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: