Pick one


Wish I could. Wish I could vomit all this out of me. The anger, the burning hate that threatens to consume my mind. I want to strike out, to hit, to hurt, to kill. Make ’em bleed ’cause they fucking deserve it. I am very wary of this feeling; I know it does nothing but breed more problems. But I feel like I could just punch something or someone and keep punching until my hand breaks.

The weather is not helping. High winds and hail storm against the window, echoing the warfare I feel inside. Noisy shit that just won’t leave me alone no matter how many times I decide to let it go. Keeps coming back like some rabid dog determined to fucking bite me.

Did well yesterday. Give me a gold star. Homework, gym, and held back on smoking too much. Still want to cut down further, but real progress.

…Meh. I recognize this is part of the process. Increased irritation and anger while going thru withdrawal. Doing my best to keep that in mind. It prevents me from killing anyone, but it doesn’t help me sleep.

Dentist tomorrow. Joy. Have to tell him about my teeth. Oh, gee. Yeah, they still hurt. Sometimes here, sometimes there. Sometimes not at all. I can’t figure it out, and I can’t stop it. And I’m fucking fed up with it. Please don’t fucking touch this one nor that one. And please don’t hurt me anymore.

Don’t want to go out there today. The winds and hail are scheduled to continue, and it just makes me want to hole up under my blanket. I could. I know what I need to do before the premiere and it’ll take one day if I’ve got my shit together. I have the time to skive off. Tempting. But staying home means tempting myself with smoking all day long. It’s so easy to light up and let my worries drift away. So I don’t know.

I also don’t know about my hair. My bro has officially given me funds to go to the salon and do whatever. Now that I have permission, I’m really wondering if I want to cut my long locks. Managed to sneak in that shower yesterday, and as usual when faced with this type of decision, the alternatives all make themselves attractive. I stepped out of the shower with my hair already hanging in soft ringlets – the type of hairstyle some women work hours to achieve. And I wondered…do I really want to chop all that off? Isn’t it pretty? Yes, it is pretty. That’s a plus on the long hair side. But it’s also a pain. It’s so long now I HAVE to blow dry it because air drying it takes more than 8 hours. I don’t like that. I don’t like the fact that when I sit with my head relaxed against the back of my chair, my hair gets caught behind my back. I don’t like the extra heat I feel in bed, either. It’s heavy, and hot. …That’s a lot more negatives than positives. Should be an easy decision.

Fucking dithering. I’m worrying about possible future regret. That’s a moot point. It doesn’t exist, it may never exist. Kudos to me for trying to think ahead and consider the full consequences of my actions – but stop getting caught in ONE scenario. Many possible futures exist. Pick one, and work towards it.

Pick one…

There’s my problem. I want conflicting things. I want, in essence, the impossible. Long hair without the hassle. Smoking without the detrimental health effects. Weight loss without the work. Everything is conditional. If you want that, you must put up with or do this.

Even love. Humans have this intellectual construct called unconditional love. I’m not saying it doesn’t exist; even the “impossible” exists on the e curve, but I believe it exists in flashes of temporary feeling rather than as a stable, common emotion. One cannot feel loved without expecting certain things. We feel loved if people listen to us. Are there for us. Share their lives with us. Laugh with us. Hug us. But that means we expect these things to create this feeling – we put those conditions on our feelings of love. Can you feel loved when someone spits at you? Hits you? Degrades who you are, what you believe or feel? And wouldn’t someone who could say yes, I feel loved when people treat me like shit, be viewed as mentally unfit? Out of the norm? Strange and unwell for feeling that? …I think “unconditional love” is just a misnomer. What we’re really saying is ‘understand me, forgive me for what I think are my sins’. Is that even possible? I wouldn’t know. My immediate family was the type that never forgot, and never really forgave. My sins were repeatedly brought up and thrown in my face, every time things went wrong. “You always”. “You never”.

The hypocrisy I can’t forgive them for is expecting me to forgive this behavior, while simultaneously never forgiving me.

Intellectually, I think I’m at the point where I realize I have to forgive to move beyond this point. That doesn’t mean letting them back in my life; protecting myself is still the most important thing, particularly while I’m feeling vulnerable. I get it. I know what I eventually have to do. I just don’t know how to get there. This is so deep in me, I feel it’s burned into my DNA. – Which is why most of posts degenerate into family gripes, like this one.

*sigh* Your future is out there.

Pick one.



It never really stops

It is done.

I’ve a few typos and formatting mistakes to fix. But the story is done. Did a full read through of all three parts plus the prologue. I’ll be the first to say it: brilliant. I’ve woven this story brilliantly. Each piece is tense and frightening. Each piece stands alone. Do them front to end, though, and an entirely new picture emerges. Pieces of a puzzle. A magnificent, full length, 90+ page puzzle.

The excitement over finishing it matches the flatness I feel now that it’s done. What the fuck am I gonna do now? Now that I no longer need to think scenes through. Now that all considerations are done and over with. I’ve been working on this for so long – the original first story was concocted in my brain over a year ago. It just never stopped. I put it on pause during Taman and my other work. But it never stopped.

Good Goddess! I may need to go through a mourning period, if that makes any sense. Feels like a big part of me just…turned over in bed, got up, and walked away.

