All my life, there’s been someone there, telling me not to “blow my own horn,” so to speak.
Belittling achievements I’ve earned.
Telling me that, even if I did make something, it was due to someone, or something else, never my accomplishment.
My brother did this to me a lot.
My parents, while I do love them, were always of the “humble is better” mindset, & my accomplishments were met with a pat on the head, & a “put that ribbon, trophy, medal, certificate away now, you don’t want to look like you’re bragging.
Even to this day, whenever I actually hit a milestone achievement, I second guess telling anyone about it.
Because there are still people in my life who put down things I think of as my “laudable moments”.
And, it hurts.
I’d like to feel the spotlight a little too.
I always cheer for every one of my loved ones when they hit those milestones of their own, because I wish someone would cheer for mine.
I have someone in my life now, that does cheer for me, & tells me that I deserve to celebrate them, because he’s had the same things happen to him, with missing those milestone moments.
And I love him for that reason, among many others.
I’m allowed to be proud .
I’m entitled to some pride in reaching goalposts.
And, I’ll be damned if I let any more be squashed, because they don’t meet some invisible standard laid out by someone else.
Stop setting invisible goalposts all over my playing field, because I’ll start hauling out all the old achievements, trophies, medals, certificates, & proofs of my BRAGGING RIGHTS RECEIPTS, & I’ll make a real spectacle of myself to prove you wrong.
Just got home after almost 3 & 1/2 hours in a dentist’s chair.
My vertigo has me spinning like a gyroscope, from all the “lay back, sit up” bullshit. And I’m completely overstimulated from having all the various tools & people’s hands in my facehole for that long.
My ElderDaughter & I call it being “blown out”, like looking at a computer screen after a cpu fries from visual overload; everything explodes, then there’s a snowy white screen, with brown noise & a high-pitched whine coming from somewhere that you can neither identify, nor shut off.
I desperately need to do a hard reset of my cerebellum.
So, for me, that meant blasting loud music, with lots of bass on the way home, then some silence with acoustic oscillating fan noises in my rv.
Next up, I’m fucking starving, because I haven’t eaten yet today, cause – dentist. So, I have to figure out what I can eat with half my face not registering as functional.
I’d take a nap, but that would completely demolish the rest of my day. Naps don’t work for me like other folx. I end up cranky, hangry, & a lot of times, with a migraine.
So, let’s try to fix the rest of this fuck-all day with some Italian Wedding soup, a handful of crackers crushed in there, & a BIG serving of caffeinated energy drink.
I can’t decide whether I love or hate social media.
Yeah, it helps me keep in touch with friends & family I don’t get to see much, if ever. And I get it, if I don’t like something about it, maybe I should just get off that platform, right?
Well, it really doesn’t matter which platform you use anymore, there are trolls everywhere.
Shit, Twitter is one of the worst, IMO. It was trolls that put me so far off that platform, I simply abandoned my Twitter account, & walked away without deleting it. *cue dusty wind blowing & tumbleweed rolling across screen*
Instagram is the pressed-plastic, Barbie Dream House version of people’s “lives”. It can be amusing, & I find some great memes there, but I’ve never taken anything there as real. It’s all window dressing, never mind the pins & tape behind the curtain.
TikTok has changed something for me, though. Some days it’s good, & it makes me feel great about myself & the world, and some days, I have to put my phone face down on silent & walk away.
Goddess, don’t even get me started on Facebook. 🤐
My point is, I used to be one of those so-called “keyboard warriors”, out there till the wee hours of the morning defending the downtrodden, and burying the bullies.
Or, so I thought.
But, I finally came to realize, that – Even if you feed trolls garbage…
You’re still feeding them.
You know?
I get it, it’s REALLY difficult to walk away when you see this bottom-feeding behavior on a subject, site, or person’s post that you care about. And it’s SOOOO easy to let your itchy trigger fingers wander over the keyboard & give them a good smack-down. Or what you THINK is a smack-down, anyway, because honestly? They’re probably sitting with their phone in their hand, or in front of their keyboard, giggling to themselves over ALLLL the ATTENTION and validation they’re receiving.
Because it IS validating, in their minds anyway. It proves their existence, & their “nobody gets me, the world’s against me, so I have the right to stand here & yell louder than everyone else”.
