I’ll keep it in mind

Yesterday provided me with two prime examples of ‘shit I put up with’ from my bro. These are small time things, but, that’s typical. My bro is sterling when it comes to big stuff and something akin to rusted iron when it comes to small stuff.

Incident 1: Thursday we ate light. He was headed to choir and we had some left overs to get thru. By around 7 in the evening, I was hungry. So I made a bean burrito (since we had fresh refried beans). Now, my bro told me he was going to make enchiladas. And generally, he makes those from small tortillas and not big tortillas. I took a big tortilla. Naturally, the next day, he complained: he planned to make two pans of enchiladas, one small tortilla and one large tortilla, and I had screwed up his plans by eating one of the large tortillas. I sat there for a moment, feeling the guilt I knew he wanted me to feel. Then I said: So…I screwed up your meals plans of which I knew nothing. He stopped with the direct blame at that point, but still griped about the situation. Also noted: he could have easily run downstairs to Dirk and bought another pack of large tortillas. He didn’t.

Incident 2: For whatever reason, my bro used half a paper towel and stuffed the other unused half in a the paper towel roll. I took that as a ‘use this; I only needed half a sheet’. Unfortunately for me, it was a ‘this is mine; don’t use it’. He’d ‘put it aside’ to use later on. I ask you: how the fuck am I supposed to know that? Again, I had shade thrown on me even tho I’m not a fucking mind reader and he never said shit to me about it.

Today brings incident 3. Those films we picked up at Media Markt: because of his schedule and viewing choices, we hadn’t seen all the films we bought. I checked the last 2 last night because we only have so long to return them. Sadly, the Nun stuttered and stopped about 20 minutes from the end. Apparently, that’s all my fault as well. My bro said he was leaving returning the DVD to me, he didn’t think they’d take it back, and his tone suggested that it was my fault for not viewing all the DVDs earlier.


I am all too well aware of my habit of surrounding myself with narcissists. I was raised in a family run by a narcissist. And I’m aware of the control issues my brother faces, and his autism problem. But I must say, these small incidents trigger my issues with controlling narcissists. I do not feel at fault, yet my brother’s tone of voice and harping continues (at least, to me) to be blaming me. Does not help that I continually felt the scapegoat of the family. My coolly voiced statement yesterday was the best thing I ever did to combat that, but honestly I’m not capable of it each and every fucking time this happens! And no, I don’t want to bring it up casually at some point when it’s not happening to discuss it. Tried that; horrible results. You see, my bro is never wrong. Ever. In his mind, he can twist anything and everything to be external. I recognize that as part of his issue. But I’ve also been the person who’s dealt with it on a daily basis for decades now. And I got my own issues to deal with.

Heading off to do his bidding and see if I can wrangle a new copy out of the store. Yuck. Gotta admit, I don’t want to go out.

So. Here it is: It ain’t my fault. I’ll return the DVD the day after I tried to view it without going on a film bender in order to get thru everything in 24 hrs. I’ll do my usual tidy up in the house. I’ll recognize what’s going on without buying into it.

And I’ll do my best to NOT once again fall into harping at my bro over this…

Zen. Get out, get some fresh air. I still need cotton balls and can pick them up along the way. No reason to rush. My mac computer is still sitting all boxed up. I told him it’s too heavy for me to carry, and he made mention of taking it over to get fixed but so far, nadda. Truly, I can’t carry this thing. I’d hurt myself. So even tho I’m heading right near the fix it shop, I gotta just leave it there. Part of me would like to lug it in. Hurt myself as revenge for his shitty attitude towards me. See? If I’m so much to blame, I’ll fix it even if it kills me.

…Did not really expect that. It’s true, tho. That’s an ugly turd to uncover about myself. Guess I’ve always felt to blame, and always felt I’m the person who has to ‘clean things up’ or make amends no matter what. …And ‘turd’ is the correct noun. I’m a piece of shit. No matter how high I soar, I always come back to that. Not sure why I’m so shitty. Past lives? Bad decisions? Evil influence? Or is it simply, as all the do-gooders of the world would have me believe, my own thoughts that keep me trapped?

Why don’t I deserve kindness?

Good question.

I’ll keep it in mind.

It’s Clear Sailing

Heard from B, an old boss and dear friend of mine. There are only a handful of people I’ve met who I thought were truly good people. They were all patient, thoughtful, and sincere. B was one such person. I was thrilled when I got an email from her reestablishing contact. She sent me some bday wishes, and I responded with a heartfelt email. Shared with her my diagnosis as bipolar, and my realization that I suffered child abuse in the form of neglect. As if we’d never been apart, she replied with the same openness and kindness I’ve always known from her. But her confession startled me. Because it’s one hell of a soap opera.

Here’s the skinny: B admitted to me that she and her father-in-law have fallen in love with each other. Yeah. Let that one sink in; it sounds like a plot from Dallas. The dynamics behind such a revelation are complex, of course. Always are. What I was most surprised by was her statement that although she’s deeply in love with him and he with her, she won’t divorce her husband to be with her (current) father-in-law. Not that a divorce would fix that problem! Can’t imagine what family gatherings would be like after that. According to B, everyone knows. Everyone can see it. Everyone, but her husband.