Did not wake up to a merry email in my writer’s account this morning. And yes, for the first time in my life, I was expecting it. The theatre group in the states was scheduled to meet on Friday, and the director said she’d be getting back to me after that. Hoping their work ran late, she was tired, and she decided she’d wait until after she slept before writing those emails. But meh. I know those are all patch kits against a wave of disappointment threatening to leak thru my dyke. The longer it takes to hear from someone, the more likely it’s a rejection.

I’ll put that off. The disappointment can wash over me when I actually hear that no, my work wasn’t selected. For now…try and topple me. I don’t think you’ll get too far. I know what I did on the re-writes of the first part. I know what I just finished. It’s good.

Woke up and opened my personal email to have an old picture of my mother stare back at me, with a message from my uncle: “My niece K posted this on Facebook. A beautiful woman, inside and out.” *projectile vomit* Leave it to the damned family (maybe I should start calling them The Damned Family) to get all sappy and sentimental at this time of year. They’re all drinking too much. *sigh* And I know – I know! – what narcissists do. How they twist shit around. Still. I’ve been playing a dangerous game, occasionally checking in on family members’ pages. They work so hard to make everything seem normal. They make me doubt myself. My own memories. The only thing that keeps me sane is that very, very old memory I pulled up of not knowing whether good mommy or bad mommy was walking into the room – and the accompanying fear. No. Not fear. Terror. I was bloody terrified of my mother. That can not be written off as a ‘drug induced paranoia’ or whatever else they call my claims (guessing on that, but considering I’ve been called a drug addict I think it’s a good stab in the dark). That’s a very early memory, and sadly, very real. I’ve never brought any of this up to them. Why? I’ve already experienced my sister calling me a liar when I said I remembered things from a very young age. You’re lying! No one remembers when they were that young! Yeah. That protest has denial written all over it.

Still having pain in the right side in my mouth The tooth that had the root canal work is the worst, but there’s also a tooth on my lower jaw that hurts. Hard to brush around those areas. Still taking morphine. If this is what I think it is, it’s just got to stop fucking hurting for a while. So keep drugging it. Tuesday I’ll go to the doc’s office and set up an appointment with this physiotherapist she wants me to see. Soft foods, and as little stress as I can manage. Hope it quiets down soon.

I have no hope of my brain quieting down anytime soon. Already dithering between several possible new scripts. The work on Taman has made me want to write more historical dramas, and with an eye towards future work for the same competition, I’m now thinking about Mata Hari and Maya Deren. I’ve also got an idea written down that’s been bugging me. Another sort of thriller. I’ll probably explore that first; several strong scenes are already in my head and won’t stop replaying over and over.

Want to re-set. Take the last day or two of the year and fuck around, without thinking. I need it. Want some new games, too, but my computer system is too out of date to handle anything new. Oh, well. Make do with what I’ve got. Or try.

Come back to the world, Beeps! Your brother needs you!

Yeah. That’s another thing. My bro’s let me write and write and write, without thought towards him or anything else. He waited until I read everything through, then we talked. And I’ve gotta be present, in the here and now, and work a bit of magic for him. Support him, because he’s gonna need it. Cheerlead a little. Pick up a bit more. Help him reach his goals, ’cause in the long run, we both need that.

The door is closing on 2017. It’s been a long and sometimes painful road. But I’ve made more progress this year than ever before. Personally and professionally. And I can acknowledge that.

It’s a good way to end this chapter of life, and start the next. Because it never really stops.

Save yourself

Slept decently. Yea! Small victories are sometimes the most important.

Woke, however, with one thing on my mind: the friend request on FB from an ex-neighbor who done me wrong. I’ve let it sit for a month, as I do when I’m unsure of what action I should take. I finally woke this morning finding I had something to say.

We are not friends. Not since you so coldly shut me out over the farmers’ market. Why are you asking to be my friend now? Do you think I’d simply forget your refusal to give me a lift, your refusal to talk to me at the time? Do you think friends simply ignore past problems and they’re magically white-washed away?

I was, and still am, hurt over your actions.

In fact, every single one of the women involved in that incident can go to hell. You all wanted to cheat the system, to by-pass the law, to sell illegally, and, most importantly, to sell substandard and dangerous products to the public. I didn’t call in any inspector for you or anyone else at the market, it was for me. Of course the inspector then saw the signs in town, and of course she checked things out. That was her job! And the law. And if people got in hot water because their kitchens were filthy and they were finally found out, it isn’t MY fault. Never was. It’s THEIR fault. Yet, I was blamed and ostracized.

I suppose in a strange way I should say thanks. I didn’t know at the time what a den of thieves and liars I was getting involved with, and that incident showed me beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are people I do not want to associate with.

Live your life out on your tiny plot of land at the end of that peninsula. Take what joy you can from the life you’ve created. I wish you no ill.

But stop asking me to be your friend.

Again, this is sitting on my desktop unsent. I’ll think about it for a few more days before I do anything. All I want from this communication is to state what I feel and think. How easy to tell someone how I feel if I don’t really care about them! Easy! This is it; you fucked up and I’m hurt. Wish I could do that with everybody.

But, I can’t. The more I care, the more I risk by telling my truth. And the more difficult my truth becomes to state.

I don’t trust a lot of people with my truth. That’s a mess. Don’t state the truth, resentment builds, eventually there’s an argument – which I don’t want in the first place. I’m working on it. Still haven’t got to the point I can say something like ‘Ow, that hurts’ when people say hurtful things to me, but the day is coming. I have some fresh, powerful memories of feeling good about myself and being around positive people. That helps immensely. I’m less likely to take shit right now because I’ve had a taste of what good relations feel like.

