I can't get away from my internal hermit. 

The constant tugging, pulling me toward protective solitude. It's survival mode and I feel obligated to indulge in cutting everyone the fuck out of my life but then I look around and it dawns on me. Everyone already IS out of my life. That sudden realization that nobody gives a shit about what's going on with me. Out of sight, out of mind.  I think if I thought anyone genuinely gave a shit and really wanted to know how the hell I'm getting along, I'd probably be less likely to shut everyone out.  The ONLY person I won't cut out of my life is my daughter.  I feel like crap about how little 'Living' we do. Between having no local friends and being shit poor trying to make ends meet and cutting every disfunctional relationship from my life, it's no surprise I'm feeling lonely and numb and utterly disheartened. 

I don't need any help from other unhealthy people sucking the life out of my existence.  I need a plan! I need something to break...and when I say 'break' I mean how the fucking stone table broke for Aslan when all that Narnia shit went down.  

Am I gonna be like this forever? Will I ever make solid friendships that will last?!

There has to be more to living and thriving than this.

Limbo - Living the Flexible Dream

Every few years or so I get antsy and my gut says "time to pack it in and move it on out." 

I despise all things stagnant. I need to know I'm making a difference, getting ahead, moving forward for the better. Sure, I can suck it up... provided it's for a worthwhile end goal. I've always been an "all or nothing" kind of being...can't imagine being anything else.

My landlords hiked my lease again. Twelve hundred for a 1 bedroom. Utilities are additional. No thank you... Packed up all mine and my little girl's things and drove a grizzly 4 days to land us out here in the Midwest where the housing market is proving a mere fraction of what I've had to endure these last several years in the Pacific NW. Why Ohio? Well...as my cousin puts it "Toledo sets their bar so low, anyone can succeed."   He's right too.  I'm starting over from scratch having had to sell and give away the vast majority of my possessions in the efforts to travel light. aka. Cramming everything into my Hyundai Accent hatchback to eliminate the need for a $1,500. U-Haul.  

So here we are - just the two of us; new job for me and a new school for my little sweet pea.  Now if only, to soon transition out of 'guest mode' amidst my Aunt's benevolent generosity and finally get us into our own place again!  "Dear Santa..."

My Aunt offered me an incredible opportunity - to move out to Ohio, live in her quaint little house "rent free" for about 4-6 months. Just long enough to get back on my feet and sock away money for a down payment on a house. Auntie H works as a realtor. She's a bit of a newby but she's learning the ropes and feels she could help with my getting into a home for me and my kiddo. I'm looking for a fixer-upper.  Sounds like I got everything I need handed to me right?! 

Wrong.

I was disheartened to learn of some seriously sinister facts after I had accepted such generosity of opportunity and a 'genuine leg up' out of my dog-paddling approach to my circumstances due to constant financial limitations... 
Basically what it boils down to is this: My Aunt raised 6 children amidst sexual deviants and did not listen or protect her OWN KIDS from being sexually molested for years.  Perversely enough, she is ALL OVER the whole #MeeToo movement. Acts like Judge Kavanaugh is despicable....etc.

What a FUCKING HYPOCRITE - here I am LIVING with a sexually abusive enabler who by the way, is ALL about church and "PTL" (praise the lord) "God is just so good." 

I have a 7 yr old daughter and I DO NOT want to be here any longer than I absolutely have to!!!!  Someone get us the FUCK out of here!!   *Sigh*.   Thus the urgency to ditch this 'incredibly fucked "generous opportunity".'

My Auntie's story on how shit went down completely differs from what my cousins (her now fully grown children) have clarified for me.  It's all I can do to be civil toward her.  I am utterly repulsed by her self-righteous opinion of herself and her ability to sleep at night KNOWING full well that she allowed her ex husband and her own father to sexual abuse her children time and time again. And now here she is, using me to pull in my cousins for 'family time' when they can barely stomach her existence. She utterly disgusts me.


Just 2 more months... shine on a little longer and I'll get us out of this fucked up 'family hospitality'.   

Red - the New Black-Out.

Anger was my Step mom's middle name.  

Actually no, scratch that... Rage - to the point of seeing red and having no memory afterward as to what went down...that was my Step Mom. 

No real outlet for an enormous amount of pent up rage. I suppose it had everything to do with probably feeling she had in many ways married elements of the monster that resided within her own father.  Her dad was a child molester. Grandpa did some serious damage in several towns over the course of many years.  He was, like most pedophiles, someone who positioned themselves smack-dab in the middle of children.  He held roles like Sunday school Superintendent and Phys Ed teacher.  