And her husband, sad to say, is committing suicide through torpid obesity. Has been for years; he must have weighed at least 350 lbs the last time I saw him. B said he’s topped 500 lbs and does nothing but sit in front of the tv all day, eating. In many ways, she’s already divorced from him. He doesn’t go anywhere or do anything. She’s essentially living her life by herself, taking holidays by herself (or with her new love), working by herself, just living life, as he sits there and slowly dies. She says she’s doing her best to not enable him, but she’s having a very difficult time with him. I imagine so! It’s got to be tough to watch someone do that to himself.

So, yeah. Fresh gossip! I guess nothing shocks me out of my rut more than that. Is that horrible? I don’t mean it to be. I just mean that kind of honest revelation shakes me up and makes me remember that even the most even tempered of people have mega problems. It’s actually a good thing for me. Helps me remember how we’re all the same. That helps me keep my anger in check. Most of the time.

Can’t help but look at the story aspect of that. It’s not a tale I’d come up with on my own. Then again, that’s true of just about everything I write. I used to write totally fictional material. Now, I write from truth and experience. And it’s not like I even want to! Sometimes I’d like to go off into fairy land. I just can’t anymore. If it doesn’t smack of realism to me, I can’t get it down. On some level, it’s gotta be true. So here it is, all wrapped in a big bow for Xmas. A ‘love’ story. If I choose to write it that way…

Because it’s all the POV (point of view). Saw a Daily Show last night with two guests from a new film project about the emotional impact on prison wardens when dealing with death row inmates. Old story: prison life, man in cell, sentenced to death. The new twist is the hardship and PTSD faced by the wardens. Now, my first thought was: I bet the character facing death wasn’t a child molester. I mean, do wardens feel bad for ALL the death row inmates? Is that even human? My point is, the film picked a specific POV to tell the story and get the emotional impact across. Regular old story telling is like that, too. Who’s your main character? I could tell B’s story from her POV, and it would be interesting. Or her father-in-law’s. But the POV that’s really got me going is her husband’s. The man sitting on the couch, eating himself to death. Focusing on that POV will NOT make it a love story. From his perspective, there is no love. No love from his wife, certainly no love for himself, and probably doubting any love proclaimed by his father. It’s a dark story from his POV. And we all know how I like dark stories!

Class yesterday. It went pretty well. …Nope. That’s a lie. Here’s what happened: The male teacher went off about how all postal delivery people these days are women. I called him out on it, saying that was sexist. It negates every man working in that position, for one thing. Wrong thing to say! The entire class just went dead silent for a heartbeat. I gotta learn to keep my mouth shut at times like that. Not easy. My dad raised me to be argumentative, particular when seated at a table. Meal times were debate times: open to all discussion and punctuated by his infectious laughter and twinkling eyes when I scored a point. I still do that, particularly when triggered by father figures (which, if I’m honest, is underneath everything with that male teacher of mine). But not every man appreciates that kind of person. I kind of think that’s where I’m at: he doesn’t really appreciate it or like it. Then again, he often says things that are blatantly wrong in my opinion, and that’s hard for me to let slide. He’ll say things like: People listen with more than their ears. Silly man! People communicate with more than their words, yes. Body language, voice inflection, and facial movements all play into that. But people listen with their ears. I even close my eyes if I really want to listen to someone. I can’t let such statements stand without challenging them.

On an up note, my Dutch dictation went very well. Very well. We started with something too easy, basically a shopping list. I said it was too easy, and the male teacher (I think, perhaps, there was a little revenge seeking going on?) began reading out a news article from the paper for us as dictation. We went from listing apples and onions to spelling out long complex Dutch words related to government projects. Still, I had very few mistakes. Ha! My reading really has sunk in. I’m beginning to see it myself: there’s very little these free, volunteer run classes can do for me anymore. I’m too advanced. More talking, more reading. That’s about it.

Off to work on my writing. Had a few more thoughts, caught a few more Dutch phrases I want to include in my story.

The day is sunny, and I can’t help but think the thought: It’s clear sailing.

A Good Life Lesson

Tomorrow, 14:05. My bro and I are picking up our new residency cards. Woohoo! I wasn’t kidding when I said all is well. All IS well.

Just off a bit of editing on my second Dutch story writing attempt. Really hoping I’ve done better this time. Used my Google drive, which at least has some auto correction. It’s not catching everything, or I’ve fucked up again, because I’m getting a couple of red lines under a few of my words. Also, google translate isn’t catching all my Dutch phrases. At this point, I’m trusting myself more than than damned machine. Hope I’m right.

T was out biking and running around yesterday, and found a three wheel bike for 300 euro. *ouch* That’s still a bit high for me, but I know it really isn’t. He’s very into buying me a bike I can use around town, and that means a three wheeler because I never did learn how to balance well on a two wheeler and now I’m too damned SCARED to even try because my bones are more brittle and I remember how much falling from a bike can hurt! I gotta just swallow my pride on that and deal. Yeah, I’m ashamed of not being able to ride a regular bike. But most of docs would laugh at the concept now that they’ve had a good look at my body. I’m not built for balance; my hips are uneven and I’ve a curve in my spine that’s practically permanent. My physiotherapist even said it takes me twice as much energy as a normal person just to keep my back straight. I just don’t look it, just like I don’t look my age. Double edged sword, that. Anyhoo, hoping we can put that purchase off at least a month. Gotta say I’m looking forward to good weather and biking around with my bro to all those things I can’t easily get to sans bike. But I AM wincing at the price; once again, I feel like we’re spending a lot of money on me. I guess if I really commit, we can make up the cash paid within a year just on saved metro costs. I’m gonna need better rain gear…

Need to speak to our attorney. It sounds like she’s pushing for permanent residency for us; there’s some language in our IND letters I’ve not fully translated. Gotta say, if there’s some way we can just BE here without the bi-annual upset of applying and hiring accountants and lawyers, it would be great. I think we’re both at a point with the language where we could pass any government test. And we both want to stay here. Without doubt.