And I don’t want to be angry about this. I don’t want to stand up for myself with a red face, yelling or screaming.

I just want to be able to stand.

…That’s not asking too much, is it?

*sigh* And the thought occurs that I may have to do this over and over. Tell my truth to the people I was too afraid to say it to before. Seems to keep cropping up. Just when I think I’ve shaken off the last of my past, someone comes creeping back with a message or a friend request. …The weirdest part is that I know I’m making this harder than it needs to be. I’m the one reluctant to take the chance. And I’m the one who needs to be brave right now. Do it. I risk nothing by stating my truth; they’re already out of my life.

Shatter that last barrier.

No. more. abuse. Not physical, not mental, not spiritual. I have my foothold now. I know what it’s supposed to look and feel like. I found that ‘click’ with people I’ve been so desperately searching for. They’ve made me see a part of me I didn’t know I kept hidden. And they loved it, and loved me, and I loved them in return.

Your family shouldn’t hold you back. Your friends shouldn’t drag you down. If you’re out there in whatever time and space you occupy and the people around you make you continuously feel shitty about yourself, get the fuck out. Now. Don’t think about what you’ll be losing. You’re trained to think that way. You’ve been conditioned, subordinated, brainwashed. Just get the fuck out. You’ve a lifetime to sort thru everything, so give yourself that lifetime. Get. out.

And yes, you’ll be called a runner. A coward, for leaving. These people will try to shame you even as you attempt to save yourself. Ignore them. Leave. Cut all ties. Change your name. Whatever you have to do to get away from them, do it.

Save yourself.

Heaven makes a good cup of coffee

I was real ready for a good night’s sleep. Instead, I couldn’t get comfortable. Seemed even worse than the last few days. Finally drifted off, to wake up at 4:30 FROM A CAFFEINE HEADACHE BECAUSE I FORGOT TO DRINK ENOUGH COFFEE YESTERDAY WITH SEEING THE DOCTOR.


So I am awake. Nursing one of those stupid caffeine headaches that will disappear once I drink my coffee. And may I say, I’m pleased enough to be up and grousing about a stupid caffeine headache! Funny how things like that get turned around after awhile.

For the first time in a week, I feel I can think again. Even contemplated writing this morning (serious writing, that is). Not sure I’ll go there, but it feels good to be able to string a few coherent thoughts together without getting interrupted by pain.

Heard from S, my new friend. Actually, she called me twice and sent me a text message while I was out of it. Did not hear my phone go off once. Filled her in on what’s happening, and bless her heart, she sent me a lovely message full of good wishes and asking if there’s anything she can do. My heart is full. Don’t know how or why I grew to love S and the rest of the crew so much so quickly. It’s like I finally met decent people, and my entire being responded without me thinking. I became nicer, more thoughtful, more gentle. I became who I wanted to be, and I guess that made me love them all the harder – because they’re the ones who made it safe for me to feel this way.

Also heard from someone I knew in Ireland. This woman was my neighbor, and for a short while we were friendly. When I began baking for a local farmer’s market, I went about it the way the law was written. I contacted and got cleared for my kitchen. All sorts of stuff. The upshot of this was the government agent saw the local farmer’s market that I was selling at, and that prompted her to stop by and check out everyone selling something – which raised complete and utter hell. Most of those people were operating very dangerously, in very unhealthy conditions. As usual with those types of people, I became blamed for ‘starting the whole mess’. I was ostracized. My up to that point friendly neighbor cut me off and refused to give me a lift to the market so in the end all that work I did to get certified was useless to me. She also refused to talk to me on any level. And now, she’s trying to reconnect on FB. I unfriended her some months back when I realized I’d never done it. Obviously, we’re not friends. But here she is, asking to be my friend. And gee whiz…it’s right on the heels of the posts about my films. Just gob-smacked at the bald balls this woman has. Seriously? After all that? I’d suggest you begin with an apology for treating me like shit. After that, I might talk to you. But, lady, I’ve sampled your kind of friendship – and I don’t want another helping.

I find it interesting how, on the heels of me saying ‘no’ to various members of my narcissistic family, my life took a fast upswing. Oh, I know I’ve got new issues to deal with now – acceptance, respect, and love. I’m not saying it’s easy. But I’m looking at a possible 2018 with a new film out, a play in the US, and a play here in NL all in the same year. Two of those things will definitely be happening. And who knows? I might get two plays done in the states; I’ve got enough material over there.

My point is that I dithered on the family issue for…well, all my life. And my life showed it: some upswings, but mostly downers. Shed those blood suckers and finally I bloom. I know I’m still stuck at wanting their approval, but it’s amazing how easy it’s been to get respect for me and my work once I let them go. There’s no one to continually tear me down. No one to niggle at me with ‘jokes’ meant to ‘put me in my place’. Just the opposite. And now that the shits are gone, I find myself better able to let in the positives. I really feel buoyed up by the likes on FB and the positive comments. Everyone’s been telling me I haven’t been letting the compliments get in, I just negate them immediately in my head. And they were right, to an extent. That was programming from my family. All those subtle things they’d say that were digs at me. I felt every single one like a knife.