They enjoy being polarizing, & watching as people around them start spinning in circles, popping off at them, while they’re safely munching popcorn behind their screen.
And, it’s absolutely infuriating to others, when the trolls refuse to back down, or inflame situations higher.
But – in cases where it’s just trolling? And not actual internet terrorism? And, by terrorism, I’m talking bullying, harassing, doxxing, stalking, etc… ( and yes, all genders are guilty of this)
If it’s just some Incel wanting to start a virtual fisticuffs for funsies?
Shunning works.
Blocking works. I’ve blocked so many strangers on social media, because I’ve seen them being trolls to other people. I’m just glad that so far, there’s no numerical limit to how many people I can block, or I’d have hit that wall on Facebook years ago.
Blocking these people doesn’t just keep me from responding to their infantilism, it means I don’t have to see it, & they can’t see my stuff, either, at least on FB and TikTok.
Hmm, (hot take) this is just another method of using the INFJ door slam…
Humorous rebuttals can sometimes work, too, if you can figure out a way to totally confuse the troll, & get them off balance.
I had one make a not-nice comment on one of my tiktoks, once, smarting off about something that was totally irrelevant to the video, was supposed to be personally hurtful, & posted in such a way as to make them look like the victim of bullying if I responded defensively.
Instead, I snarked back with an overly-sweet, totally sarcastic, comment, that was impossible to twist without watching me rolling my eyes while typing.
I got an apology *shrug*, & an “I’m sorry, I had a bad day”. Not a valid excuse to be an asshole to a stranger minding their own business, so I responded again with
“Yup, I was amused, honestly.”
Nothing pisses trolls off like having others being mildly amused at their antics, instead of being offended.
Anywho, I try my best, these days. When I see someone being a jackhole for no apparent reason, I practice aggressive passivity.
I clench my fists (and usually my teeth too), I take deep, slow breaths, & I do one of 3 things.
1. Scroll on, because it’s not worth the hassle to engage.
2. Block/Shun, because the person is a jackhole, sexist, racist, homophobe, tinfoil fanatic, whatever, & I don’t need that kind of stress in my already stressful life.
3. Snipe back with so much sugar and tart they lose their teeth. (I got really good at using words to insult people without them realizing it when I was young)
I’m not out here, trying to change people’s minds about how they handle trollish behavior, I’m telling you my way.
But, if I could add one request?
Please don’t feed the trolls, because they end up making everyone else feel sick when they grow from it.
Chronic illnesses, Chronic pain, autoimmune disorders and diseases, they all change a person’s life forever, and not in a good way.
I’m not going to try to cover all of them, not even some of them. Because I don’t live with them all, I don’t know how they all affect someone’s body, or emotions. It wouldn’t be fair to try to “explain” someone else’s pain to them.
All I know, is what I’m going through.
I have Rheumatoid Arthritis. I also have Chronic Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, & CPTSD (Childhood Post Traumatic Disorder).
You might not think that all of these qualify as Chronic illnesses, or Pain Disorders… And you’d be wrong.
RA is a chronic, degenerative, incurable disease. It’s most often one of the “hidden” diseases until it reaches one of it’s worst phases, because all of the pain is on a person’s insides. Joint pain isn’t obvious, until you can start seeing the gnarling of fingers, the oversize swelling of joints, the warping of stance.
And one of the things about chronic pain?
After a while of nonstop pain… Most people become somewhat used to it. We never have moments without some form of pain anymore, so can’t remember what that’s like.
And, as your body becomes used to the lower level constant aching… Your body resets its base level for pain.
Things that would cause a normal person to call out a 6 or 7 on a doctor’s pain scale, are now a 1 or 2 for us.
“It’s just always there, it’s normal”
Whether my face shows it or not… I’m always in pain, anymore.
Knees, ankles, wrists, fingers, lower back, hips…it’s like a sub-aural hum from elephants. Human ears don’t pitch for those, and my pain receptors don’t seem to pitch for the pain that’s constant, anymore.
My mental illnesses, Chronic Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, & CPTSD, are also hidden diseases.
Many people still don’t think they’re actually real. They claim it’s a “weakness of spirit”, or laziness, or, as some religious fanatics call it “infestation of evil”.
