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.
Thursday, March 13, 2014
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.
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.
Friday, February 21, 2014
People are strange.
I seriously find myself at times wondering why it is that I continue to interact with humans. Not too long ago, there were a few casual acquaintances that had found out some of my past experiences. ... Apparently according their "idea of society" I should be a lot more bitter, a femnazi (read femnasty) and a whole bunch of other stuff.
Really? You think just because I'm a rape and abuse survivor that I should be bitter?
*rubs temples*
I am bitter. However I also made the choice to those occurrences direct me into become a stronger woman. Which means not holding on them as best as I can manage. Means not letting someone tell me how I should be reacting to the event as the other person is 8 times out of 10, full of shit.
Yeah, I have some pretty nasty scars and wounds that are taking forever to heal it seems like. I have things happening every day that cause me to pause and seriously break down the thing in question trying to figure what it has to do with anything that involves me.
Is there information in what I'm finding my attention drawn to that is crucial?
Is it of any value?
Does it trigger the eye roll response or do the pieces fit into older lesson puzzles that life has thrown at me?
More often than, I end up shedding what is of no value to me personally and many times passing it on to folks who may indeed find it of value. There've been a lot of people I've had to shed too. Toxic jerks who have an inkling about a few things which leads them to think they're are experts on everything.
Let's face it, you should be learning constantly and having breakthroughs on even tiny things frequently. Toxic people do teach you.... they teach you your limits.
Breakthroughs tend to trigger an interesting response from the Universe.
You end up finding yourself looking up at her as she leans over and bops you gently on the nose.
"Took you long enough goober. Now, brace yourself because it's about to get rough. It's going to hurt but you are going to be a better person for it in the end, because all that bullshit you've allowed yourself to be programmed with is going to be purged. You are going to be better for it, despite it. It's going to be worth it.
I promise."
Really? You think just because I'm a rape and abuse survivor that I should be bitter?
*rubs temples*
I am bitter. However I also made the choice to those occurrences direct me into become a stronger woman. Which means not holding on them as best as I can manage. Means not letting someone tell me how I should be reacting to the event as the other person is 8 times out of 10, full of shit.
Yeah, I have some pretty nasty scars and wounds that are taking forever to heal it seems like. I have things happening every day that cause me to pause and seriously break down the thing in question trying to figure what it has to do with anything that involves me.
Is there information in what I'm finding my attention drawn to that is crucial?
Is it of any value?
Does it trigger the eye roll response or do the pieces fit into older lesson puzzles that life has thrown at me?
More often than, I end up shedding what is of no value to me personally and many times passing it on to folks who may indeed find it of value. There've been a lot of people I've had to shed too. Toxic jerks who have an inkling about a few things which leads them to think they're are experts on everything.
Let's face it, you should be learning constantly and having breakthroughs on even tiny things frequently. Toxic people do teach you.... they teach you your limits.
Breakthroughs tend to trigger an interesting response from the Universe.
You end up finding yourself looking up at her as she leans over and bops you gently on the nose.
"Took you long enough goober. Now, brace yourself because it's about to get rough. It's going to hurt but you are going to be a better person for it in the end, because all that bullshit you've allowed yourself to be programmed with is going to be purged. You are going to be better for it, despite it. It's going to be worth it.
I promise."
Saturday, February 15, 2014
All over the place.
I've been bouncing a lot of ideas around in my head here lately for the next post here, for my new joint project Blue Collar Prepping, for everything I've invested time in.
The entirety of all my creative projects in their volume has surprised me. Up until 20 months ago roughly, my creative abilities had so throughly decayed that I honestly thought I had lost them. I couldn't even write short stupid make no sense stories anymore. I was barely maintaining my crocheting and knitting.
The breakthrough happened late Feb or early March of 2012. My phone had run out of minutes and I was out of contact with everyone for almost a week. Had they all known what I was facing down in terms of inner demons that winter, they have may very well have shownup out of nowhere and I have to say, I wouldn't have had my breakthrough.