First things first, tho. I’ve the go ahead to finally take my old Mac into the shop. -! Maybe before Xmas I’ll have all my old games again. They’ll be like new to me by then. Plus, I can get all my passwords and writing off. That’ll be a huge weight off my mind. Just gotta lug it over there now.

The weather remains wet, windy, and dark. Considering the snow (or rain, or fires) I’ve seen in other places, I can’t complain. I know we still need the water, and Rotterdam has a decent chance of withstanding a bit of drought due to it’s water policies (something I should really research more; there’s a story in there!). Does not make me feel like ‘Hey, yeah! Let’s go outside!’, tho. I just stare every day out at the encroaching darkness. It’s become a thing with me. I’m doing a dangerous thing: looking into the dark, wanting to see something. Yep. Not too smart. I know that. Look, and ye shall see.

Guess I’m still looking for inspiration. Saw some very clever videos, done far better than I think my small group could do. I want something original. Naturally. Right now my brain is locked up into compartments: a certain percentage are make-up orientated, a certain percentage are music orientated with weird visuals, and another percentage are “real” vids, or shot as real. Stalkers, found footage, exploring in the dark. Creepy games, ouija boards, seances. My head goes round and round, no new ideas popping up. Variations of my own, but nothing that’ll stand out as truly original. Yet. I’ve an idea or two for a pre-cursor video series for the actual film, but I’m not sure about the shock factor of it. I mean… The shock factor is high. Maybe too high. We may very well get banned due to the nature of it; it involves self harm and suicide. Of course, doing it with a shit load of warnings and age restrictions and such may just work in our favour. Nothing does better than hyping how horrible and dangerous a vid is.

Gotta run that past everyone.

For now, tho, I’m not saying much. Sure everyone is busy with school and the holidays. I’ll pass a birthday wish S’s way on the 26th, but other than that, nothing. We’ve still zero funds, and even the idea of shooting short vids to up our visibility and get a following is on hold.

You know what, tho? I’m ready to let it go. Just approach every scene on the spot. Give motivation, what each person is trying to accomplish. But let go of the written dialogue and written ideas. See what happens naturally.

Yikes. Sounds like I’m finally ready to move forward with the project. Because letting go is the only way it’ll get done!

That’s a good life lesson.

All is well

Friday. It’s grey, cold and wet outside – and all is well.

All is well number 1: Our attorney rang my bro yesterday. Our stack of papers did the trick and we should expect notice to come down and get our pix taken, etc, for our new residency cards. WHOO-HOO!!! For the first time since coming here, we will not face a backlash of thousands in debt at the beginning of the year. This year, we even have a bit of extra cash due to the monetary exchange being a bit more in our favour. My bro can invest in his work and a bit of marketing. I can buy a new pair of pants and not worry about heading up to Amersfoort in late January.

All is well number 2: Saw Dr T yesterday. Looked up my records here so I could note the exact dates of my heavy depressive period. We spoke – mostly in Dutch – and he said it’s not uncommon for bipolar people to also suffer from season affected disorder. He’s watched me now long enough to think that may be the problem. He even looked up one of those lamps for me online. Two hundred euro for one that he says is good. Ugh! For now, the dumps are over. I’ll see if I can save enough money before next autumn to buy myself one of the lamps. In the meantime, Dr T was pleased over my realization that I was being triggered by my mother issues. Spoke briefly about that, and how she forbade me to discuss my depression. His fingers never stopped typing, as usual. And, before I move on, I gotta once more say how GREAT it is to have a shrink who’s into horror. He gave me the names of two well known Dutch horror and sci fi writers because he knows I’m into that. Hells Bells! I even opened up about the incident I experienced here in Rotterdam down the the grove (he asked me about my writing, and that’s what I’m working on). I didn’t own up to the whole path stretching out after I was inside it. Nope. But I did tell him about the thing in the trees, and he had as perplexed a look as I once I explained how strange it all was.

All is well number 3: My bro is in good spirits. He’s suggested a trip out to Hoek van Holland for a meal as well as a trip to Amsterdam. Cool. We’ll get out and do a few things, see a few things. I like it. Now we just need the weather to clear up a bit. I mean, if I’m gonna travel somewhere new I want to SEE what’s there, not get a vague impression of the place in the fog! Looking forward to walking around the new LEGO shop in Amsterdam. I’m a geek, and I want to geek out on all the cool stuff I never could build. I have zero building genes in me.

All is well number 4: Tonight is pannenkoeken night. ‘Nuff said. 😉

All is well number 5: My brain activity is tight.  I don’t know how else to say it. Been doing sudoku puzzles and having the visualization of numbers moving and changing on the paper, finding the correct combination. It’s weird. Almost like my head is a bear trap, setting things up and then quickly snapping everything into place. BANG! I fill the puzzles in. Cool. My logic is at a high point. That’s helpful with everything.

