Sunday, February 5, 2012

Virgin Boozing and Pee Shame.


The party was going to go down in a few hours. I was living in the basement of my parent's house. My mom didn't care I wanted to go out as long as I let her know where I was going. Of course I lied, "Mom I'm going to a friends house to spend the night and watch movies". I knew I was heading out to a night of uncertainty and excitement. No one had ever asked me to a party before. I was to be picked up by a guy I never met. He had seen a photo of me at the house the party would be at. My friend and I had taken those stupid photo booth pictures at the roller skate park the year before. She liked to hang them in her room. I suppose he thought I was cute because he offered to pick me up.

The truck was loud when it pulled into the drive. I had on torn up jeans and a yellow tank top. Before I left the house, I checked my boobs to make sure they were touching in the front and put on a super sparkling necklace of a gun.

The front door of the house was tall, thick oak and glossy with a large vintage handle. As soon as I opened it I realized how cold the summer night had become. "Mom, Dad! I'm leaving!" They were watching the news. When I ran down the driveway I did a little spirit finger wave at the guy in the truck. He leaned over and popped the handle for me. The car had torn fabric seats and smelled musty. I climbed up awkwardly with a smile trying to scoop the assorted receipts and wrappers onto the floor as I sat down next to him. We made small talk. I mostly just told him how to get back to the main road from our house in the woods. My shivers were hard to stifle. I've always been a loud chatterer. He turned on the heater knowingly and smiled at me. The air warmed with a smell of old fries and stale car freshener.

Once we arrived at the house party, I jumped down from the truck and walked briskly to the door. I'd been to the house before several times but I decided to knock anyways. No one answered the knocking. The guy from the truck came from behind. He reached around me to open the way to the dark thumping revelry. My eyes stung immediately. I coughed a few times. The smell of cigarettes and incense filled my lungs. There were glowing posters all around. There weren't any introductions.

I moved through the house alert and nervous clinging to the idea that I might find my friend. She was sitting on the lap of her boyfriend of 3 years. Everyone knew they were fucking each other. They regularly would leave social events to go do it in random places. One summer I was over, we tried to look like we could play basketball outside. We had more fun leaning on the extra cars in the street and bobbing our head to the bass. They did it in the car we were leaning on. He liked to pressure her to do it in public. I could tell she liked the attention. The guys would cheer them on but I doubt they could hear with the deafening stereo.

She squealed and jumped off his lap when I came through the beaded door frame. We hugged. She told me to sit by her and her man. The chair was old and one of the legs was rickety. On the table in front of us was a giant bubbling vase. Smoke spiraled from nearby nostrils. Black light poured over us illuminating the stained carpet and neon nail polished fingers. Everyone was staring at me waiting for me to make a move. I felt like Alice in Wonderland. My anxiety was up; I didn't want to be thought of as a weed. "Here sip on this". My friend handed me a cold lemonade mixture. She knew I had never drank before. Ice cold stinging liquid rushed in my mouth. I choked and laughed handing the glass back to her. The guy from the truck asked me if I'd ever drank before. I shrugged at him. He disapeared through the beaded doorway. Upon reappearing he had two glasses full. He handed me the glass."Drink up Sweetheart we threw you the party". Everyone in the rabbit hole chanted at me "drink, Drink DRINK". With my eyes shut tight I sat up straight on my chair took a deep breath and downed the whole glass. My tank top caught the spill over and I wiped my face on my arm in victory.

The guy from the truck smelled like liquor and cologne next to me. The music pounded in my head. My hair was tangled and wrapped around my face. We were laying on floor together laughing and singing loudly. "Are you drunk?" I shouted at him "No!" with my eyes shut tight. "I have to pee". He helped me up from the floor. It felt as thought I stood still and the floor fell from below me. I stumbled head heavy to the door holding truck guy's hand for as long I could to maintain balance.

My skin was hot and clammy. I felt far away from the face in the mirror. Dizziness clouded my perception. There was a brush on the counter. I ran it through my hair in attempts to feel more beautiful. My shirt was stained and wrinkled from heavily chugging the elixir of popularity. When I turned around I noticed the toilet hadn't been cleaned in weeks possibly longer. I tried to hover pee and hold my panties away from the seat. There was a mirror on the back of the door to witness my calamity and wavering. I have never felt more shame with myself in the mirror.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

Cruising Through Life Carrying Around Trash


I spy....Wait, why are there always pills everywhere?


What has my life become? Part of therapy last Friday was discussing how my lack of organization is actually causing more pain. I know already I don't sleep out of worry and anxiety. When I wake up I run around bat shit crazy in worry and anxiety. Friday I hit the wall and hard. Never has this ever occurred to me until just now whilst trying desperately to work on some therapy homework while I'm sick out of work. I couldn't find anything. It's maddening. I think the problem lies in the way I am so disorganized. My current lifestyle has me chucking it all in my purse on the go only to never fish it out again. I have this terrible don't give a fuck attitude about organizing. Usually that's a good outlook on life. Don't give a rats and you won't have to carry around the world on your shoulders. For me though, it's more of a I can't be bothered with that right now I barely have a grip on my sanity. Out of frustration and desperation (which is how I find myself doing everything) I shook my purse out onto the dining table.

Things the internet says I need to keep my purse organized given the current situation.
Receipt Wrangler- For those who have money to spend and receive loose papers.

Makeup tote of cupcake amazingness. Roman McCall Zips is a shop on Esty that has super cute purse accessories for organizing. This one for $9 is amazing and I'm in love love love with it. I'm also in love with the part I've just discovered Etsy and now I will never have to leave my house to go shopping again.