Grandma was a poor example of a happy marriage and divorce was out of the question. Ever the dutiful wife, she was raised conservative Baptist. It was understood that a woman's place should be unflinching, at her husband's side. By those standards, to question or criticize her husband was nothing short of unloving and did not represent the trust, respect and honor-driven support she had verbally committed to uphold within their marriage vows. So essentially, as the dutiful wife, Grandma became his every day enabler. Covering for his multitude of sins, regardless of the devastation that remained in their path.

Grandpa preferred little boys. Fear of discovery became a persistent motivator behind his frequent relocation urges. Each of his daughters bore the brunt of his unbridled rage and though they were safe from his sexual appetites, his grandson (my cousin) was not so fortunate in escaping the very same sickness as his own uncle's incestuous depravity, inflicted by on him by his uncle's father before him... and on down the line it went. 

Subsequent to the abuse, my cousin acted out in turn on his two younger sisters, molesting them repeatedly over the course of several years and had even made attempts to coerce me into his sexual curiosity. I recall being 5, 6 and 7 years of age and he, only a year younger than I, trying his utmost to convince me into taking off my clothes and performing girlfriend duties. When I refused to play his game he would threaten to go home unless I relented. Play times with my cousin often ended with tears on my part and his anger toward me for not 'allowing him to be my boyfriend' and everything he felt encompassed that role.

All four of my Aunties ended up marrying. My step mom, barely 21, married our dad, nearly 10 years her senior with demons of his own having just returned from ground combat in Vietnam, PTSD in hand and in the middle of divorcing our Mama diagnosed 'Schizophrenic' and declared "unfit" by the State. My sisters and I (four of us in tow) were dispersed to foster care at that time until dad could secure a proper home and regain custody.

Auntie H. just a year or 2 younger than our step mom had serial nightmares of her own, marrying another physically abusive man who drank incessantly and beat the living shit out of her often. They had 3 kids (the cousins - one that Grandpa molested and his two sisters I told you about). It wasn't long after she left him, he got himself shit-faced drunk and killed himself while cleaning one of his shot guns.  Auntie H. married again after that. And what a picker... that guy was also a pedophile, abusing both girls from the first marriage as well as two younger girls they'd had together.  

He's currently serving hard time in California.  After her 2nd failed marriage, Auntie H. moved to the Midwest with all her kids where they've been living for quite a number of years now... it's been more than 15 years though I've lost count.

My step mom met dad in one of those Christian Communes. It was Southern California in the midst of 'The Jesus People' movement.... bunch of hippies come to Jesus after Vietnam.  He was very persistent and aggressive in his pursuit of her. She only gave in and said yes to him after numerous proposals... he (like he is in everyday life) didn't take to the word 'no' very amicably. Respecting boundaries has always been a foreign concept to his psyche.

One of my earlier memories was my step mom taking a shower and dad barging into the bathroom to take advantage of her nakedness. I hated the sound of him laughing like they're just having fun and her awkward laughter turned to pleading, begging for him to leave her alone. In his mind, sexual advances by a spouse ought never to be refused. The concept of a healthy marriage eluded him. That a marriage license is not a means to facilitate free reign 'rights to indulge in sex 24/7' and within that to hound your spouse incessantly for sex and then force/rape them anytime you think their no should be a yes.  

Dad felt that as 'head of the household' his was the final say on everything, whatever that entailed. When we'd argue with mom or said something out of turn, he was sure quick to scold us "Don't you talk to MY WIFE that way." almost as though she were some kind of possession.  I think at times we all were... fetching stuff, doing all household chores, volunteering our time to others and even our personal belongings to anyone his generosity deemed appropriate.  

Mom's rages and blackouts were very volatile and (like dad's road rages) frequent; she'd often shake us or just grab whatever was handy.. belt, metal ruler (dad's switch of choice) hair brush, Jokari paddle, high heel, the back of her hand (her rings cut and blistered my face) smacking us, throwing us against a wall, screaming at us... her tongue was quick and her words cut like a rusty kitchen knife. There were a few times her anger was so intense she's switch over to whipping her own leg or beating on herself just to calm the mad rage erupting from her past and the nightmare she continued to live. I used to make predictions of her moods based on what she chose to wear. Days she wore her Red dress or that one red shirt I knew to lay low and keep out of her sights. 

To this day Red is my least favorite color. 

Aside from Dad doing military combat in his sleep, (nearly killing our step mom in the night on more than one occasion....why she chose to continue sharing a bed with his untreated PTSD flair ups after all that is beyond me.) he also fostered serious road rage. En route to church on Sundays was particularly epic. Mom and Dad would often ask someone to join us for Sunday dinner hoping to "Feed a poor college kid".  

