Brain Barf

May contain traces of nuts.

Friday, April 30, 2010

CTRL. ALT. DLT.

Denial.
Anger.
Bargaining.
Grief.
Acceptance.
Rinse and repeat.
Rinse and repeat.

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Thursday, April 29, 2010

Herstory.

I just want some peace.
At this point I'd settle for a piece of peace.
No matter how much or how little I talk or what I say.
There aren't any answers.
There is no "FIX".
There aren't enough pills.
It doesn't change anything.
My herstory is the same.
PLEASE, someone tell me I'm wrong.
But I'm not.
PLEASE lie to me. Or teach me how to lie to myself better.


I HATE.  Loathe.  Detest.
There isn't enough of a word or emotion.
There isn't.
Gawd this new anger...is encompassing.
If I didn't have control issues, it could take over everything.


I'm still being punished.
There is just no end to it.
So lets get a stick and poke at it, every week at RCD's office.  And pour lemon juice into the raw.
Let's have open brain surgery without anesthesia in the naive hope that someday it helps and hurts less.
What parts will be left?


Go ahead and swim in my reality for awhile and see if you float or sink.
Try it.



There was saline leakage at RCD's office. 
I toughed it out the whole time until the end.
Because of STRONG, STUBBORN and CONTROL.
I almost fell, when I tried to stand up.
I felt dizzy and RUN.
And RCD was saying something, I don't know what.
Because all I could focus on was..."RUN."
Shiny door knob please turn already and let me out of this pain.


I will get into an accident pulling out of that parking lot.
Because...RUN.
My flight or fight response is RUNFORRESTRUN.


Then I pulled over and threw up.


And I'm supposed to go back next week and do it all over again.
POKE poke POKE.
I don't know how I can.

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Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Lightbulb full of anger.

You don't get to choose your family. 
I didn't.
But I do now.
I get to choose.
I've formed a pretty amazing group. 
Small, but awesome.
This is coming from someone who doesn't even trust herself.
From someone who if they try to get close I get offensive and kick them in the shins.  Or any other vulnerable body part.
Dave, Kids, mostly siblings, and two friends.
I have friends for the first time ever.
It only took nine years working together every day to form this friendship.
I think this is called "progress".
RCD said one time, "it's amazing that you have maintained a realtionship", when Dave and I were going together.
It stunk to hear that, and I didn't really know what he meant at the time.  Because, BLAME=ME.
But there has been a whole lot of AWAKE going on lately.


I think the reason I ROCK my job so much...when I really shouldn't...there are some pretty abusive assholes there.  Like the dude who "accidently" kicks my boob every morning when I'm putting his ted hose on.  Like the dude who waits until a female walks into the room to start masturbating.  Like the chick who throws things at me everytime I walk into her room, and has a worse mouth than even ME.
BUT.
I always know exactly what I'm getting into.
I choose to walk into their room, and I choose to deal with their behaviors.
I think at their age, all of the FAKE is gone.
They are worn down to their pure selves.
Sometimes that really sucks.
Other times its pretty cool.
I'm so good with fixing/helping other people. 
It's only when it comes to me, that there is a total blank.  What?  Der?


My favorite lady (I don't have favorites because favorite hurts, and favorites die) is a lady I will HIPPA'LLY correct, call Elizabeth.
She is hypothetically 98.
She has more hair on her upper lip than on her head.
She worked in the apple orchards until she was 72.
She is STRONG STRONG STRONG, will a delightful dose of sweet stubborn. 
Her only daughter is an chronically absent soul sucker who only shows up when she thinks she can maneuver the attention towards her.  She shows up every six months for care planning and is ME ME ME. She has repeatedly tried to move her fiercly independant Mom into a nursing home.  Because when people move into nursing homes, there is no social obligation to care anymore.


They have become my psuedo extended family in some ways.
With not much grace anymore, but a whole lot of courage.  And ornery.  I DIG the ornery.


It's a very small circle, subject to change.


I'm so judgemental of my residents families that never visit or give a shit.
They die without without anyone but the people who are paid to care, surrounding them.
But if my "parents" get to that stage...I for damn sure won't be there.
We all fight our own battles, we all struggle.
So I look at myself and my herstory, and have to set the judgement aside.

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Monday, April 26, 2010

Vague.

The main memory I have, the one that makes it so I can't deny the "other" memories...is vivid.
The "other" memories, I was young and the processing wasn't so functional.
They're blurry-ish. 
Fractal.
Plus I don't like them.


I think it was because I was older that I remember it so well.  And had a HUGE motivator named "Mikalea". 
I wasn't so great at protecting myself, but a MOTHER GRIZZLY has nothing on me.
It's so clear, I can't push the "other stuff" back and go back to "it didn't happen" anymore.


And here I am typing to myself and being vague.


Good Lard, I should change my name to vague.


"Hi there, not nice to meet you, I'm Vague!"