They ruined my fucking life.

And yeah, I know eventually I’ll need to get past that statement, too. Not yet. I’ve a lifetime of anger stored up. That’ll come out, eventually. I hope. I don’t want to spend the rest of my time blaming my family and ignoring my life. I just want to live happily. Enjoy feeling good about myself. Have friends I trust and love. Maybe be able to prevent this from happening to someone else.

The toughest thing about this was sticking to the decision. I was scared it would be hard having little to no family. Cutting everyone off. But standing up for myself was the hardest part. After that, it got easier. Easier than I’d ever imagined. So easy it’s throwing me for a loop.

Maybe this is all mania and morphine. Like I’d know.

But, oh! To have people I click with, people I trust, people I love so easily…now couple that with respect for my work.

Did I die and go to heaven? Maybe so.

And if so, I gotta say: Heaven makes a good cup of coffee.


When it rains…

Oh, baby! Flood me! C’mon! I think it’s safe to say I have never experienced the type of upswing currently underway in my life.

Signed into my pen name email yesterday. Usually there’s nothing there. So often, as a matter of fact, that I complain about tumbleweeds rolling thru. And, to be honest, there was only one email waiting for me. But it was a doozy.

The group I sent my first thriller, Blue Whale, to has contacted me again. They loved my story, but at the time they thought the tech requirements were beyond them. Do not know what’s changed, but they want to consider it again. And they contacted me. I’m just in a tizzy. Theatres and artistic directors don’t do that. They say ‘we’re open for submissions’ and sit back and wait for stuff to come to them. They do not pursue writers, they do not contact writers days ahead of notifying the general public to say ‘please, please, can we try your work?’. It just don’t happen.

I’m living a dream.

They’ve also asked if I’ve anything else. Think I’ll send them Taman. It’s done, it’s tight, and they might really like it. I have nothing to lose; they’re going to consider Blue Whale no matter what. So enthralled and thrilled I don’t dare ask if their tech requirements have changed. Talked to my bro about it, and he thought maybe they’ve been thinking about BW this whole time. Considering what they can do, how they could make it work.

Erk (that’s me, choking a bit). People…are thinking about my work for months?!?

…And here I am, emailing back and forth with a bleeding ARTISTIC DIRECTOR of a theatre like we’re old friends! I – I – I….I’m stuck on amazement.

More coffee, and another J.

Feels like I’ve hit a wall. A wall of excitement. I can’t be any more excited. I maxed out days ago. This…just stuns me. And I think that if more excitement comes my way, if things keep up this momentum, I’ll find that new balance of living IN this. Get the role? Exciting, yes, but no reason to jump up and down. Blue Whale gets done? Same again. Taman gets noticed? Ah, yes, add that to the list.

I’m waiting now to see if the last piece falls into place. If, when my teachers get a hold of the children’s story I’m writing in Dutch, I hear that I should send it out to get published.

Got a feeling that might happen.

Today is all mine. Did as I said, and contacted my Thursday teacher to tell her I wasn’t coming to our lesson. Got to the gym, stretched, did a long walk on the treadmill. Today I run lines, shower, prep for tomorrow. Hell! I even did my nails last night – cuticles and polishing – because I figure most women my age would do that type of thing, and it’s the small details that make a role.

…You know, I’ve had shit hit me like this. One thing after another ’til I felt like I was gonna break. Being on the flip side is weird


So weird, it’s completely blanked out my anxiety over finding my audition tomorrow. I’m too up. I’m also too focused. Not the usual drive myself ’til I drop manic focus. Oh, no! This is a down to earth, get enough rest, think long term focus. No amount of excitement will prevent me from sleeping. No amount of excitement will prevent me from doing what I need to do – like getting to the gym for regular exercise. No amount of excitement will rile me up to the point where I can’t write. …Good Goddess, do people operate on this level as a regular thing? Or have I flipped into some hitherto unknown hyper-mania?

Television has been shit lately, so yesterday evening I ran some of my recorded Futurama episodes during dinner. Watched the one where Calculon comes back from the dead. Kept laughing at his hammy acting and inflated ego, right up to the point when someone in my head said, ‘That’s what Mom was afraid you’d turn into.’ *groan* I examined that idea, and you know what? I find it fucking insulting. You thought I’d turn into that kind of ego maniac? What made you think that? The way I was so quick to backtrack, so fast to take the blame in any situation, so immediate with my ‘I’m sorry’ exclamations? Or maybe it was how proud I always was of myself – after all, I’m the woman who allowed herself to beaten at the hands of partners and raped multiple times; obviously my ego is out of whack. What. the. fuck -?

Oh, yes! And before I forget. Had an apology – APOLOGY! – from Celtx about their original email. Ye Gods! I really will burst with one more thing.

The words of my hated sister ring in my ears this morning. You don’t know how to handle success. Can’t stop thinking about it because she was right. She said it as an accusation, obviously. My sister’s modus operandi: shame me. But it’s also a statement of fact. I don’t know how to handle success, because my family never let me succeed. Not in their eyes! Now that I’ve basically cut myself off from them (excepting my occasional nostalgia driven internet searches), I’m free – FREE! – to experience success. But no, I don’t know exactly how to handle it. It’s all new to me. The good feelings, the flattery…the sheer headiness of it. None of that underhanded nastiness I’m so used to. At least, not yet. It’s out there; I know it is.