When, in reality, my body doesn’t produce certain chemicals to properly balance my brain, so I have to supplement them from the outside with medications.
Just like people with diabetes have to take certain medications to properly balance sugar/insulin levels.
And yet, I don’t know of anyone saying Diabetes isn’t real…
And as far as my mental illnesses go, most of them go back to traumas that happened when I was young, and my brain stopped making the chemicals to balance out the emotional damage from overuse of the stress chemicals.
How long can a person survive on adrenaline from a flight/fight/fawn response?
Eventually, it runs out.
And, as the lovely topper one this stacked shit sandwich –
All of them have a side symptom of exhaustion.
As a person with these illnesses, I struggle a lot to do certain things. And some days are a harder struggle than others. Some days…are just a wash.
And yet, no one can see any of them, unless I choose to show them, to talk about them, to try to explain.
But, because you can’t see them, they’re not real, right?
Cover your eyes, make them invisible, and they cease to exist?
As I was walking from one side of the aisle to another, I passed a box full of something, and impaled my hand on a hook sticking out of the box.
Blood running all the hell over the place, down my hand & arm, I frantically searched my purse for some tissues, but couldn’t find any.
And no one noticed or stopped.
So, as I bled all over the sleeve of my jacket, I pushed my cart to a counter back by the auto shop, where luckily,I found some industrial paper towels.
I started mopping myself up, & pulled my mini bandaid packet out of my purse. (Yeah, I carry them, I get paper cuts at work a lot)
And my sarcasm kicked in, when the gal behind the counter, who was helping another customer, looked over, and, with no compassion in her voice at all, said…
“Battery acid?”
I blinked at her & said that, no, I’d impaled myself on a hook in another aisle.
She sighed, & said,
“OK, as long as it’s not battery acid. Need a bandaid?”
*snort*
I held up my Band-Aids, & said that no, I had some, I just needed to stop bleeding everywhere.
She turned away.
Fuck, I hate Walmart.
Not ONE person, associate or otherwise, tried to help me.
One associate jackass even came and stood behind the counter not 2 feet from me, watching me, but saying nothing.
As though I might swipe something off the counter?
Fucking hellhole.
And now, my hand is throbbing and swelling.
I probably need stitches, or that super glue stuff, but fuckit.
I’m going to soak this bastard & ice it, after I put about 6 more Band-Aids on it.
Typing tomorrow should be fun.
FML.
*Edit*
Yeah, so looking at it, it’s about a quarter of an inch long, & the inside of my palm is starting to bruise up…I may end up going to the doc for this tomorrow. Joy.
I can’t believe what I heard in my office this morning, and it’s got me so upset that I’m spiraling into my PTSD.
I’m going to have nightmares tonight, that’s a given.
I was minding my own business this morning, when I heard two coworkers talking about the Kavanaugh hearings, and about Dr. Christine Blasey Ford coming forward about her past experience. They were asking opinions on what people believe.
To be completely honest, I haven’t been able to read a lot in depth about this, because of my own past, so I don’t have all the facts about this case right at my fingertips.
But, what I do have, from what I have gleaned in my perusals of the news, is that I believe the women who’ve come forward.
But that’s neither here nor there, because that’s not really what this post is about.
What I heard my coworkers saying was, basically, that they couldn’t believe that anyone credible would wait 30 years to come forward with an allegation of sexual abuse.
It stopped me in my tracks.
And I had to speak.
I told them both that, I could certainly believe someone could wait 30 years to come forward. And that, maybe, she did come forward back then, but whomever she told, didn’t believe her, or blamed her, so she didn’t tell anyone else. I told them that I knew exactly how it felt to not be believed as a 48-year old woman, speaking about a 30-year old occurrence, and how it felt as a 16-year old to not be believed when it happened.
I could certainly believe a teenager NOT coming forward out of fear back then, because of the much more sinister rape culture I grew up in that blamed everything on the female; from what she wore, to how she walked, to whether she smiled at the perpetrator.
Then, one of my coworkers went on to say – that she couldn’t believe that Bill Cosby was going to prison for as long as he is. And that she didn’t think he deserved to go to jail. “He’s 80 years old, for cripes sake, he doesn’t deserve to go to jail for the rest of his life.”
