This whole week has just been a complete clusterfuck.

I’m not going into it because it will start at self-loathing and devolve from there. Go watch Bonnie Thunders’ interview on HuffPost Live instead.

Alone

I spent the weekend at the shore, our family home on the bay. My great-grandfather built it in the 30s as a summer home, and my grandparents and mom and uncles lived there while they were building the home Grandmom lives in now, the home I’ve always known as my grandparents’ house.

The Boy stayed there with me. This is strange and new on several levels-it was his first time meeting many of my local family members (he’s met more of my dad’s side than my mom’s), and I was allowed to be alone at the shore with a boy overnight, and to share my bed with him with implicit permission. My parents and grandparents are Catholic (of varying degrees, but that upbringing is always there) and disapproving of premarital sex. In my mid-twenties, 2 male friends were planning on visiting me and we were planning on spending part of the visit at the shore, but I was told we couldn’t because I would be alone with boys. I had no intention of sleeping with them, but that didn’t matter.

We drove separately, because he sleeps later than I do and also had to work on Monday. My friend Fly By Night, a SF1 skater, was taking care of my cats while we were gone. I spent the time alone at the house attempting my first water color painting (not counting the childhood ones with the hard ovals of paint). I found it difficult to be alone there, without distraction. I wandered the grounds, bringing my cell phone as if I was bringing my friends with me, as though I were not alone if I could talk to them, even via facebook and twitter.

That afternoon and evening we built a fire outside the garage at grandmom’s and ate pizza and chips and salsa and cheese and crackers with cousins and uncles and aunts and friends. The Boy is not good with big groups normally, and groups full of strangers who are Very Important are worse, so we would wander away and generally be a solitary unit in the crowd. I invited a friend over, who is more outgoing and also Polish (my grandmother is Polish) and the family took to him well, reducing the pressure on The Boy.

The next day the crowd had diminished to 3 or 4 plus us, and we spent most of the day watching Dexter at the shore in the blue room. As it got later and The Boy would have to leave, I started feeling like I would not be able to stay there without him, though if he had gone home I would have. He arranged for his roommate to feed the cat and stayed with me, without me ever having to say that I needed him to stay.

I had a migraine on Monday and stayed in bed until 4pm. Then I cleaned up the house and stopped by grandmom’s, and everyone was gone except me. My uncle lives a couple hundred feet away, so is sort of always around, but last night was my grandmother’s first night totally alone in her own home. I stayed and had dinner with her, let her fuss over me not eating enough, and did the dishes, and moved some plants, but I had to come home to my cats and leave her. I cried for a lot of the drive home, finally alone enough to do so, and I worried about her.

Playing Pretend

I think right now I can only function as I want to when there are people around to “play pretend” for. (Which means not family, which is weird because they all seem to be coping way better than me and seem to WANT me to play pretend. Well, except my brother, but he’s on the other side of the country.) Today I had to get my check from work and deposit it. Instead I slept all day waiting to hear from Fly By (who is going to care for my kitties while I am at Grandmom’s.) She’s gonna be here in a little while to get the keys to my place so I should shower but instead, here I sit.

I’m spending the next 3-4 days at The Shore, our family place near Grandmom’s (because all the rooms in her house are spoken for right now) sans internet, so this is my last chance to blog for a bit but I can’t concentrate on it. I can’t tell if I’m genuinely grieving or the reason I should be just kicked off a regular depression. I actually want to skate, but I don’t know where I can do that up by grandmom (at least, not for free) an while it almost got me up before I decided to nap, it wasn’t quite enough, knowing that I’d be neglecting other stuff that needed to be done. I feel like I shouldn’t do the stuff I want to do, because there’s stuff I HAVE to do, and if I’m not doing anything, it’s easier to justify not doing things I have to do.

I’ve only eaten chocolate chips today.

I miss my granddad.

Distractions are best

I stayed away from the internet (except reddit, because it is full of random silly) all day, pretty much. I spent the morning making a photo slideshow on the computer for the memorial service. To be clear, this is my mom’s dad, not Poppy who I visited recently. When mom called with the news, I assumed it was Poppy, and was confused that she was calling and not Dad. None of us were remotely prepared for this. My brother found out when the bakery where granddad was head baker for decades, posted the news on facebook, which is shitty. He called to let me know about 15 minutes after I talked to mom, so if my sister-in-law hadn’t seen the update (we all follow the bakery, it’s the best) and told him he would have found out not long after (mom called from the car, decided to call my bro when she got home) but that is the worst.