All is well number 6: Feeling good physically. The psoriasis on my feet has pulled back, my back doesn’t hurt, and I’m not having any headaches or other annoying problems. Do gotta get back to the gym. No doubt. But I’ll take a pain free pudgy self right now, so no dissing myself!

All is well number 7: Told my bro about the contact lenses I was thinking of buying. He said now that our immigration issue is over, he’ll transfer extra funds to my account so I can go online and purchase what I want. Wow! Jazzed about it now!! It will actually feel a bit like Xmas if can buy a few things for myself this month.

All is well number 8: It’s Friday. I’ve a whole weekend ahead of me to whatever I please. That’s always a plus.

All is well number 9: My anger is no longer getting triggered while I sleep. For a while, I was waking up and yelling at the tv. Not a good space to start the day! I just wake up now. No built up anger from un-remembered dreams. Better for me, better for my bro. Better for the whole house!

…That’s a lot to be thankful for in a very short period of time. My depression is over, I can do things again, we’re not under financial pressure or anxiety… It’s almost a bit overwhelming in its positivity. And I really don’t know how to handle positives in my life. So, I’m going to just continue as is. Hang out, watch vids, play games, work on my writing, but not push myself too much. Obviously, this is the correct path. Dominoes don’t just fall like that if you’re on the wrong path. Just…keep on keepin’ on. And don’t freak out.

All is well.

The Story of My Life

My dispassionate ass-sitting has passed on with barely a ruffle in my feathers. I just woke up two days ago with an agenda to get things done and set to work. No more squandering hours down the YouTube rabbit hole. Seems I skipped past the days of bitching about having to get back to work and just did it.

Hair experiment: I’ve lost track of where I am with applications. Can say I’ve used castor oil every time I shower, which is generally twice a week. Love. my. hair. So soft! Actually used the hair dryer yesterday (low setting, cool heat). My hair can take it, and didn’t flake out and get all frizzy. Frizz over all is down; my hair is smoother. Wish I could say the same about hair loss. No difference from what I’ve seen. But I’m sold on the whole oil as conditioner.

New experiment: ridding myself of the years of lime deposits on the taps in the flat. Mashed together three people’s recommendations, using white vinegar (heated), baking soda, and cotton balls. A bit of scrubbing with an old toothbrush the next day, and viola! I could see the shine of the WC tap for the very first time. Can’t wait to do the rest of the taps.

My bro picked up a huge book of Dutch sayings for me. Yikes! It’s a library book, so I’m limited on time and certainly can’t mark it up. May search it out in a book store; valuable stuff. And it’s gonna take a long time to read. There has to be at least 600 pages…

Been reading papers and listening to the tv, but not doing much in the way of language. Instead, my brain is focused on solving killer sudoku puzzles. Why? Beats the hell out of me. It’s almost a crazed feeling at night. Must think, must solve. Feels like I’m trying to put some order to my brain, if I’m honest. That can’t be bad.

May order some special contact lenses for the anticipated video shoot. Don’t know for sure yet, but I’d like to. Problem? I think they’re only good for six months, and I can’t think of many things to use them for other than the vid shoots, so they may be a one time use thing. Hm. Amount of cash spent vs. anticipated impact in the shots. Gotta mull that one over for a bit.

We are scheduled to hear from immigration by 16 December. Hoping all is well. The lawyer sent over a stack of 400 or more supporting papers; she sent my bro a pic of it. Huge stuff. It’s gonna take a gov’t employee the full time just to go thru those papers. Crossing our fingers and keeping our chins up that all will be well. My bro has even suggested we take a day trip up to Amsterdam after we get our okay to see the new Lego flagship store.

Glad December is here. Between Xmas and New Years, I’m guaranteed time off from language class and all other obligations. May take that time to write. Been thinking loads about short vid ideas mingled with longer stories; time to get some of it out of me. Time to take a stab again at writing in Dutch, too. Maybe I can come up with something to pass by my teachers. Tho, this time, I don’t think I’m gonna say ‘okay’ to sharing it with the class. Unless I think it’s stellar.

Have found our purchase of that cheap 4 DVD set of horror was a GREAT buy. Watched all 4 films now, and I’m happy with them. Will gladly watch them all again. Picked up a Justice League for 6 or 7 euro yesterday. Bro’s choice; I’m on board because of Wonder Woman. Fat, greasy Ben playing Batman can suck off. Ugh. I hate even thinking about having to watch his scenes… My vote yesterday was for a couple of other films, both of which were ruled out by my bro. He does that to me a lot: asks me what I want, then puts down my choice and gives me a choice from what he wants. Fine, fine. I’m not that sussed about it most of the time. But it does sometimes act like a burr under my skin. Just want to make sure that won’t happen now. He did it; I acknowledge he did it and I just gave in rather than push for something I really wanted. He’ll watch the film more than me, but that’s okay. We don’t have to be bleeding identical, and I AM allowed my own opinion and thoughts.

For some reason, the pharmacy has not received my prescription for methotrexate. The folic acid went thru. That’s doubly weird, because the doc put both meds on the same notice. I called and asked the doc’s office to send it again. But still nothing. *sigh* What a tangled web. I did find an extra box of methotrexate tucked away, so I’m not without for a few weeks. But I do have to sort it.

