Thursday, March 13, 2014

-Insert title for angtsy post-

Something about the last two-three weeks has been just... off.  Borderline makes me wish I had a Harry Potter style wand and that transfiguration spells (read turn someone into an animal) worked.  We'd have an influx of newts and dogs in the world right now.  Hence why they don't exist.  No ONE has perfect patience.

Between menustral depression, a day of PTSD hell again and a lot of small reminders, it's just been... fucking horrible.

For a long time, I wanted to be a writer and a fighter jet pilot or a soldier. Yeap, me.  Female top gun.  That was what I was going to do.  Then I had my last growth spurt and my vision went to absolute shit.  So much for being a pilot.  Okay, let's what else I can develope an interest in.  Soldier stayed on the list while writer bounced around a bit.

I could go on into specifics but they're boring.  We'll summarize.

11-12 years of age - depression hit.

16 years of age - several suicide attempts at this point, mental breakdown a month into attending academy for my junior year.  Night of September 10th, 2011. Woke up in time to see the second plane.  Truthers can kiss my fucking ass.  Two events complicate each other and I start round one of therapy and counseling. Anger my HOME was attacked bolstered my resolve to get to where I could serve.  I had to serve.  It was the one thing that was a constant that I was meant to serve.

18 -20 - Let myself be convinced that I should do college.  First fiance. First rape.  First miscarriage. Second round of counseling.  Took Tae Kwon Do.  Confidence, couldn't bring myself to hit my opponents.  Tried college again.

20 - Tried again to enlist.  The university threatened to kick me out and flunk me in all my classes.  Never went back.

Made the choice to visit friends in Chattanooga , broke things off with second fiance.  Stayed in Chattanooga without a single fucking plan or clue.

20-26 : Six years of mistakes, miacarriages, fight, abusive relationships, 3 more rapes.

2011: Tried to enlist again.  Believed firmly this would be my year. Weight drops despite all advice and attempts.  Trend of weight loss continues even after moving back in with parents in early 2012 and meeting the love of my life.  Bottomed out at 99 lbs.  PSTD fully hits in late fall of 2011. Almost committed suicide.  Two friends spend days of time on the phone with me, Mindycat appears thanks to another sister.  Depression finally beaten back to the point, I feel like I can breathe. Can't write though.  No purpose. Denied a purpose.

2012- 2013: Healed. A lot.  Finally was able to join fiance.

2014: Nothing yet besides gearing up for a fight to get ahead enough to get out of California.

And then there's now.  A few days ago someone I greatly respect asked what I wanted to do.  How the fuck do you tell someone twice your age and experience, find my damn purpose?

Parts of my life, due to my fiance, are wonderful.  I wake up to a man who loves me. He makes me stronger. But I still feel purpose-less. Every time, it's been yanked out from under me. Build one for myself?  Don't make me laugh.

"But you have the crocheting and knitting."

And? That keeps people warm yes. I'm able to cope with a lot of the anxiety and flashbacks most of the time with it, but it's not enough.  So I'm able to write again. This time, it feels organic to me.  Like these are truly my ideas. Including what I hope will be a good triology set in post apocalytic times following a female pagan rape-survivor handywoman. (Hey write what you know right?)

But where's the purpose in that? It lets me get things out of my head.  I get to deal with pieces of painful memory.  But what happens when it's done and I don't need to deal with it anymore? Back at square motherfucking one. Where do you from there?

Yes, I have a commitment ceremony coming up and a family in the future but focusing entirely on the other people in your life can be bad for your health. Trust me on that.  I'm still me, only now me in partenership with another.

But where's my purpose? Modeling?  There are thousands of models. Hundreds better than me.  Gun bunny? The industry likes the ones with the big ass tits hanging out with an be-doke-donk that makes them drool.  Yeah, I ain't got those.  I do have a tendency of working on trying to look right with that gun my hands.  Like I own it, handle better than you can and can own anyone's ass.  Aka believable. And taken seriously.

Only I didn't really feel like I was.  I was a damn kid.

I turn 29 this July. All that bullshit, and I'm not even truly 3 decades yet.  Honestly the amount of pain it causes me at times that I have no discernable purpose, is crippling. That doesn't make sense probably to you.  Be glad.

Tuesday, March 4, 2014

-Rubs Temples-

It started rather innocently enough.  A casual acquaintence messaged me on Facebook asking me to keep her in prayers.  I said sure, I'll keep you in my thoughts and add you to my candle.

Her reaction from there went full nuclear retard.

"Don't you know that's Witchcraft? WitchCraft is Satin worship!"

Um... it's spelled Satan.  And not, it's not. You are thinking of theist Satanists.  I am Witch, not a theist Satanist.  The discussion lasted all of fifteen minutes, with her reciting "christian" diatribe at a pace that leads me to believe she remembered I was a Pagan, and had delibreately contacted me to "save my soul".

Cunt, my soul is older than you by a good thousand years.  Fuck off.

-More temple rubbing.-

The encounter hurt.  A lot.  Not because of the attack on my faith as I've gotten waaaaaaay to used to that bullshit.  Even death threats, which become silent after I remind it's called the Second Amendment and I DO practice it.

What hurt was the falseness of her request. The ingenuity of her need.  (Which reminds me as to why so many who use their magick for others demand payment to ensure the person they are helping really actually wants it.  A lesson for another time.)

"Don't you know prayer is only real thing that works?"

.... yeah, my response can be summed up as fuck off you ignorant bitch.

First of all, I am deliberately choosing to place you in my thoughts and telling the universe that I'm throwing a bit of my weight in behind you. That I spending valuable brain time, on your behalf as I go through my day, keeping your name in front of the God(s).

Second, candles aren't cheap asshole.  I have one or two that get lit for a few hours every day and that I meditate on, keeping you within the circle of light so that whatever burdens you're carrying may gradually grow lighter and you see all lesson pieces as they appear and you are embrace your growth.

Third, be gracious.  If you are aware response to your request for help not being the kind of help you want, keep your fucking mouth shut.  At all times.  Don't badmouth, don't scorn, don't mock, just keep silent.

I have dozens of people I think on every day, most don't even know it and probably haven't realized I have noticed they are having a rough time.  My list is full of people whom I have never met and whom probably barely notice me.

Why meditate on them?

Because I can, and because there are limits to the kind of help I can give to most people.  Its a kindness to pray or meditate on someone and take advantage of this makes you a fucktard.

It's also an insult to the time and energy investment that I make.  Do me and many other people a huge favor: stop trying to waste, take advantage of or bastardize that investment.   When investments have to be taken back, I'm not the one who will suffer.  I'll just divy that up among the others.  It'll be you, because the Universe has a tendency to expose people like that for what they truly are.

As for me?   When that happens, I'll be on the front porch with my best mates, sipping moonshine outta Mason jars, shotguns leaned against the door frame, sitting in the rocking chair and knitting. I wasted time and energy on many a person, took it back in a way and moved on.

That's what happens when you present a false front.

You get left behind.