The Boy came over around lunchtime (he had to do some MUST DO stuff at work first, then head over from MD to VA) and that helped. We watched Game of Thrones and he helped with the slideshow and we had lunch and played word feud and he was a very good distraction for a while. Then mom called grandmom to get the details (which we didn’t have this morning) and was crying a lot, and then she called other people with the details and cried a lot, and I had to get the fuck out of dodge and made The Boy drive me somewhere. He basically made random turns that put us on the GMU campus and then University mall’s parking lot, so we stopped for fro-yo and then he wanted to experience the novelty of buying beer in a grocery store. When we got back, mom was still on the phone, but I still felt a little better, and she only made one more call, and didn’t cry during it.

We closed ourselves in the sunroom but mom cracked the door because Zelda (my cat) couldn’t decide which side of the door she wanted to be on, so we heard her talking to my dad and crying some more, but I tuned her out. I just couldn’t listen. Then she got a bug up her butt about listening to Sam Cooke, and I helped find the tapes and get them playing in her stereo. She made me dance with her to one of the songs, which I did not love (I am not a dancer unless I am drunk and at a bar/show) but she insisted so I did.

Then mom went for a walk and dad retreated to the computer room. I got The Boy some dinner and sent him home (he has a can’t-miss thing at work tomorrow and Thursday) and braved the internet.

I appreciate the support I have gotten on FB, twitter, and in comments here but I just am not up for responding specifically, I’m sorry.

No blog today

my granddad died.

A Decision has been Reached

I received the comments on my comps. I find them fairly ludicrous, and will be writing a letter to the dean about that, but I will not be begging for another chance to take comps. It would be a waste of my time and energy to take the exam again, when the reasons I keep failing are so ridiculously stupid. I am great at my job, I got great grades, and if I can’t be a librarian because of these idiotic nits being picked, then, fuck it, I’m tired of flinging myself headlong into this brick wall.

For now, I will look for jobs that I can get with my bachelors (BA in English) and look at becoming a certified records manager (which will cost around the same as taking comps again, but hopefully will have a more positive result.) My parents extended the offer that I move home with them again. I do not want this. I may have to do it.

I have officially been diagnosed with “Major Depression.” My mother somehow finds this surprising, and thinks that if I just clean my apartment and expect tomorrow to be better, I’ll be fixed.

I am not broken.

I just have to figure out what’s next.

The light is dying; do I care enough to rage against that?

I’ve been feeling not-well since Sunday. I took yesterday off.

I saw the psychiatrist Monday, who suggested we increase the dosage of my migraine-preventative, which happens to be an anti-depressant, in an attempt to prevent migraines AND better prevent depression issues. I saw a therapist Tuesday, and took the afternoon off for recovering of not-well-feeling. We managed to schedule two therapy appointments and another psychiatrist appointment before my insurance from work goes away. She wanted me to do intensive outpatient, but I don’t have 9 hours a week during weekday mornings to sacrifice to it, so it is off the table at this point.

Yesterday afternoon, my phone rang and it was the assistant dean letting me know that I did not pass my comps. Again. I met with him today (I had him for a class, before, he’s very nice) to discuss where we go from here. The school policy is that after two attempts at comps, you are removed from the program unless you successfully appeal to the dean. The assistant dean is working on getting me the specifics of how that works. Meanwhile, I have to decide if I want to appeal, and what I would base my appeal on.

I did a lot of crying yesterday. Today I feel kind of numb. Shortly before my meeting with the assistant dean, I was contacted by my poc at a temp/contract/direct hire company for library services about a 4 year contract position doing records management. They were interested because of my work experience and my MLS. I had to tell her I wouldn’t be getting my MLS, and explained that though I won’t have the degree I do have the experience of the classes and I did well in them, citing my gpa. Hopefully, they’ll still want to interview me.