Need to pick up my other meds, too. Yeesh! I wish to the Goddess that they’d just send them to me. They know when I’m due to pick up more. My prescriptions haven’t changed for a long time now. Just…gimme! Without hassle, please!

Today: run around dealing with medications. Pick up more cotton balls so I can continue the tap cleaning. We’re set for a sunny day, so I’ll use it. Fresh air and movement and all that (blah, blah). Finally cracked my shrink’s hand writing. It looks like my next appointment is 8 December, but that’s a Sunday. Ah! It’s a 5, not an 8. I’m seeing him this Thursday. Good. Loads to tell him. Not that any of it will matter; the worst is over. He won’t have seen it once again. It will just be a tale I tell him as he takes notes.

That’s the story of my life.

Getting my freak on

Let my fingers do what they were meant to do…

One thing I’ve become aware of: I have an innate sense that there is a consciousness to things we can’t see. My forages into horror and supernatural all carry that. Search for it and it will turn its eyes to you. See it and it will see you. This is a repetitive theme in my work. And it’s there because that’s been my experience.

Strong sense of the house being under attack. Even my bro has mentioned that; he’s been having strange nightmares. My sleep has been weirdly black. I don’t remember anything about any dreams. Thinking I may need to keep a notepad and pen by my bed and write things down because I also have this strange sense I’ve been confronted by nightmares and weird settings in my own dreams. I get a semi deja vu feeling during the day, like whatever I’m doing is triggering some half hidden sleep memory.

No family member (other than T) remembered my bday or sent any birthday wishes my way. I dithered on sending a bday wish to my cousin who’s bday is 4 days after mine. Ended up wishing him a happy bday on FB. Have heard nothing in return. He’s not even hitting the ‘like’ button.

Have to get out and back to the gym. My hips are starting to freeze up and really hurt. Ugh. Hate that the solution to pain is work, and even when I feel pain I’ve gotta work thru it. Where are my feel good pills? I don’t get any.

Went out for a light meal yesterday and stopped by the Alexandrium Media Markt. They’re not the best for film deals, but we were right in the area. Picked up a 4 DVD set of horror/thriller films for 3,99. And, WOW! Harry Potter finally went thru puberty. I’ve got the proof; a film called ‘Horns’. I actually had to google it to make sure it WAS Harry. His voice has finally lost that high, nasal quality and deepened. He’s even learned to act. I was quite impressed. Can’t wait to watch the other films. Even if they’re bad, they’re worth the few pennies we spent. I can make fun of a film just like MST. Get me going and I’ll do the entire film for you, complete with voices.

Been looking for and finding good Tik Tok videos. I think that may be the platform we go with for our shorts, and I wanted to educate myself. Yep. Came up with a few stellar ideas to showcase both my make-up skills and the company’s music. The horror vids will be easy. I know, for a fact, that if we stay up with the idea of filming scary stuff, scary stuff will happen. Always does. Been thinking a lot about it, as a matter of fact…

Then again, I’ve delved deep into the whole ‘matrix’ theory, too. Talk about a line of thought that will make you lose your mind! Not that it’s a new theory to me. Long ago, I embraced the entire idea that life is simply a shadow play. Our eyes don’t really see what’s in front of us; we see only the light reflected off things (ergo, we don’t really see objects, just light reflections). So, how deep do you go? Do you embrace that to your core and ignore what’s going on in front of you because it’s not real? Do you try to find balance? That’s been my goal: balance. Keeping my feet on the balance lines of our ‘reality’ as I try to remember none of it’s real. I’ve lived and died already. I’m here and not here. I’m nothing; just a small collection of random atoms. And I am everything, because consciousness trumps all.

Yeah. Down the rabbit hole once again.

I guess I never worried too much about losing my marbles. I’ve always gone after the deepest lines of thought, willing to take them to the extreme. That’s playing with fire. I know it! You don’t have to tell me. It’s also what I feel compelled to do. So, you know: Get your freak on, girl!

Lines have to be drawn, of course. This is not standard conversational material. Too often I’ve run into people who refuse to believe that thoughts have any affect on reality. How sad! I just can’t talk to them on a certain level. They’re stuck in a place I left long ago. Yet, these are the same people who will spout shit about ‘positive thinking’ to depressed people. Yes: contradiction in it’s fullest. You’d think (or I would, at least) that I’d be old enough to NOT be amazed every time I run into one of these idiots. But, no-o-o-o-o! Every time I’m gob smacked at their total ignorance, denial and contradiction.

*sigh* Then again, I can’t seem to get over my amazement at stupid people on the metro. Yesterday a woman got in front of me three bleeding times as I tried to pass her by. Three times! I was at her damned left shoulder, and there’s no WAY she didn’t see me at least in her peripheral vision. But, I moved to the right, she moved to the right. I moved to the left, she moved and blocked me again. I’m sorry, but it gets to a point where I’ve GOT to believe it’s purposeful because it happens repeatedly. And it drives. me. mad.

I’ve really gotta create some monster that kills stupid people. Just stupid people.