But for now, it’s pure, and clean. Real admiration. Real compliments. I feel like they’re raining down on me in one, huge burst from the Universe.

And baby, I’m mainlining.

Try, learn, and do better

I really must learn to stay off social media.

Found a FB post from my eldest bro. He left a comment on his own page – not tagged to me, not sent to me – saying ‘happy birthday to my little sister even tho ya don’t give a fuck about yer American family’.

Do not want to admit it, but my heart is beating damned fast right now. And my angry replies are bubbling to the forefront – “listen, you sexist racist bigoted mother fucker…”.

Wish crap like that didn’t affect me. At all. Wish I could have seen it and coolly just moved on. Still want to defend myself, lash out, blame, make them SEE. Since I know going direct to the source is a waste of my time, I came out here. To be safe. To say what I needed to say.


Odd how, even knowing what a piece of shit I’m dealing with, I let it affect me. I guess that’s programming at its basest level.

Here is my flaw: I want too much to be loved. And I’ve been made to feel that it’s my fault that I don’t get what I want from my family. They were never wrong. They ARE never wrong. It’s me. My fault for wanting, my fault for feeling, my fault for thinking and hoping.

I have met strangers who were kinder to me than you. People who wanted nothing from me, and gave me everything. And you dare to call me family? You dare to approach me with guilt and shame, bullying and controlling tactics? You hurt me, I walk away, and I am accused non-stop of being a child, being wrong, being whatever it is you call me in the depths of your oh-so-perverted mind. Fuck you ’til the end of time. I hate you. With every fiber of my being, I hate what you are, what you stand for. Your ignorance, your total disregard for anyone other than yourself, your fixation on money, money, money, your blatant LACK of caring on the most basic of levels. You have no right to shame me, you piece of shit.

…My oldest brother will die before hearing from me. That’s his punishment. And maybe some people think I’ve no right to mete out my own punishment. Maybe that’s even true. But I’m tired of waiting for the Universe or some Goddess to make things right. I don’t want to strike out; that will be detrimental to my own psyche and THAT is what I’m concentrating on. Not him or his “feelings”. I’ve no time for the latent incest-ridden fantasies my eldest brother holds.

And yeah, that shows a distinct lack of character on my part. I’ve witnessed people stand in the midst of an emotional storm and keep their balance. It can be done. Those that have done it have earned great respect from me. They’ve shown me what can be done, if you stay centered and grounded. I want to be like that. To be able to have my say, take the backlash, smile sadly and turn away without hurting anyone.

I ain’t got enough drugs to make that happen.

So I protect myself and everyone else by staying silent. I say nothing, again.

You know…I should at least give myself credit for having the strength to do that. To walk away, rather than engage.

Good. on. me.

In 20 minutes, I need to begin verb conjugation. Write out the irregular verbs. Again. Try to mash them into my brain one more time. I will get this. I will get this!! Try, make mistakes, learn, do it better next time. That’s the level I’m reduced to. No grand schemes, no lofty goals. Just try, learn, and do better.

Yep. That’s a good motto for today.

Keep on rock ‘n me, baby

This morning I hit the unfriend button on FB. Unfriended my uncle. Still half on the fence with the whole idea, but I can’t shake the truth that if anyone other than a family member did to me what he did, I’d read him the riot act. Sharing DNA doesn’t allow people to treat you like dirt. So after much deliberation and a lot of anxiety, unfriend it was.

I’m worried about the backlash. The demands to know why I did it, the endless denials and accusations, the being told I’m wrong over and over. Do not know how much I’ll take before I…blow up? Finally get angry? Tell them to fuck off? Report them for bullying and abuse? Any or all of the above. That frightens me, too. So far I’ve dealt with this very level headed. I don’t want to lose it now. More; I don’t want to give them one iota more of anything they can use against me. Losing it is definitely one of those things they’ll use against me.

Found myself thinking the other day that if, when I die, my mother appears to me, waiting to guide me to the other side, I’ll grab her fucking hand and DRAG the bitch to Hell. And if that means I’m stuck in Hell for all eternity, well, as long as I know she’s getting HERS, I’ll deal. Can’t be all that much worse than living here.

Now, that’s a sad fucking thought, isn’t it?

Fuck! I’m screwed up.

…Having a difficult time getting myself motivated. Maybe I finally took the word ‘holiday’ in its entirety. You know – REAL time off. Gym time, writing, reading – even running my lines for memory’s sake has become a chore, a non-emergency, something I can do tomorrow or the day after. For my own peace of mind, I’ve allowed it. I know what I can do when I am motivated; no need to push it if I’m not. One more performance to stay healthy for. One more run thru of the play to do. Focus!

But something’s cooking. I hope my inner eye is focusing on the thrillers. I think it is. I’ve begun pacing again, talking aloud to myself, sorting out ideas. The task of taking my ideas to paper seems monumental, but that’s my lack of motivation. I’m sorting. Thinking. Plotting. Getting that film of the story to run seamlessly in my mind.

Been talking aloud to myself a LOT lately, actually. About all sorts of things. Part of that is my brother’s schedule: he’s out more and more with band rehearsals and other stuff, leaving me alone in the house. Part of it is just ME. It’s what I do, what I’ve always done. I think I give myself comfort this way. I think it helps for me to hear with my ears all those words of support I tell myself. After all, that’s why I think I began it in the first place – to allow my ears to hear those words no one ever said to me. You’re beautiful. You’re talented. You’re brilliant. In talking to myself, I can be brutally honest without fear of being ridiculed. I can be supportive without strings; my self talk doesn’t hinge on me acquiescing to political views or moral stances I find abhorrent. And I feel it, down to my toes. It’s mother-me comforting child-me.