I don’t know if I should continue working toward the MLS or not, or what I would do otherwise. I have some serious rage that I did all the work and did it well, but I didn’t pass a test so it’s all somehow invalidated.

Brand new day?

So, yesterday the US and Puerto Rico voted for president and veep, senators and reps, local government positions, and various referendums. The White House and Senate majority remain in the hands of the Democratic Party, the House majority remains in the hands of the GOP. Marriage Equality was passed in three states and a fourth chose not to ban it. Most of these are things I’m pretty happy about. But I’ve spent most of today in a funk. I was talking to my mother last night about Thanksgiving plans (which I’m totes psyched about–The Boy and I are having a tiny turkey-day dinner alone at his place. Except without turkey, because my mom can’t have red meat so when I cook holiday meals for my parents, I can never do roast beef and yorkshire pudding as I desperately long to do, so we’re doing that instead. thus ends this aside) and she asked me who I voted for. This is not unusual; she’s asked after every election. (It pleases me to note that she never has to ask IF I voted, btw.) I told her and followed it up with the statement that “more importantly, I voted for Marriage Equality.” Her response? “Ugh.”

When I was in 8th grade, my mother told me that if I liked girls, it’s okay and she still loves me. (At the time, I did not harbor any same-sex tendencies, but as I do now, I have treasured the sentiment.) When I came out, my parents laughed at my fears of being turned out. So it was quite shocking to me to find that my mother does not believe I should be treated equally by our government, depending on who I chose to spend my life with. Because we often have political disagreements, she refused to explain why she finds the concept distasteful, saying she didn’t want “to fight on the phone” about it. I spent the rest of the night and all of today feeling as though I have been punched in the stomach.

Please remember that behind the political debates are people.

To Write ‘Love’ on Her National Suicide Prevention Week

Hey Guys! It’s suicide prevention week, and today is world suicide prevention day. I won’t focus solely on this all week, but it’s gonna be a theme.

Before I start on that, though, I’m gonna give you a little State of the Handicap Address. Friday night the DC All-Stars were holding a fundraiser at the Rocket Bar. Like many DC locations, the Rocket Bar is housed in a building that was erected before handicap access laws, so while it has a lovely stairwell, it does not have an elevator or handicap ramp. I sent an email to them (and to the Black Cat, where I was going beforehand for the Doctor Who Happy Hour in the back bar) asking about handicap access, but it got lost in the ether, apparently (and the Black Cat never responded, though happily it was a moot point there). When I showed up with my friend and my scooter, we discovered that I could not get in the bar. My lovely friend when down to see if there was someone who could offer assistance (which is how I know the email went astray; the assistance manager came up to talk to me) and while I was initially quite put out at the lack of easy access, Rodney was super helpful and willing to work with me to figure out how to get me inside in a way that made me comfortable. He grabbed my scooter, and one of his staff acted as a crutch for me on my right side. Between the bouncer and the stairwell railing, I got down easily. I was only drinking soda (with free refills even! I am so cheap! 😉 ) so I felt a little bad that they had made such an effort for 2 bucks. I did give Rodney a 100% tip, and now I’m telling you: Rocket Bar is awesomely accommodating. You should give them your money.

Also, my ortho sucks and cancelled my appointment, so who knows when I’ll be allowed to walk.

And here we go with the heavy stuff.

I am a survivor, and this is my story (PART ONE)

In high school, I was active in the theater department. I am still in contact with one of the teachers from those years. She shared this blog. This is written by one of her students.

to feel the stubborn ounces of my weight

TRIGGER WARNING: No-holds-barred descriptions of sexual violence and strong language to follow (also, discussion of depression, PTSD, alcohol abuse, and anorexia). Please, practice self-care in reading this, as I made sure to do so in writing it. Also, please be mindful of your comments, because this is very delicate subject matter and … pretty much as personal as it gets.

 

As I roughly explained in my pilot post and will reiterate more clearly here, my goals in publicly sharing my story are as follows:

1) To give a detailed first-hand account of how sexual assault, in its variety of forms, can — and does — occur in the real world.

2) To give fellow survivors a name for what happened to them (understand that we, as a society, are typically not given a comprehensive — nor accurate — definition of what sexual assault actually is, and for this reason…

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