One occasion in particular; they'd invited a young man over, suggesting he follow them in his car which dad felt was the simplest way to 'offer directions' to our house. (before GPS and Map Quest were accessible.)  We were not half way home when mom pointed out that Peter was no longer joining us for dinner.  Dad had indulged in his usual bout of road rage and in the midst of speeding through intersections, managed to lose our dinner guest back there somewhere among the dust of his entitled driver ego.

Needless to say, we didn't have another guest over for several few weeks after that incident. Anytime dad would even suggest it, mom would smirk, questioning his ability to drive with enough sense to retain our guest from the church parking lot all the way home to our front door.  And when mom would smirk, that was our queue....we kids jumped right into a humorous re-enactment of "the Sunday meal that wasn't", giggling and snickering as we relayed the prospect of what must have been going through Peter's mind watching dad tear off out of sight.  Dad of course would get super butt hurt, nursing his pride all over again "For crying out loud, it was one time!" She'd continue teasing him while we girls enjoyed the rare spectacle of mom in the proverbial driver seat, giving him a taste of the medicine he loved to dish out. "Just forget it." he'd grumble. Then that would be the end of it. We'd all pile back in the car and head home.


It was a only a brief moment to let loose and now had past but even a small window of laughter for me was enough humor and realness to keep my spirits fed...I'd be replaying it over and over in my head in silence, chewing and savoring that sweet morsel of imperfect humanity for the rest of the afternoon.

Human Decency....are you out there?

I despise public restrooms. 

Porta Potty facilities too. For that matter, any bathroom that isn't mine. I'd rather pee in the the great outdoors.

As a kid I remember dad always choosing house rentals with 1 bathroom for the 6 of us (until my oldest sister was kicked out at the age of 14 for being 'promiscuous'. At the recommendation of church elders, they sent her to live with an aunt and uncle down in LA. Neither dad nor our step mom wanted to invest further in 'what trouble she was' with neither of them being her biological parents I guess any emotional investment they might have had was evidently pretty shot by that point.)

We were always broke, residing in cramped spaces.  I guess living in a 1 bath rental where we girls bunked up in shared rooms and beds was dad's way of saving some money.  Being frugal was not really dad's strong suit. He frequently overspent and then when mom would ride him about it, they'd get real heated, dad would sulk off, making himself scarce. Often it was work in the garage or the attic that occupied his time. Time spent in the attic none of us really understood. It was always a mystery what he actually did up there since the attic looked ever a hot mess of boxes resembling something out of an episode of hoarders. Who knows what was in all those boxes, dad never liked us up there plus it was hot as hell and had a musty smell. Itchy fiberglass and cobwebs gave extra incentive for us kids to avoid the attic altogether anyway.

I was finishing high school by the time we to put two and two together; an old mattress stored among the upstairs clutter spread out across the attic floor offered direct visibility at the front end which coincidentally lay just above the bathroom's poorly patched up ceiling fan hole. I had my buried suspicions about Dad's frequent 'rest periods' he took up there. And the sickening realization that I was his flesh and blood... we were his daughters for fuck sake... and more than that, vulnerable prey to his peeping tom habits wasn't limited to family. Often we housed exchange students from Japan, Germany, Spain, etc. for a week or two, pregnant females on more than one occasion lived with us for the bulk of their pregnancy, not to mention church groups of girls visiting from other churches even some from Canada.... well as our own friends who stayed overnight on occasion. Dad was real big on "opening our homes and hosting these ladies as Christian families should." 

To this day I can't go anywhere without obsessing over the smallest shadow, dark hole or obscure gap in some restroom... my mind will always jump to the conclusion there's likely some pervert on the other side of that wall or ceiling jacking off to our vulnerability and nakedness.       

I'm always taken back by how many of the women I've known throughout my childhood who have been sexually abused in their youth. The numbers are staggering. It's like we live in a world of perverts. Especially when I think of the rampant Sex Trafficking across the globe. What gets me even more than the ones who sell these girls....it's the 'demand'. Is our humanity really so sick that we manage to not just keep this perversion afloat but thriving!  There are countless young women and boys all around us being trafficked right under our noses by males ready and willing to chew any victim up and spit them out without conscience?!

And so automatically my mind cuts straight to this...if the numbers are that high for these women (and we know they are) how many more sick males per victim are living among us, paying for sex, forcing themselves on a girl or guy who (even if the victim 'appears' to want it and 'enjoy' it' more likely than not have flipped the switch into 'survival mode' because ultimately they feel trapped or in danger and HAVE NO OUT) are forced to choose the lesser of two nightmares. 

Is there such a thing as a lesser hell?       