Same reason why I rock while seated. It’s a comfort motion. My torso moves for and aft, back and forth, rhythmically, like I’m rocking a baby. I am rocking a baby: me. I’m telling myself I’m okay, I’m safe, and I can take care of myself.

And that’s okay. It’s okay to give myself what I need. It’s healthy, in fact. I’m embarrassed by what I do: the rocking and the talking aloud. Embarrassed a LOT. Part of me is afraid it looks insane, and I know what happens when THAT line of thought occurs to someone. Everything that comes after gets discounted, no matter how on the mark or true it is. Part of me is just plain ashamed of myself: here I am, 50+, and still trying to comfort that crying little girl in me. I should be beyond this. Over it. Able to let it go, and get on with my life.

I shouldn’t feel so fucking stuck.

But I do, and saying I shouldn’t is just one more way for me to reinforce that blame and guilt instilled in me as a child. It’s all your fault. If you were better/stronger/smarter, you wouldn’t be here.

Oh, yeah. It’s lovely having a war of confidence go on in your head 24/7.

I always feel so naked when my confidence is shaken. So the worm, wriggling in the mud. Nothing. Contemptible in my lowliness. It is what’s allowed physical abuse into my life: hit me, I deserve it and worse. That’s a mindset I have to fight against every day because no matter how long it’s been since I was in an abusive relationship, I still think that way. I still hate myself that much. I still think that little of myself.

Rock. Or smoke. Or do anything other than think about what you just wrote.

Ugly truths are like scabs. I can’t help but pick at them. And it hurts. Another way to hurt myself…

Run. Hide. Deny. Distract.

But truth will out. Even in my distractions. I know the music I’m including in this is a ‘love’ song. But flip it to me talking to me-the-child – because that’s the way I’m hearing it this morning.

Keep on rock ‘n me, baby.

Six Easy Steps to Stopping a Narcissist Cold

October 16, 2:05 p.m. (my time)…That’s the last time I received a comment from my uncle on the play notification I posted on FB. Almost two entire days of silence. This morning, of course, there was an email in my mail. One of his mass sends to friends and family. The email was a picture of a patch – one of those embroidered things people put on their shirts and jackets to make them feel important (like a Boy Scout). The pic was two buzzards, with the caption ‘patience my ass – I’m gonna kill something’, and I can’t help but feel I had at least a little to do with the level of frustration and anger it reveals. Side note: my DNA sister was the first to respond to my uncle’s email, posting a laughing meme back (her communication style is exactly the same as his, so no big surprise there).

The following is the conversation in full. I’m copying it here to make sure I don’t lose my words, because this is one of those RARE times I actually shut up the narcissists in my family by turning the tables on them, and I want to remember it.

uncle: I imagine this will be funny…..sorry, I won”t be in that area then. LOL

me: What’s so funny that you put ‘LOL’? You didn’t make a joke.

uncle: K-, Yes I did….when I said, I won’t be in that area then. That was my joke.

me: Oh. But you don’t live in the area. In fact, you live on the other side of the world – a fact I know. So…where’s the joke?

uncle: you need another cup of coffee Ms. !

me: What does my caffeine level have to do with our discussion? And why are you trying to change the subject and blame me for your poor “joke”? A joke is supposed to be amusing – yet your original statement, “I won’t be in that area then” isn’t amusing, it’s simply a fact. There’s no cause for laughter. No cause unless you feel uncomfortable for some reason. Shifting attention to my caffeine intake is simply a distraction from your discomfort. Why are you uncomfortable? ..Plus, get it right. I live in Rotterdam, not Amsterdam.

uncle: I was hoping some caffeine would wake you up and you would see my joke…;.clearly you have seen my joke all along. And….I won’t br in Rotterdam to see the show either.

me: Actually, I don’t see your joke at all – which is why I queried you in the first place. However, if you’re referring to me noticing your discomfort, yes, I did see that. It’s pretty obvious. I also noticed you continue to sidestep my question: why are you so uncomfortable?

uncle:  I’m not uncomfortable…..just made a joke about the show sounds good but I won’t be in the area to see it. I thought it was a funny comment.

me: Well, we already established it wasn’t a joke. You didn’t say anything unexpected or funny even tho you keep insisting you did. So you’re either uncomfortable for some reason, or the LOL isn’t actually because there’s a joke in your statement, but because you’re making it into a joke. Returning to the stage is important to me. Why do you feel the need to make it into a joke? I don’t understand. Please explain.

Since asking him to explain himself, he’s been silent (other than the patch email today). Hallelujah! I called him out on it and didn’t let him get away with SHIT. Notice how I turned things on him? Needling him with the idea that he was uncomfortable? That was deliberate. I wanted to wind him up on that point, knowing it wasn’t on the mark, so he’d admit he wasn’t uncomfortable – which led him straight to the point I was making: he was being a bully. There was nothing funny about his comment; he was belittling me. Note: he didn’t like my post about the upcoming production. He just made his ‘joke’. And the fact that, half way through the conversation when he realized I was getting the upper hand, he had to make ANOTHER joke just showed that yes, his goal was to belittle me. That joke was all about ‘you’re not even worth replying to; I won’t answer you directly, just make a silly joke with you the butt of it’. The last few sentences are the real corker: Returning to the stage is important to me. Why do you feel the need to make it into a joke? I don’t understand. Please explain. Straight up statement: you’re making fun of me; why? Explain yourself.