Those five-six days in an isolated cabin north of Knox where damn good for me. I was on the other side of the worst bout of depression I had ever had as it had hit, when I finally finished coming to terms with my rapes. That winter I had MindyCat thanks to my sis Rachel.
That last day was the best because I didn't have to fight with myself to get up. Just a warm, reluctant to move MindyCat. Something had finally given and it wasn't me. A few days later I was introduced to the man I love now.
And to quote a prior conversation, the hands were finally taped right. I had someone constant who wanted me to work through my shit with him. As it goes, things are coming back. I have two complete outlines of two stories. I have one story that is called Nuovaria, working title, but that's the name of the town at the center of the story. I have two other stories that I'm building.
Then there's the yarn work. That's been a happy constant, minus when I have my episodes.
One of the things that has always stuck with me in the past few years was two friends who I had managed to have some candid conversations with on some less than rough days.
J, the first one, I had worked with a few times at one of my numerous failed side jobs. J and I were talking about his family (which made for some fascinating stories in of themselves. Like the triplets being born on Halloween of a Blood Full Moon. @_0) Another acquaintance asked him why they had "dumb" phones and no cable/internet/tv. J had grinned a huge grin and said they just weren't important. Him and his wife did what they loved for a living. They loved being guides and teaching people about history. The kind that the fuckers of the politically correct bent are trying to erase from the history books. They worked as guides all year round at a variety of places. They loved it. And they didn't mind having a rather Spartan existence compared to many.
They had their priorities straight.
How did they check their emails?
Its called a library.
"If we followed what society told us was how things should be, we couldn't do what we loved."
The other was L. My sister and a good friend who was always doing her best to be patient with me. Looking back, I kick myself in the ass for not trying harder, but I digress. She always reminded me, that sweat-equatity was always worth more in the end.
Now I don't sweat normally, but the point stuck.
The last point to all of this came from a spirit guide. Who simply said "No job is too small or insigficant, to not be done with passion or beautifully." One of the few times, I have EVER gotten a straight answer from the Fae. :-/
The entirety of all my creative projects in their volume has surprised me. Up until 20 months ago roughly, my creative abilities had so throughly decayed that I honestly thought I had lost them. I couldn't even write short stupid make no sense stories anymore. I was barely maintaining my crocheting and knitting.
The breakthrough happened late Feb or early March of 2012. My phone had run out of minutes and I was out of contact with everyone for almost a week. Had they all known what I was facing down in terms of inner demons that winter, they have may very well have shownup out of nowhere and I have to say, I wouldn't have had my breakthrough.
Those five-six days in an isolated cabin north of Knox where damn good for me. I was on the other side of the worst bout of depression I had ever had as it had hit, when I finally finished coming to terms with my rapes. That winter I had MindyCat thanks to my sis Rachel.
That last day was the best because I didn't have to fight with myself to get up. Just a warm, reluctant to move MindyCat. Something had finally given and it wasn't me. A few days later I was introduced to the man I love now.
And to quote a prior conversation, the hands were finally taped right. I had someone constant who wanted me to work through my shit with him. As it goes, things are coming back. I have two complete outlines of two stories. I have one story that is called Nuovaria, working title, but that's the name of the town at the center of the story. I have two other stories that I'm building.
Then there's the yarn work. That's been a happy constant, minus when I have my episodes.
One of the things that has always stuck with me in the past few years was two friends who I had managed to have some candid conversations with on some less than rough days.
J, the first one, I had worked with a few times at one of my numerous failed side jobs. J and I were talking about his family (which made for some fascinating stories in of themselves. Like the triplets being born on Halloween of a Blood Full Moon. @_0) Another acquaintance asked him why they had "dumb" phones and no cable/internet/tv. J had grinned a huge grin and said they just weren't important. Him and his wife did what they loved for a living. They loved being guides and teaching people about history. The kind that the fuckers of the politically correct bent are trying to erase from the history books. They worked as guides all year round at a variety of places. They loved it. And they didn't mind having a rather Spartan existence compared to many.