It was after Miki was born.  It was when my parents were doing the divorce thing (of which we were all thrilled and relieved about).
It was in a small frame of time when my mother moved out, and I stayed for ???? reasons. 
The mother and I have always mixed about as well as oil and water.  I always took all of my anger and frustrations out on her, because that was the only place I could.  She got 99% of my anger.  But she deserved a lot of it.  And I got almost ALL of hers.  She physically took out her frustrations on me. So, I guess that's fair.  Except that I was a CHILD.  Blah.
I still feel SO responsible for everything.

This becoming a confused mess.  But HELLO.  I'm a confused mess lately.


Anyway, the main memory:


My dad (I need to come up with a new term for that, because "dad" isn't accurate) basically proposed (<- not the right word, but there isn't one) to me.
I was seventeen. 
He offered it like he was giving me this amazing gift and opportunity.
He offered me the master bedroom and all it came with...what a WONDERFUL THING!
He had checkbook in hand.
Because he was wealthy and we weren't.  And he used that all the time.


I didn't think about it.  I just did PROTECTION.  I waited until he left somewhere.  I strapped Miki into her tummy pack.  I packed everything I needed and moved in with my mom.  That was the last time I was there.


When he lost that measure of control and/or whatever....he threatened and tried to take Miki away from me.  Calling me an unfit mother. 
And then I moved to Washington.
And that's all I have to say.

Friday, April 23, 2010

No

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Awake

Today the Random Counselor Dude's (RCD) office was a large serving of utter, total frustration.  With extra crispy FAIL.
Brick wall, meet forehead. 
It was a total waste of my time, his time. 


But five hours later, when I should be sleeping, NOW I want to talk? 
For the first time in 35 years? Work at 5am?  Now?  Seriously, now?


I didn't feel like it was a part of me.
It WASN'T me.
I had no connection with that person that those things happened to.
And if I recognized that girl, I might become that girl.
And the new free floating memories...they fuck with everything.
Play Dough Infinity Squared.


But today, the utter frustration, or anger maybe? 
Changed something.
And it's real now.
And I want it OUT.
GET OUT.
For the first time ever, I WANT to talk.  Or not so much to talk as just to barf everything out to get rid of it.  Eliminate it.  Take a big dump.  Because its actually in me, festering now.


Weird, strange, scary and intense.
FRANTIC.
And I don't do intense.
I don't do frantic in this way at least.


I do baseline.


I'm terrified of when I actually put these now ALIVE words out there....what other monsters will walk through the door I open?
How big is the iceberg?
But what else do I do?
I can't get the door shut anymore.


I think the current problem is:  Who do I talk to?  Who do I tell?  Where do I barf?
I can't tell Dave.
I can't talk to sisters.
I can't talk to Random Counselor Dude.


And I'm SO entirely sick of:
Keri the Wall.
Keri the Empty.
Keri the Blank.
Keri the NO.
Keri the Giggle.
Keri the Smart-ass.
Keri the Stubborn.
Keri the Lost.
Keri the Obnoxious.
Keri the Mute.
Keri the Stagnant.
Keri the I Have the Right To Remain Silent Because Anything I Say WILL Be Used Against Me.
So how about if we try, Keri the Verbalist? 
I know. 
CRAZY idea. 
Because I think the mechanism never fully developed or got pretty broken somewhere along the way.


I think if I tell someone...and I don't dissolve and blow away...THEN I can tell RCD.


I even tried to tell Moses.  But felt too guilty because he's just too happy to hear ANYTHING and he gets sad when I cry.  And the words physically HURT my ears.  So I cranked up the I-pod so I couldn't hear myself talk.  PATHETIC.


I want to be able to tell someone who will nod instead of grimacing.
Not someone who will thank baby Jeebus that they didn't lose the dad lottery.
Sympathy to me is the WORST.
Not that RCD does that.
Not that RCD hasn't heard worse.
I'm sure he has.  That has nothing to do with it.
This is my worst.
MY road kill flesh strapped to a run away car.


But by the time I write this...this too shall pass.
I'll probably be twitching in RCD's office next week, silently growing gray hairs.
Talking about Ichiro's batting average.
Planning a BFF party for the brick wall and my forehead.

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Wrapped, surrounded by ten thousand mountains
cut off, no place to go
Until you're here, there's no way to get here
Once you're here, there's no way to go.
--Yuan Mei, "On the Road to Tientai"

Saturday, April 17, 2010

Anger?

Friday, April 16, 2010

Mind the Gap

"It's not denial.  I'm just very selective about the reality I accept."  ~Calvin~




A couple weeks ago Dave and I were napping.  Some little noise or something brought me to that place where you aren't quite awake but not fully asleep.  And there was a hairy masculine arm draped across me.  In less than a few seconds I was in a white frozen terror place and then dry heaving in the bathroom...cold sweaty and horrified*. 


*Remind my brain to send my heart a sympathy card for all of the panic attacks.


Due to Industrial Strength Stubborn, I WILL NOT feel that way about my husband.  The dude who (shouldn't?) loves me, and has put up with SO much.  He's paid too much already.  Plus, I really dig him. 