Oh, how I made him run!

Distilled down, here it is:

  1. Destroy their first statement. This isn’t true because… Stay calm, and state the facts.
  2. Explain how, if their first statement isn’t true, then the following must be what’s really going on. This is where the turn happens. We already established it wasn’t a joke. So you’re either uncomfortable for some reason, or the LOL isn’t actually because there’s a joke in your statement, but because you’re making it into a joke.
  3. Push the alternative you know isn’t true. Why are you so uncomfortable?
  4. Make them admit the false alternative is false.
  5. Point out that the only thing left is precisely what they don’t want to admit to: they’re being an asshole. Don’t say asshole. Don’t accuse them of being mean. Again, turn it. This is important to me. Why do you feel the need to belittle it?
  6. Ask them to explain themselves.

The sheer I wanna get up and do a jig JOY I feel over mastering one conversation with a family member!! If only someone had told me it was THIS easy to shut them up!

Six easy steps to stopping a narcissist cold.

Pearls before swine

I’ll start with this morning, ’cause it’s in my face.

Another uncle comment. This time, it’s a ‘You need some coffee’ with a Google link to coffee houses (NOT coffeeshops) in Amsterdam after I called him out on NOT being funny and NOT making a joke. Here’s my reply:

What does my caffeine level have to do with our discussion? And why are you trying to change the subject and blame me for your poor “joke”? A joke is supposed to be amusing – yet your original statement, “I won’t be in that area then” isn’t amusing, it’s simply a fact. There’s no cause for laughter. No cause unless you feel uncomfortable for some reason. Shifting attention to my caffeine intake is simply a distraction from your discomfort. Why are you uncomfortable? ..Plus, get it right. I live in Rotterdam, not Amsterdam.

I’m proud of my reply. Called him out on it. Kept my cool. Even left with a little jab about him getting the city wrong. Ha fucking ha, uncle. Are you laughing now? I’m particularly proud over pointing out his discomfort (several times) and calling him out on his attempt to distract and blame me.

You wanna play games? With words? You DO know I’m a wordsmyth, right? Plus, I was taught by your sister – my mother. Your OLDER sister. The woman who knew every game you ever played and one upped you continually.

You ain’t gonna win.

I said I fucking had it with this shit.

…NEWS ALERT: Just had a notification from FB. An instantaneous reply from my uncle. DAMN! I really got him. Here’s his reply (including the typos; he was obviously in a hurry to say what he needed to say): “I was hoping some caffeine would wake you up and you would see my joke…;.clearly you have seen my joke all along. And….I won’t br in Rotterdam to see the show either.” Oh, I’ll continue with this charade. If it winds him up so much he’s got to reply the moment he reads what I say, I’ll continue.

Give him a little tit for tat. Generally I’m against that type of behavior, but some people just don’t learn!

Onto happier things.

Three point seven kilometers in thirty minutes. Wanted to write that out, because it deserves that much respect. That’s topping 7 km an hour on the cross trainer. And I felt flipping tired. Have the last several times I’ve gone to the gym. But I keep amazing myself, pushing more and running faster than I ever imagined I could. I believe soon to be 52 year old me could easily lap 22 year old me. Upped repetitions on my arms. That’s difficult, and I have to stop often and take a break. Still hate doing my abdominal exercises, but I might be ready to add a few more crunches to my routine. Walking is, as always, the easiest – though I’ve got to confess I feel awful slow walking at 5km an hour after running on the cross trainer. Find myself wanting to pick up the speed on the treadmill. Haven’t, yet.

Feeling strong in my body, my mind, and my soul. A bit unshakeable. Like I’m suddenly too together for anyone (including my uncle) to get under my skin. I like this. If this is the level other people operate at, I can see why they don’t understand when I fall apart. Doesn’t give them license to be assholes about it, but I get why they might not fully understand why someone like me struggles so much. It’s easy to let things slide off your back when you’re here. World trouble? Yeah, always is. Emotional turmoil? Yeah, it’s a pain, but what are ya gonna do? Financial trouble? It’ll sort itself out somehow. All those pat answers spewed ad infinitum via memes suddenly make sense.

I blame the endorphins. I’m getting a regular blast of them when exercising. And let’s face it: they say ‘peptide’ and ‘hormone’, but in reality they should say ‘drug’. It’s an all natural drug, I’ll give you – but it’s a drug. You get a drug response, it’s addictive, you need more to keep getting off – it’s a drug. More: it’s a drug I like. So I keep pushing to get it. Now…doctors get very pleased when they hear about an exercise regime. Oh, good! You’re getting regular exercise, toning your body, and losing weight. What could be better? No one acknowledges the drug interaction in your brain, unless it’s to say something like ‘well, exercise is GOOD for emotional turmoil’. Why is it that a drug naturally produced in our bodies is better or good, while drugs we take are bad and evil? I just don’t get that. It’s a drug, either way.

Blanket fucking statements. They ruin the damned world.

