house, naked, safe for a giant blanket that sneakily knocks things over!

1 almost heart attack later, sleep is still not coming back to me. I have this sense of deep pain in my chest like the sad is stuck in there but there's not a way to let it out. To better explain and picture what happens to me I prefer to give Sad and Trauma human characteristics. They are kind of best friends because Trauma forced sad to tag along with him. Sad is stuck inside of me and usually cries

Your brain on truama

"Press his shirt, cook a roast, and don't throw up after sex"

I went surfing and found some information explaining to my self what is probably happening in my mind. The first one is called Sex after Rape. My take on it goes something like this:

• Become a whore to prove that I'm definitely not affected by Mr. Rapist.
• Try to figure out what I like and how I like it which I nev er got the chance to know what I like prior to rape incident or post incident. Prog ress on that one is slowed, I just go with the flow. Can't say I've ever been decisive.
• Fear of rejection
• Fear of crying
• Crying before, during, after. Mostly always after.
  
• Experiencing pain in ways people usually associate extreme pleasure
• Washing mouth out
• Panic
• Mean thinking about myself
• Nightmares
  
• Becoming trapped feeling or squashed like I can't breath. That usually leads to physically pushing away the trapping feeling.
• The Yucky butterflies which I use to describe the indescribable; Vomit filled, horror stomach. Happens when becoming aroused or on rare o ccasion while reaching climax.

The article talks about how to handle someone who experiences all of that. I have no idea how to handle it so if anyone actually wants to learn, I'm not a good teacher on that.

The second site I found was in attempt to understand WHAT IS GOING ON IN MY MIND! I seriously consider that I have multiple personality disorder or schizophrenia. This Psychology thing talks about how people with trauma actually have something else going on in their mind. It goes like this:

Trauma happens, the brain tries to protect itself, the person tunes out/zones out, and the person has a hard time coming back to reality.

WE ACTUALLY LEAVE REALITY. I can't stress that enough. I love that it's a fact. Before I seriously thought something was wrong with me. The moments I chose to dissociate weren't the best times in my adolescence due to the environment I was usually in. Partying, sexual games, drugs, people who I thought were friends who I found out later were enemies. As a teenager I had no help. I quit counseling. I quit talking and began repressing. It's a great tactic until you actually do find yourself dissociating. Anyways, The article talks about how it is an actual, real thing that trauma victims do to protect themselves.

I wish I could go back in time and tell all the people who I thought were friends how I really feel now. I'd tell them how wrong they were to drag me out of the party and put me on the lawn, turn the sprinklers on to get me soaked. That environment was so similar to my rape incident that I became the greatest form of entertainment. Especially because everyone wants to see a drunk girl with PTSD acting crazy in the backyard. Assholes.