Also on Etsy which I am soon purchasing, are these more than fabulous pill cases which feature my favorite bitchy sarcastic pinup girls. Sweetheart Sinner Creations has captured my heart.

Medication is only a few days away for me so I need something fun and sarcastic to help make it sweeter since I absolutely hate this idea of having to take anti anxiety meds.

Monday, January 30, 2012

Everlasting Super Glue

What does it feel like to lose your virginity to someone you don't marry? That's something I've been battling with for a very long time. 10 years? yeah. That's a good number. It makes me angry when teenagers say oh hey he loves me like it matters now. What is love? Commitment. Christ. So much more than what I felt then. It makes me angry at myself when I hear myself saying that same phrase. What hurts more knowing you can't ever get that piece of yourself back? Knowing that the person you gave it to wasn't going to be worth the heartache?

You cross my mind often. It's mostly out of guilt and anger. I was such a child. We didn't know what we were doing when we started this international affair. There was so much I wanted to say but with media it was so simple for you to block me. Maybe you just wanted to ignore what happened. Don't feel as though I care for you now at all. There's more pain there than anything else. I'm not innocent now and I know the break shattered us both.

I heard a sermon the other day how intimacy with another person is like pressing your super glue onto their super glue and letting it get hard. The longer and more super glue you add the harder it is to pull apart. I've accidentally stuck my thumb to my finger before. I tried everything to pull it apart. I even stuck a needle through the glue and poked myself. I started bleeding even before I could be released. That's how it felt with you. Pressure, pain, the sting of your words. The skin peeled off and the super glue was still stuck to my finger.

I knew you weren't satisfied with what I had to offer. You must have been hungry and gave in to temptation. I forgave you for those moments. You misunderstood me though. I had a twisted sense of what it meant to show love to another person. I had thought that was how. My mind and I had a long conversation every time. " Yeah, he will definitely love me more".

We didn't know love. We knew addiction and you were a drug to me in my terror and insecurities. I'd like to think you never knew that I had a problem. If you treated me poorly out of ignorance. I traded my innocence for a chance at acceptance and comfort. I felt like being held under hot water to drown and burn and you were the way out.

Why did you say I was so ugly no wonder I was adopted my own mother didn't even want me?



I don't want you in my thoughts anymore. They won't leave me though. The super glue went everywhere you touched me.

It's Not Our Fault We Learned It From An Adult

Fa la la la la


More fabulous inspiration songs

Thunder Crying and Egg Face


Oh you know just a little cure for weakness


Therapy has been going well but I ended up pushing it too hard. I had it in my head that I'd hurry up and get all the bad out of me. I guess the hope was that once the bad was out I'd feel better. Turns out that hyper speeding through therapy is actually damaging. Who knew?

Friday I had therapy again. This was the first session I had that my body actually cried when I slumped onto the couch in exhaustion. I didn't think that hour would come the week before. There are moments where I feel like I won't make it. My trauma brain says I'll probably die. Friday comes and I don't die.

After therapy I came home and experienced the most raw intense cry I've ever had. It was slightly similar to The vicious circle of crying. The weight of this trauma was on me and I was so heavy. The moment I stopped to pick up Husby from the lacrosse field, I lost it. Right there in the car. I started pre-crying. That's when I turned on the worship music full blast. I sang that cry right back into me until home. I ran right through the house WITH MY SHOES ON. I ran past the living room, down the hallway, over to the bed, and I fell flat onto the bed. My soul opened up and the demon of cry came barreling out of me. I was like a child. Eyes shut, crocodile tears poored out of me, head back, mouth opened in contortion. All I could do was cry. Husby helped the best he could given the situation he had earlier in the week with root canals and infections. Usually I would stuff all this trauma back in me some how but not on Friday. Husby took my shoes off, got my socks off, helped me out of my clothes. All I could do was stand there lifting whatever body part needed to be clothed. He put me in his giant college sweatshirt and sweatpants. I needed juice. He put me on the couch and made fresh guava juice. All trauma wanted to tell me was that I didn't deserve his niceties. FUCK YOU TRAUMA. I cried harder.

Over the weekend I got the flu. Woke up today. Mondays. I hate 'em. Sunday night I started my relaxation rituals early. They usually start at 8pm and then sleep at 9. I started at 6. I don't know why but I couldn't stop the tension and ended up with a mini migraine. Trauma brain was in full force telling me all the horrible things about myself life how I'm fat, ugly, probably messed up at work on Thursday so I'll get yelled at first thing in the morning. I put my feet in a bucket of hot water and calming salts. Secretly put tequila in my tea. It's not until this coming Friday I get to try anxiety medications.
Sleep never goes well and this night was particularly awful. Awake at every hour. Woke up looked over 3am. slept. woke up. looked over... 4am. EVERY HOUR. The more I looked at the clock the more anxious I became worried I wouldn't sleep enough. I started mildly dreaming of not getting enough sleep and over sleeping. Woke up an hour and half later than I usually do for work. I put on wrinkled scrubs. For some reason I was covered in sweat. I thought it was my anxiety level. Got to work and took my temperature. 102. FUCK. Tylenol. Temperature again 4 hours later 99.6. Got sent home. I'm glad I pawned my old ex's jewelry for cold and flu medication.

Husby update: He woke up this morning when I was running out the door and says to me,

"baby...?? "Is it normal to have schewwling"

"Uh, no? let me see"

Husby comes through the light like a hunchback of Notre dam all ogre looking and slumpy. His eye, nose, and upper lip looked like someone put an egg in his face.

"Nope, not normal. I'm late. Call the Dr."


Psalm 107:9-21
Then they cried to the Lord in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress; he sent out his word and healed them, and delivered them from destruction. Let them thank the Lord for his steadfast love, for his wonderful works to humankind.