Today, I work. A few errands to run, and I plan on using the travel time on the metro to read Dutch. Then it’s time to tear into Taman. Make those changes I keep talking about. Start arranging a read through. Want to read through the play I’m doing, too. Keep my lines fresh over this break. And I need to call for an adjustment to my shoes (more Dutch; ugh!).

First, though, I will fashion a reply to my uncle. He doesn’t get the last word on my page. Even if that means this discussion goes on for another year, back and forth. And I know what I’m doing. I’m staying coolly disconnected. I know the necklace is tearing, and the mud is thick.

I know I’m casting pearls before swine.

Kill them all

How many times have I woken up far too early, thinking ‘I should have just killed them all’? More than I care to count, and this morning numbers among them.

Funny thing, my morning moods. Never know what’s gonna come out of me. Sometimes it’s hate – pure, unadulterated. Sometimes it’s understanding – a compassion I often lack, but always aspire to.

This morning, it was a no-nonsense approach.

Replied to my uncle. Simply wrote “What’s so funny that you put ‘LOL’? You didn’t make a joke.” Straight up called him out on it. It’s a method I’d prefer to use on a daily basis, but I must admit my own emotions often get in the way. Today was a mix of disgust and anger, cooled by the knowledge that he couldn’t touch me, couldn’t hurt me, and nothing he was going to say (or no tirade he was going to throw) could ever really affect me.

To quote a sample used in a very old song I participated in, I’m sick of this shit.

So if he’s mean, I’ll tell him he’s mean. If he’s wrong, I’ll tell him he’s wrong. If he’s an ignorant shit (most times) I’ll have to find the courage to say that, too.

Fuck “saving” this relationship. There’s nothing to save but a board my family uses to strap me down to while they whip me with lies and old, unrelated shame.

I hate them.

Shoulda taken one of the hundreds of guns they keep ‘in stock’ or ‘for sporting purposes’ and blown every single one of their heads off. That includes the small children, because I know from experience that if they were raised in THAT family, they’re fucked. Forever. Might as well free their souls and let them try again.

That’s horrific, isn’t it? A terrible thing to say or think (or at least that’s MY knee jerk reaction).

Stuck in the usual place: hating, and hating myself for hating so much.

…Spent time yesterday doing all those chores I haven’t done for a month. Cleaning. Ev-er-y-thing. Laundry, dishes, floors, cabinets, bedroom, toilet – you name it, I did it. Not perfectly. It was a nice day, and a Saturday, and I didn’t want to work that hard. Got it back to livable standards. My bro’s radar was on full blast when he got home. First thing out of his mouth? Wow, look at how clean everything is! Walked into the toilet: Wow! Everything shines! Yeah. Funny how appreciative he is of cleanliness, yet how reluctant he is to join in on the work to get there…

Today it’s back to the gym to be stared at as I stretch, and sweat, and push. Watched a recorded Graham Norton show last night during which a guest commented that she doesn’t have very good eyesight, but that worked to her advantage because audiences just became a blur. I can relate. My eyes aren’t terrible, but my long vision is fuzzy. Things are soft. All the ugly and hard edges are taken off, and the world is one big bouncy castle. Much different when I put on my glasses or stick my contacts in! But I don’t wear my contacts or glasses at the gym, so everything is in soft focus. I can’t tell if people are looking at me or just in my direction unless they happen to be close enough. And any facial expression of shock…well, that’s just blurred away. It’s as good as blinders. I don’t register anything directed at me, so I act like nothing is directed at me. Unless someone actually speaks to me, I’m totally alone in my head.

But I gotta admit…I might start facing the wall during my stretches. ‘Cause I now know they watch me. For sure.

Haven’t found the head space to begin work. Determined first to make the changes I know I want to Taman. That should take all of an hour if I’m really slow. Then it’s on to part 2 of the thrillers. Know what to change there. It’ll take a re-write, but hey! When I know what I want, a re-write barely takes any times at all. Been cooking up part 3. Bringing back a character from part 1. Have a particular actor in mind for this role – one of the troupe I’m working with. Not sure why. He’s not a great actor. Not even very good. But I’ve seen him in a couple of things now, and…he’s getting type cast. If there’s a gay man, he’s the actor playing it. Always. Great that they want a real gay person playing a gay person, but…he never gets another role. And they’re always the same type of gay person. Flamboyant. Never anything else. The character I’m writing for him IS gay, but not flamboyant. And he’ll have to stretch. In part 3, he’s close to a nervous breakdown.

Realize as I mull over the trilogy that I’m asking a LOT of this troupe. It’ll take more than memorizing lines to pull this off – but in them I see the desire to do more and, oftentimes, the boredom over not being challenged. Am I projecting? I realize those are MY emotions. But now I see the tiny habits of everyone. The surreptitious phone checking, the whispering, the fidgeting and distractions. The yes, we can do this and it’s fun but it’s not really challenging us attitude. And I sense they’ve worked, as a troupe, in one direction: improv. They stress it, they’re good at it. I want to see them stretch in another manner.

I want to see them act.

It could very well end up a disaster.

But I’ve my ace in the hole: sound. I know exactly what I want and how to get it – plus I’ve the skill and equipment to do it. Set your audience on edge with sound, and the acting can be a bit sub-par. It’ll still work.

And I really want to do this. Why? Because in my writing, I really did kill them all.