Been reluctant to really put anything to paper. Or, put to it screen. Is it appropriate to say ‘put it to paper’ anymore? Probably not. Probably one more sign I’m old. …Gods! See how much I’m skipping around it? I feel like there’s something that’s preventing me from writing. Or it’s scaring me enough I don’t want to write it. Because once I write it, it’s real. It’s in the ether. Growing.

And this thing – I don’t know what shape it will take; it’s only a thing – is already awake and looking at me. I know! I know. Beeps, you’re really getting paranoid. Get the fuck out of the house and stop watching horror stuff.

But, baby… This is me getting my freak on. I get off on it.


All I’m really asking for

Happy birthday to me. Fifty-four. No longer ‘almost 54’, but 54 proper.

My bro has made my day as good as possible. Low key, definitely. I’m no longer the 20 (or 30 something) it chick who wants to party, party, party for an entire week. A good day with no upsets, some delicious food and a good film is all I ask for. Today I’m promised my brother’s unrivalled turkish pizza, with long simmered meat and veg. My mouth is already watering. We also went out to Bol.com and ordered some cheap films and entertainment. Tonight is a double billing: The Conjuring 1 and 2. I’ve also got Alien Covenant (another double bill with Prometheus) and Season 4 of the The Magicians (can’t wait to glut on THAT run!). To round out my order, I included Krampus, a Dutch Xmas nasty. What a dink! Even for my b-day happiness I have to work on the language.

Had yet another run in with the residents from two floors below us. This time, it was the oldest daughter (the one that pushed me). She shoved her way into the building after me and left the door, which has a magnetic lock, barely closed. I told her to make sure the door closed after her. Her reply? I don’t care, said in the most nasty sing-song childish voice you can imagine. Really pissed me off. It also set off all my anxiety over the issue. That night, my brother had band practice and left the flat at 7 pm. I picked up a pair of long, sharp scissors and kept them by me the entire night. Yeah, it was probably overkill. But I felt much safer knowing I had a weapon at hand if something should happen. I’ve also moved around some apps on my phone. Brought up the voice recorder so if I do endure a night of that maniac screaming at my door, I can just hit record and send the entire thing to the landlord.

Saw my very cute physiotherapist. Told him about my anxiety. Mentioned that I’m sure I’m overreacting due to the stalker in my past. That surprised him; apparently I hadn’t brought that tid-bit up. So, he got the run down. I’m kind of…I don’t know; in denial about it? I don’t get emotionally upset about it any more. But it was terrifying at the time: phone calls day and night, demands to meet me or he’d burn my father’s house down and kill him, etc. Combined with the history of physical and emotional abused I’d suffered at my stalker’s hands (he was an ex), it was tough. More than tough; I didn’t feel I could share what was going on with anyone. It was my fault for dating him in the first place, even tho he was scum. It was my fault, and my mess to clean up. I did, eventually. But I had to get through years of emotional upheaval by myself, too. The worst thing that happened, other than all the emotional abuse, was when I did reveal a bit of what was going on to my oldest brother. He said nothing for a moment, then brushed it off. No comment on the fact I was being physically abused. Nothing. No acknowledgement, no empathy, no anger. Just an ‘oh’ and that was that. When T got out of the military and we reconnected, I told him all about the stalker and the abuse. T was so damned angry at the time he almost went out in search of my ex to beat the fuck out of him. T told me I was worth more, that he’d help me get out and away from the situation once and for all. And he did. He’d wake up in the middle of the night after I’d had horrible nightmares, just to talk me down. For years. And I know if I should suffer a nightmare tonight, all I’d need to to would be to knock on his door and he’d be up in an instant, talking with me. THAT’S a brother. Not what my oldest brother did. I don’t know what the fuck that was. Just another example of my fucked up family, I guess…

So, I’m gonna open up my games and see if I win some free life hours. I’ll go out to YouTube and glut on weird videos. I’ve got one of my fave meals from my fave chef tonight, followed up by a glut of really good horror (SO excited!). The sun is shining, so if I feel like a walk I can just go outside in the fresh air.

It’s lining up to be a pretty good day. And that’s all I’m really asking for.

How to Raise a Serial Killer in Three Easy Generations

*WARNING! This post is meant as satire, but contains language and ideas that may be very triggering to some.*

Once again, last night between midnight and 1 a.m. I was treated to the guy two floors below me blowing his stack. Screaming at something or someone. I sent a note to the landlord this morning, who responded within minutes. Going to write a note in Dutch to the people below our flat and ask them to contact the landlord corroborating my information. We gotta get these people out of here.

Woke up angry due to lack of sleep. That wasn’t helped by watching the news. Saw one interview regarding the percentage of women vs men in the artistic world. Actually heard an old white guy say men had more representation because they worked harder than women. At that point, I began yelling at the tv. My brother changed the channel to cartoons.

So, on these happy notes, I’m gonna get something out of me that’s been simmering for awhile.

How to Raise a Serial Killer in Three Easy Generations

So, you want to let loose the absolute worst in society? Inflict pain on everyone and everything? Don’t despair! Your dreams are only a few generations away.

Raising a killer these days is easy. But raising a serial killer: now that’s a challenge! If you feel up to it and are willing to make a few adjustments to your lifestyle, you too can boast of a serial killer in your family.

Generation One often proves to be the most difficult to get through. It will demand the most time and effort from you, and this proves to be too much for some people, no matter how dedicated to chaos they may claim to be.