WHAT.
Stop.
My head almost spun around on my shoulders, & I wanted to scream. I’ve been wanting to tear into her ever since, but have kept my mouth shut in order to keep my sanity as well as my job.
But, I CAN’T BELIEVE she basically stated that it’s acceptable for someone to get away with being a MASS RAPIST, which Bill Cosby IS, it has been PROVEN IN A COURT OF LAW, simply because of his fucking AGE.
The women who had to go through the tragedy of abuse at his hands have had to live with this, and will have to live with this FOR THE REST OF THEIR LIVES.
But – by her way of thinking? Because he’s geriatric? Eh…he gets a pass.
FUCK THAT.
RAPE CULTURE LIVES AND THRIVES BECAUSE OF THINKING LIKE THIS.
What Bill Cosby did is not only unacceptable, it is horrific and disgusting. It deserves far more than the 3-10 years the judge has sentenced him to.
DOZENS of women came forward to accuse him, but only 3 counts were able to stick. Because rape culture still blames women, and women are still afraid to come forward, and the statue of limitations has run out in many cases.
What Brett Kavanaugh stands accused of is also disgusting, unacceptable, and horrific. As such, there is no way he should sit on the Supreme Court of this country.
Tell me… If someone stood by and watched your child get raped, or helped someone else rape your child, would you want them sitting as a judge… Anywhere??
I don’t care when it happened in that person’s life, it speaks to their moral character, which is not likely to change that drastically. If he was that apathetic at 17, He’s worse now.
We only become more fully ourselves as we age.
My head is still spinning, I can’t get a grasp on everything I’m thinking, and I just want to sit & scream. My chest hurts, which I know is extreme anxiety, & my heart is pounding.
My anxiety meds are SO not doing their job today.
My PTSD is flaring so badly right now, I wish I could just stay home & hide with the cats, but I have to go back to work to finish the day. My lunch break is almost over, being not nearly long enough.
But, thank Goddess it’s the weekend, because if I had to go into the office tomorrow? I don’t think it would go well.
I need time to decompress, & to stop rehearsing arguments in my head.
Granted, one of my coworkers did stop me later to ask me more about my own experience, and to express sympathy, which helps. Of course it does.
I just wish more people would get educated on rape culture, on what it means for the survivors of abuse of all kinds, & on what should happen in the justice system, instead of what actually does.
Monday I found out that my ex-boss from my old job at “that place” died. She was 82.
She had health issues, which I would be willing to bet contributed to her passing away, but honestly, I think she was ready to go be with her husband, who passed many years before.
I’ve written before about her. About how I think she wanted to stop time when her husband passed, & was bitter over the fact that the rest of the world wouldn’t cooperate.
I… have… feelings… about this woman. And no, they’re not pleasant feelings.
Yes, I’m still angry.
Because of things she said & did, because of things she stood aside and allowed to be said to me by others, when, as my employer, she should have stood up for me – this was the span of time when I had to start talking to my doctor about anxiety, & finding the right medication for it, because it spiralled out of control.
Maybe it would have happened eventually, anyway? Maybe not? But, the stress this woman put me under at my job, due to her direct influence and due to her selfish neglect, I truly believe she caused a chain reaction for me that ended up with panic attacks and severe anxiety.
Both have now been tempered, thank Goddess, but it was really bad, back then.
I’ve had a couple people tell me I should just “let it go”, now that she’s gone. And that I shouldn’t speak ill of the dead.
That day is not today.
I will start to let go of the anger I have towards her, because I am still in the healing process.
But it won’t happen today.
I won’t let myself become bitter with this, or hold this grudge. I’m not good at grudges.
And I know the sharp, hot taste of anger in my mouth, the heat of it rising like magma in my chest, making me shake with it as I used to drive past her other business & would flip it the bird.
Yes, I used to flip her other business off…every time I drove by it. EVERY. TIME.
For those who don’t live in my city, or know which business she ran, it sat on one of the main thorough-fares in our city, and I drove past it at least once a week, if not 3 or 4 times.
That’s a lot of middle fingers.
But I know that spicy, angry tang… doesn’t last.
It fades.