They had their priorities straight.
How did they check their emails?
Its called a library.
"If we followed what society told us was how things should be, we couldn't do what we loved."
The other was L. My sister and a good friend who was always doing her best to be patient with me. Looking back, I kick myself in the ass for not trying harder, but I digress. She always reminded me, that sweat-equatity was always worth more in the end.
Now I don't sweat normally, but the point stuck.
The last point to all of this came from a spirit guide. Who simply said "No job is too small or insigficant, to not be done with passion or beautifully." One of the few times, I have EVER gotten a straight answer from the Fae. :-/
Tuesday, January 28, 2014
Keeping mental pile ups in check.
I have to admit to being envious of my domestic partner and Fiancee right now. He can fall asleep in under a minute. Personally I think it was a trick he was taught by the Marines. He can turn his brain off, like it was nothing. Me? Takes me a couple hours sometimes. I'll end up laying there day dreaming, letting my brain wear itself out.
Decided to take a break from the net for a few days, so relax this was auto posted. =)
Things though in your head tend to pile up, like messes in your room or home. There's always that one spot it seems that magickally accumulates shit. And it builds up and up. Part of what makes it so rough is half the time I don't get warnings when it's reached a critical mass. Other half the time, I can cut it off at the 90% point and work through stuff. I never really know how long it take to sort the pile or even if I'll "find the floor" in the time I can take.
Even with keeping busy and trying to stay focused, that pile will start leaning and interfereing with everything. That usually leads to meditating for awhile.
It's not as bad as it used to be though. I have healed a lot in the past 12 months. I am able to be creative again, not just with the crafting but also writing. I can write again. I used to write all the time. I was decent at best but when I was hurt so badly back in 2010 and 2011, I was struggling creative wise. Those were wounds that I had to step back and let heal on their own.
Its been worth it. I think.
Decided to take a break from the net for a few days, so relax this was auto posted. =)
Things though in your head tend to pile up, like messes in your room or home. There's always that one spot it seems that magickally accumulates shit. And it builds up and up. Part of what makes it so rough is half the time I don't get warnings when it's reached a critical mass. Other half the time, I can cut it off at the 90% point and work through stuff. I never really know how long it take to sort the pile or even if I'll "find the floor" in the time I can take.
Even with keeping busy and trying to stay focused, that pile will start leaning and interfereing with everything. That usually leads to meditating for awhile.
It's not as bad as it used to be though. I have healed a lot in the past 12 months. I am able to be creative again, not just with the crafting but also writing. I can write again. I used to write all the time. I was decent at best but when I was hurt so badly back in 2010 and 2011, I was struggling creative wise. Those were wounds that I had to step back and let heal on their own.
Its been worth it. I think.
Friday, August 23, 2013
I can make it better than what you could buy.
You can ask anyone who knows me personally. I am a craftswoman at heart. I crochet, knit, sew. I can throw clay for ceramics and have a basic understanding of basket making. I craft things with my hands because its my addiction that keeps me sane and a measure of freedom from my issues.
About two years ago roughly I think, I picked the crochet hooks back up, hardcore and serious like. At the same time, I was picking up the bottle. Alcohol was providing the same time of numbness that finishing projects was. Only it didn't take as long with the booze as it did the yarn. I don't honestly think anyone noticed I was drinking more for any reason outside of just because it was something to do. Working at a dive bar for a couple of months, did help curb it.
2011 saw me drinking a lot. I don't think anybody really noticed enough to say anything, as no one mentioned it to me. That was before I admitted to the PTSD. I just wanted to be numb. I didn't want to deal with people and I was trying to gain weight to join the National Guard. I needed yarn though too, and was spending money on beer that I didn't have to spend. So I hit a friend who I knew had access to a large stash of yarn that he had instructions to make shrink and go away.