So I forced myself to go back into the bedroom.  Forced myself to sit on the bed...and made myself stare at his hairy masculine hands and arms.  And traced his hands and arms to his face over and over and over again and over and over and over again.  Looking and saying this is Dave.  Dave.  Dave.  Dave.  Until it was less.
Until it was OKish again.
Thankfully he snored and drooled through the whole thing.
Gawd I love that dude.
When we're both old little pencils, with no eraser left, dulled all the way to the silver, I'll love his stump.

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Thursday, April 15, 2010

Brain, Brain Go Away.

The Fluoxetine makes getting to the Random Counselor Dudes office less... PIT OF DESPAIR. 
Today was the first time I wasn't looking for a bus to pull out in front of on the way there. 
Mostly kidding.
It doesn't make talking any easier.

 
Or maybe it does. 
I've said so much more than I ever intended. 
So yay for being a pill popper.


It's really tough. 
And I'm good with tough!
I rock difficult!
I do the formidable quite well. 
Because just my day to day is MOUNTAINOUS
I force myself to do TITANIC every single day. 
Give me a problem to solve and I'll have the TPS report to you by morning. 
In triplicate.


But this is different.  Not even on the same planet as difficult.  With no map.  With PlayDough oozing and clogging everything.  This planet doesn't even have oxygen.


Anyhoo.


Random Counselor Dude asked me a question.  Why my oldest sister and I?  Why were we the only ones?  Per my usual...clueless.  But seriously.  WHY and WTF?  
As if there were really any acceptable answer.
As if it would be better if we all were.




So I called the oldest sister, Wendy, and told her I was coming over.  She was drinking so I knew she would be easier to talk to.  (That's very screwed up Keri).


And I asked her.  Because I'm all sorts of an obnoxious and brave pill popper.  Turns out, she hadn't told her partner of almost seven years anything about her childhood either.  (Good job Keri). 


We talked for two hours.  Which is about two+ hours more than Hunsakers ever talk about STUFF.  She cried a lot.  So did her partner.  The Numb Keri did not.


After one hour and fifty eight minutes, I said, Random Counselor Dude thinks that I was sexually abused.  Because that was an easier way to say it...although I. Can't. Believe. I. Said. Anything


Oldest sister, Wendy, said... I've always thought that...
....................................................................................
....................................................................................
Then a whole bunch of reasons why, then apologized for being the older sister and not protecting me. 


Numb Keri just left.
And cried the whole way home.
So, that was fun.


And I didn't believe myself.  I've doubted every single memory/feeling/moment.  I've rationalized and denied my way to Timbuktu and back again ninety three times.  Every minute of every day. 
But to hear THAT from someone who was there and survived it with me...

Good times.  Good times.


Validation is highly over rated.


Woo Fucking Hoo for progress.

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Wednesday, April 14, 2010

Still not angry

I think I'm done with the counseling thing for now.
FAIL.
Dave isn't happy with that idea.
FAIL.
I'm not accomplishing anything.
FAIL.
I don't think I'm ready.
FAIL.
It started as marriage counseling, not, "sit back and examine every fucked up detail of my life" counseling.
And the whole disclaimer/waiver/whatever, that stated: things can get worse before they get better...but there should have been a: SERIOUSLY, WE'RE NOT KIDDING, IT'S GOING TO SUCK ASS VOMIT AND FUCK WITH YOUR LIFE, paragraph.
And things are truly ____ lately.
My personal space issues have exploded... or imploded to be more exact.
As in don't fucking touch me EVER, including Dave.
Jeebus. 

I went away for three days for a GIRL weekend.  Something I've never done before. 
It was difficult.  Good.  Fun.  Other stuff.  Etc.
And I came home to THE GUILT and RESPONSIBILITIES. ++++
And then Dave wanted the physical shit that comes with being married, when you love and desire someone.. 
I just shut myself off. 
I was in compliance. 
I sort of raped myself.   
And yes I get it.  And yes I know.  And. And. And. Blah. Blah. Blah.

I started taking Fluoxetine 15 days ago.  Fine...PROZAC.

  1. It feels like, EPIC FAIL.  I wasn't strong enough. 
  2. I have to take a pill to be sort of "normal".
  3. ...
  4. FAIL.
  5. This whole process would be so much easier if I wasn't involved.

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Friday, April 02, 2010

Again.

     "There are kinds of human problems which really do seem, as our tidy expressions would have it, to "come to a head" and "demand to be dealt with".  But there are also problems, often just as serious, which come to nothing that we can recognize or openly deal with.  Some long-live, insidious problems simply slip us off to one side of ourselves.  Some gently rob us of just enough energy or faith so that days which once took place on a horizontal plane become an endless series of uphill slogs.  And some- like high water working year after year at the roots of a riverside tree- quietly undercut our trust or our hope, our sense of place, or of humor, our ablility to empathize, or to feel enthused, and we don't sense impending danger, we don't feel the damage at all,
     till one day, to our amazement, we find ourselves crashing to the ground."

Duncan, David James. The Brothers K, Dial Press, 1992, p. 429.

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Things to do today:

  1. Get cape.
  2. Wear cape.
  3. Fly.

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