The perfect pair to begin your journey is an emotionally unavailable mother combined with an immature father figure. These two archetypes will play off each other well, confusing the second generation’s perceptions of right and wrong. It is far easier to concentrate on the male generations than the female generations! Don’t waste your time on your daughters, just go for the gold. This behaviour, known as ‘the golden child’ syndrome, will give your sons and daughters the very best chance of being unstable, angry individuals. This is key, for their behaviour will reflect and modify the third generation in which your serial killer will be born.

A generous combination of too high expectations combined with angry – and if amenable to you, violent – outbursts towards your male descendants is your strongest option. Scream at them when they spill a glass of milk. Berate them for not being smarter than their age. Set up various control methods, from helicopter parenting to outright spying, to make sure your experiment stays on track.

Needless to say, having weapons in your home is a big plus at this stage. Use your male offspring’s confusion and turn their anger towards target practice. This will reinforce in this bridge generation the use of violence as an outlet for their anger.

Hopefully, by the time your male offspring reach the age of 6 to 8, they will begin petty sadistic behaviour patterns. Look for small things, like ripping the wings off a fly or burning ants with a magnifying glass. If possible, now is the time to reinforce the idea of killing and death. Take your male offspring on a traditional hunting expedition. Use this as an initiation into ‘manhood’ to ensure the behaviour is impressed deeply on the children. If possible, make sure your offspring are the ones to gut your kills. Get their hands into the blood as soon as possible. Reinforce this with happy, positive feedback.

The mother of the bridge generation should figure very little in your offspring’s upbringing. Make sure to keep her in her place. If she tries to interfere, out shout her. If all else fails, smack yo’ bitch up!

When your male offspring reaches school age, make sure to reinforce the idea of domination and superiority in them. With a bit of proper goading and luck, you will be called into the school offices to discuss your child’s bullying behaviour. Do not – do not! – punish this behaviour. Instead, ask for your child to be drugged. This will often further your goal more than you realize, setting up your bridge generation to be drug users. This makes your control all the easier.

When your male offspring reaches puberty, begin exposing them to pornography. Hormones and time will do the rest: your male offspring will become sexually active, and eventually get a female pregnant.

Control at this point is, once again, key. Force the pair to marry, force the woman to carry long term – again, with violence if necessary.

On the happy occasion, do not be too disappointed if it’s a girl. You want another male offspring, but females as first children in broken families can be, in the long run, invaluable to setting up the proper psychology needed to become a serial killer. Older female relations will pattern themselves after the mother figure, becoming emotionally distant and angry. This will be a natural reinforcement of all sexually angry feelings you want brewing in your young serial killer.

Do not worry about the bridge generation any more. Your focus is now on the prize. It matters little if the bridge generation stays married to each other or not, though it is always safer if an angry and violent end is the outcome. This, again, sets up and reinforces the behaviour and aberrant thought you want in your final generation.

Allow your target generation ample access to weapons and violent films and games. Train them to handle real weapons as soon as possible. Never ask what happens to their pets, or why animals in the neighbourhood don’t like them. Ignore all warning signs and advice from so-called professionals. And always remember: a little violence can never harm your goal.

Congratulations! You shouldn’t have to wait too long before things happen. Then you, too, can join the ranks of clueless parents who routinely set their children up and then act totally innocent when the shit hits the fan.

They don’t go away

Thank you. Every time my phone pinged with a notification that someone liked yesterday’s post, I felt a little less alone. Found my honesty out here helped, too. I wasn’t quite so upset after admitting to the whole mother issue thing.

This morning, I’m disappointed in myself for being so damned triggered. Yeah, yeah! I’m making progress in realizing and admitting to the whole issue. But… I’m almost 54 now. When the fuck am I gonna stop being triggered by shit that happened when I was less than 10 years old? More: when am I gonna stop seeing any older woman as a mother figure?

Why can’t I make friends?

It all just makes me want to hide. I’m allowing it. I’m wounded and know it; go feed the inner child. Games, films, videos, pampering, favorite foods: just get over this slump. Today I’m doing my hair again. I’m addicted to the softness castor oil gives my hair. Tomorrow I’m supposed to go to language class, but I’m seriously thinking of ditching it. I don’t want to go. I’m still too down.

And, that brings up a point that I’ve got to both congratulate myself for and admonish myself for. I resorted to what I resorted to as a child: going to my mother figure for help. Good on me for asking for help. The not so good part comes in when I realize that I was reaching out from my depression, asking for help with that. It wasn’t really the language. I mean… I want to do better with the language, no doubt. But I went to my old teachers actually wanting help with my depression, something I used to do with my own mother. However, my mother forbade me early on from speaking my truth. I told her once that I could figure out no reason to be alive and she really got angry. Told me never to talk like that again, or they (who is ‘they’? I don’t know) would lock me up forever and ever and ever. So, I’d go to my mother with surface problems. Fights with friends, problems with enemies. And she’d say exactly what my teachers said to me yesterday: What do you want me to do about it? That’s where the problem comes in. I still feel mute when it comes to discussing my depression, particularly with women. And in pointing to a surface problem, all I get in return is less than helpful advice. Try this or do that. But since I never bring up my real problem, I never feel supported or heard.