Huge haul of yarn later, and I was too busy crocheting to drink much. It was yarn or the bottom of a bottle. Since late 2011, when I moved to the middle of nowhere, I've not drunk much. Just enough to feel the buzz and compliment a dinner I had made sometimes. It was skeins of yarn instead six packs of hoppy goodness.
Yeah, I hide it pretty well because I kept pulling away from people. People that were reminding me of what happens when you trust too many or the wrong kind of people. I don't think anyone really knows still, even after this, how much I drank because I hid it.
It'll be good to with my fiance, because he drinks in moderation and I know that'll rub off. I also know I'm going to keep crocheting or knitting or quilting or whatever the hell I feel like making. Only its more now. It's not just the numb inducing high from finishing a project now that results in a sweet deep sleep. It's the satisfaction of knowing I've made something that will be last decades longer than that shit you could buy in the stores.
It's the feeling of being just a little bit more alive. Just a bit more back to being centered, reworked into a stronger woman. I mean hell, I can even crochet or knit, an Ace bandage for wrapping sprains and twisted joints, etc. Yes, you read that right. Gauze bandages are woven threads. Guess who knows how to weave? Yeap, me.
With every passing day in 2011, I felt myself die. I lost so many pieces of my humanity it seemed like. I honestly stopped caring about most people save my closest friends. And they can tell you, it showed. As 2011 came to a close and 2012 started, it was still a black hole. But each tiny piece I made, it felt like I was forging new pieces of myself. You get a lot of time to let your mind wander when you've memorized patterns. In thus, my mind wandered a lot.
I craft because it helps me feel alive. I work yarn in patterns of color, not the level of perfection like a painter, but yarn is my paint. It is the threads of myself and a level of self-correction. Every piece I make has a few tiny flaws. But every piece is a level of order, from chaos that I have wielded into a form that many can recognize. It is my addiction that keeps the PTSD from getting the best of me.
About two years ago roughly I think, I picked the crochet hooks back up, hardcore and serious like. At the same time, I was picking up the bottle. Alcohol was providing the same time of numbness that finishing projects was. Only it didn't take as long with the booze as it did the yarn. I don't honestly think anyone noticed I was drinking more for any reason outside of just because it was something to do. Working at a dive bar for a couple of months, did help curb it.
2011 saw me drinking a lot. I don't think anybody really noticed enough to say anything, as no one mentioned it to me. That was before I admitted to the PTSD. I just wanted to be numb. I didn't want to deal with people and I was trying to gain weight to join the National Guard. I needed yarn though too, and was spending money on beer that I didn't have to spend. So I hit a friend who I knew had access to a large stash of yarn that he had instructions to make shrink and go away.
Huge haul of yarn later, and I was too busy crocheting to drink much. It was yarn or the bottom of a bottle. Since late 2011, when I moved to the middle of nowhere, I've not drunk much. Just enough to feel the buzz and compliment a dinner I had made sometimes. It was skeins of yarn instead six packs of hoppy goodness.
Yeah, I hide it pretty well because I kept pulling away from people. People that were reminding me of what happens when you trust too many or the wrong kind of people. I don't think anyone really knows still, even after this, how much I drank because I hid it.
It'll be good to with my fiance, because he drinks in moderation and I know that'll rub off. I also know I'm going to keep crocheting or knitting or quilting or whatever the hell I feel like making. Only its more now. It's not just the numb inducing high from finishing a project now that results in a sweet deep sleep. It's the satisfaction of knowing I've made something that will be last decades longer than that shit you could buy in the stores.
It's the feeling of being just a little bit more alive. Just a bit more back to being centered, reworked into a stronger woman. I mean hell, I can even crochet or knit, an Ace bandage for wrapping sprains and twisted joints, etc. Yes, you read that right. Gauze bandages are woven threads. Guess who knows how to weave? Yeap, me.