Unless you fuel it, religiously topping it with the coal it needs to keep embers ablaze in your gut for years.
Leaving you with the bitter fallout of ash on your tongue.
You speak nothing but that bitter taste, for that’s all you know, constantly regurgitating it from within, constantly stoking that furnace of hatred and regret, leaving you nothing but gray.
No color, no joy, no future.
I do know the difference between temporary anger, and permanent bitterness.
Even if my anger has been 10 years in the healing, and still – the scabs crack & bleed a little when scraped.
I’ve finally, truly, given up on ever having faith in men.
I just don’t believe that they’ll ever do what they say they will, anymore.
I don’t have any fucks to give when it comes to romance, either.
I’m so done with giving chances to men who shit on me, take me for granted, walk all over me & treat me as though I were nothing more than a convenience drive-through for them.
It’s been a long time coming, this attitude, and a slow death by attrition, but after everything – I’m just. Fucking. Done.
I don’t want anymore promises, no more “please, just one more chance”s… No more winky faces, no more flirtatious texts or DMs on Instagram. No more “trying just one last time” on dating sites, because Goddess knows – THAT is the LAST fucking thing I need. No more damn messages asking me about my “likes and dislikes”.
Fuuuuuuuck… I’m so tired of all the bullshit, only to end up alone again at the end of it all, because it really was all just a game to the other person.
I’m too damn old for this shit.
I’m too old for these men who “claim” they “love me” (ha) and yet they can’t ever seem to make their way to my damn door. Oh, but they can text every day, and want to talk on the phone, sure, cause that’s easy.
But, actually showing up?
Naw, that’s hard.
Sorry.
Fuck off.
I’m busy.
I don’t have time to read your texts anymore, and I’m not answering the phone when you call.
And so we come once again to November, one of my least favored months of the year, containing my least favorite holiday.
Actually, I could do away with Thanksgiving altogether, and never miss it.
I think I’ve borne a deep-seated resentment towards this holiday since I was a child, to be honest, and I’ll tell you why.
As a kid, Thanksgiving meant having to dress up, and stay dressed up, All Damn Day. As a tomboy, this was one of the worst possible punishments you could inflict on me. I loathed wearing dresses, and having to wear one for a whole day… Not being able to climb trees with the cousins, or scurry up and down the cliff behind our house – hell – simply having to stay clean all day… It was hell.
And OK, the food thing was alright, but I was always a picky eater, so I pretty much stuck to turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing & corn. No funky salads, no strange fruity jello things, nothing unidentifiable, thanks. Pumpkin pie for dessert, with plenty of whipped cream, & I was done.
And then… Ultimate boredom set in.
The menfolk took over the living room to watch football, while the women ruled the kitchen.
There was nowhere for a tomboy cursed to wearing a dress for the day to go!
Gah!
I usually ended up sitting in my room, playing records on my record player, wishing I could change into my ratty jeans & scuttle down the cliff to the freedom of the river below.
No joy. The maternal police in the kitchen guarded the stairway & would’ve caught me.
As a grownup, I became resigned to the holiday – until my brother destroyed it a few years ago for me with his hate-filled email one year, & a ranting phone call another year.
I… Quite simply… HATE … Thanksgiving with pretty much every fiber of my being.
And yet – every year, I’m forced to partake in this much-loathed ritual, to make my parents happy.
*sigh*
At least I don’t have to explain why Mom asks me to make the pumpkin pie every year anymore, since my sibling & his family moved away.
I wish I could say no.
I wish I could be far away this year & not have to “do” Thanksgiving.
I’ve never really seen the true need for this holiday. A secular holiday “celebrating” something that ended up being basically a farce? Pilgrims & natives eating together in thanks? And then European settlers basically trying to destroy the natives in their greed for land and domination?
Why are we giving thanks again?
I’m thankful most of the year for what I have, I don’t need this one freaking day to remind me to give thanks – thanks anyway.
And shitty things always seem to happen at this time of year, so I walk around, cringing, waiting for the other shoe to hit me on the back of the head.
I’d like to just fit a dimmer switch on November… Turn it down, gradually, a bit at a time…until that day rolls around… And I can just dim the lights & pretend to not be home?
Brea's Air 