I’m at least thankful I can talk to men. I’m sorry that I have such problems with women. I read or see stories about sisters being close, or women having close friend circles. I’ve never had that. There have been a few times when I’ve felt I had a close female friend, but it never lasted. Men have been my go-to for my entire life. My father was the only person in the family I KNEW loved me. The rest… I constantly questioned their sincerity. I grew up half tomboy, half sex goddess (or slut, if you want to use the language of my female relations). I have no memory of my mother holding me or letting me sit on her lap after the age of 3. Zero memories of her ever playing with me. That was all dad: the long nights on his lap listening to his heartbeat, showing me how to play football, getting me into snowmobiling, being, in general, just playful. My father never rejected me, never said ‘no’ when I needed him. In fact, men have (on the whole) rarely said no to me…

And there’s another thing! I hated myself my entire fucking life. Thought I was so fat, and so ugly – because that’s what was said to me. “You’d be real pretty if you only lost 20 pounds,” or, “Gee, you just can’t compete with those Hollywood types”. But if I ignore all the shit talk, I can look back now and say: Fuck, people! I was a drop dead gorgeous young woman. Not fat, not ugly, not needing to lose a few pounds. Just beautiful. As I feel old and unattractive now, I remind myself of that. Probably when I’m 80 I’ll look back at this time in my life and wonder why the fuck I thought myself so repulsive.

Finally, in the depths of my depressive truth telling, a memory was sparked with me yesterday. I’ve been asked since day 1 why I moved to the Netherlands. I remember, now, why I initially wanted to come here: legalized euthanasia. The marijuana laws helped, too. But…being depressive and half suicidal my entire life, the idea of being able to just go away like that was – and still is – very attractive. Laws around the world have changed now, but when I was first thinking of Europe, NL was the only place with that particular service. That’s not a truth I’ll admit to most people.

I’m not even sure I should mention it to Dr T.

…Thinking I’ll not go tomorrow morning to class. I’ve gotta get over to the hospital for blood tests this week, and I’ve been thinking of how I can get everything done in the next few days. Cutting class to get my blood tests done is the easiest way, and since I’m not terribly enthused right now over my lessons…

Why the fuck do I feel the need to justify myself so damned thoroughly?

I really wish I could tell anyone reading this that life gets easier as you grow older. Some things do get easier, but life isn’t one of them. Your triggers will remain your triggers. You can learn to rationalize them, recognize them, even use various techniques to remain calm during them.

But they don’t go away.


I’m not okay

I am here for one reason, and one reason only: depression.

Can’t ignore it, can’t deny it. For the last 2 hours I’ve been fighting tears. And for once I think I’ve got a handle on why.

I’ve just put myself through an experience terribly like my childhood memories of my mother. That stand-offish, non-helpfulness she was so fucking famous for. I went to my old language class to talk to my teachers about the whole aan tafel vs. achter de tafel thing (turns out, both are okay). I wanted one of them to say: Gee, I’ll take you on in one-on-one lessons. I like them both and trust them. But, no. I was told I’m free to return to my old class and they’ll do their best to keep giving me work for my level, but neither jumped up to save me from this malaise of Dutch. And I couldn’t bring myself to ask for one of them to teach me privately. I’ve asked before, and feel they both know I’d jump at the chance.

What hurts most is the thought that no, they don’t really like me. I’d hoped so. I like them both so much. But this rejection feels like they don’t. *sigh* I’m sure Dr T would say I’m making all sorts of assumptions in that statement, and I know I am, but -! That’s the way it feels right now.

So I’m sitting here telling myself that neither of these women are my mother, and the situations are totally night and day. The neglected child in me feels like no one cares. No cares that I no longer am full of energy when I approach the language. No one cares that I’ve dropped my reading. No one cares if I really get Dutch or not.

I’ve been told to seek out volunteer work and/or a discussion group at the local library. I have to take that impetus. I have to push myself in the ass, because apparently no one can or will teach me more than what I currently know.

And yeah, I’m angry about that. How come others get stuff spoon fed to them for decades and I’m supposed to kick myself in the ass and FIND somewhere and someone to talk to? I am so bloody TIRED of that look when I say no, I’m not married and have no children and I never wanted either. I’d give a LOT right now for someone to talk to about books and films and music. Anything other than their fucking families and their fucking children. Anything. Instead, all I get is excellent repetition in explaining my lifestyle choices. And unasked for pity from most of the other women present.

… I am way off my exercise routine. And now I feel so damned down I’m not sure I can pick up a regular routine again. Fu-u-u-uck!

There’s one axiom that keeps coming back to me, and it’s not a good one: No one is gonna save you. You’re lucky if you find someone who does try and help you. People wonder why I have such problems with trusting others. Why I don’t work well with others. Well, there you have it! I expect no one to give a fuck, because that’s been my experience. I hope for more. Always. And, it seems, I’m always disappointed. At least, with anyone other than my bro. But, that’s why he’s my bro. He’s helped me a lot. Helped me help myself, too.

This time I gotta do it alone. I’m ahead of him in language. I have to forge the path. I have to find a way.

Do not see Dr T until 8 December. Hang in there until then. Try to get back to the gym. Don’t ask for much; just walk for an hour. Keep taking care of yourself. Keep reminding yourself this is NOT the same old situation, and many new variables are at play.

But, truthfully… I’m not okay.