With every passing day in 2011, I felt myself die. I lost so many pieces of my humanity it seemed like. I honestly stopped caring about most people save my closest friends. And they can tell you, it showed. As 2011 came to a close and 2012 started, it was still a black hole. But each tiny piece I made, it felt like I was forging new pieces of myself. You get a lot of time to let your mind wander when you've memorized patterns. In thus, my mind wandered a lot.
I craft because it helps me feel alive. I work yarn in patterns of color, not the level of perfection like a painter, but yarn is my paint. It is the threads of myself and a level of self-correction. Every piece I make has a few tiny flaws. But every piece is a level of order, from chaos that I have wielded into a form that many can recognize. It is my addiction that keeps the PTSD from getting the best of me.
Friday, August 9, 2013
No attempted title witty today
It's been a very rough last two weeks. I've lost track of how many days I'm going on now of little to no sleep. Roughly two weeks ago, I walked past my younger sister who reeked of cigarette smoke. And I mean reeked. Guess whose PTSD triggered at the scent?
They smoked. Heavily. They reeked.
A week of nightmares and little sleep.
Past few days, I can blame on nerves partly over my upcoming move. But the nightmares are still there. I've been having to keep my distance from my dad.
One of my more... feminist minded female friends has been in a tirade lately over the military mismanagement of punishing rapists within the ranks. I've been trying to get it across to her, that the same people wearing the uniform violating folks...are the same fucking people as the civilian pieces of shit that do the same things. Mindset is the same. Just because someone is wearing a uniform, doesn't mean they aren't human anymore and not prone to the same problems and types of behavior that a civilian is. Is just more pronounced, because the uniforms (military, police etc) place them within a very highly visible portion of the population.
That being said, I'd still trust someone from the military before I would a fucking civilian. Why? Hate to tell ya this cupcake, but they've always been the most honest. At least with me. There have been a couple that were absolute worthless Neanderthals, but they didn't stick around after getting things figured out. See, down side of being a Witch... you get louder signals if something is wrong than most people.
The nightmares make it hard though. The number of people who smoke is still rather disgusting to me. Though, very rarely anymore do I let contact with a smoker happen.
My fiancé quit smoking. Before I had told him what the scent does. Like, two months before I knew the scent could trigger. (Yeah, you could say I love the man.)
I'll be honest. I don't want to find out what other triggers might be. But I know I'm going to. :-/
Yippee skippy.
They smoked. Heavily. They reeked.
A week of nightmares and little sleep.
Past few days, I can blame on nerves partly over my upcoming move. But the nightmares are still there. I've been having to keep my distance from my dad.
One of my more... feminist minded female friends has been in a tirade lately over the military mismanagement of punishing rapists within the ranks. I've been trying to get it across to her, that the same people wearing the uniform violating folks...are the same fucking people as the civilian pieces of shit that do the same things. Mindset is the same. Just because someone is wearing a uniform, doesn't mean they aren't human anymore and not prone to the same problems and types of behavior that a civilian is. Is just more pronounced, because the uniforms (military, police etc) place them within a very highly visible portion of the population.
That being said, I'd still trust someone from the military before I would a fucking civilian. Why? Hate to tell ya this cupcake, but they've always been the most honest. At least with me. There have been a couple that were absolute worthless Neanderthals, but they didn't stick around after getting things figured out. See, down side of being a Witch... you get louder signals if something is wrong than most people.
The nightmares make it hard though. The number of people who smoke is still rather disgusting to me. Though, very rarely anymore do I let contact with a smoker happen.
My fiancé quit smoking. Before I had told him what the scent does. Like, two months before I knew the scent could trigger. (Yeah, you could say I love the man.)
I'll be honest. I don't want to find out what other triggers might be. But I know I'm going to. :-/
Yippee skippy.
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