This is a huge part of why I can't bring myself to date right now...and haven't in about 8 years (the entirety of my daughter's existence and then some.) Remind me again why I chose to bring a child into this sickness that is life as we know it to be? 

Where are all the decent human beings?  Not perfect by any stretch... just persons with human decency and kindness... are you out there? 

If you are, beam me up.

Sexual Erruption

Until age 31,

I was a dormant volcano, surviving in 'cryonic freeze'.

I'd never lived before that day, nor had I ever found courage enough to produce thoughts, beliefs or will of my own, nor had I ever known what it was to face the nightmare around me - until the Summer of 2001. 

My younger sister, point-blank asks me a question as we're out having lunch. "But are you getting what YOU need?" Feeling angry, offended, frustrated and hurt... my own reaction erupted from my lips - 


"I'm FINE!" 

It woke me like the jolt from a defibrillator, I was not fine. 

I felt my pulse...pounding within my chest. That was it... for the first time in 31 years, I began exploring my own feelings and opinions, making choices regardless of any opposing views, such as those I had been ingrained with my whole life. That very moment became my paradigm shift. I was now 31 going on 18; exploring, experimenting and doing all those things most do in youth entering into adulthood. 

After returning from the East Coast in 2005, I hit my breaking point with organized church and all the memories it evoked from growing up at home with 'the biological one'. I began to have a knee-jerk reaction to being around church and around him, feelings that began surfacing because for the first time I was starting to seriously date… that’s when relationship triggers began showing up in spades. I pushed everyone and my own sensibilities back and began to swing to the far end of the pendulum.

I gave Culinary School a go but couldn’t afford to support myself and take the FT course load. I didn’t want to go back to my Admin job at the Hospital, I felt like to do so would be giving up on my pursuit of what dreams I had for all the things I was passionate about and could not stop pursuing what I love. 

Feeling disillusioned, frustrated and disappointed at how my life had unfolded, I began taking on a ‘fuck it all’ attitude. That next year or 2 that followed, I dove into a self-medicating, indulgent lifestyle of exploration, swinging to the other end of the spectrum and let all caution and restrictions to the wind, Experimenting in drugs, drinking, sex, partying.

Needless to say, by 2008 I had hit a wall in my town and I knew I needed to get out. 
I could see I'd made a bit of a mess of myself and now needed to get away from all people of negative influence (partners in crime, dealers, enablers) that I had come to know in the lifestyle I had crawled into. I seemed to keep running into them no matter how hard I tried to avoid them. Break ties and a start fresh was the only way to gain back my life careening out of control; 
I made the decision to move to LA. I wanted to see my Mama and to pursue music and other creative outlets while I was down there. 

My confidence in the ease of securing another job was a driving factor in foolishly giving in to the advice "just come on down". So completely oblivious was I to the disaster ahead. The economy crashed at that very time coupled with an even worse environment to the very situation I sought to get away from . I found myself again trying to escape an unhealthy environment but with no other back up plan was leaning toward drastic measures.... measures that scared the hell out of me, but going to a homeless shelter seemed the only real way out until I was offered help from a friend. Little did I know what his 'help' really entailed and the nightmare which awaited me.

After two unimaginably horrific years of my life spent homeless in LA due to ugly addictions around me that had begun spiraling beyond my control... (I'll share more on that as I blog)

As a Skeptical Idealist, I've spent all those childhood and teenage years on autopilot; watching, journaling, reading books, studying and observing behavior and what not to do... I've learned that observing doesn't always mean 'seeing'. I can honestly say because of the shit I've gotten myself into by poor choices or just plain being naive, and the holes I've crawled out of... people are to me, the most unpredictable element. 

No one and nothing is for certain. Not even ourselves...that's human nature for ya. I've seen myself do things and take certain roads, make choices I would never in a million years have thought or expected to have made. So much change in values can occur - between life and death, a rock and a hard place, prosperity and poverty, good intentions and human nature, denial and sobriety. victim, abuser, revenge and forgiveness.

People in history are great not because they did what everyone thought was attainable but because they chose to go after the impossible. If others can overcome the odds, why not me??!! Thomas Edison 'failed' how many times before he invented the light bulb... don't know about you, but I'm glad he kept at it. 

Someday I hope people will say it about me too.

Still Sexy After All These Years...

I've been off the dating scene for nearly 8 years now though certainly not dormant...I still get easily sprung on the smooth sounds of Leon Bridges, Miles Davis and Jodeci.

 What can I say? I'm a single mama with blues in her heart and soul on her lips.   I've got a 7 year old baby girl. Gotta train her right cause she knows what's up. She tells me "Mama, you need to get you somebody." " I need a dad and a sister... let's get on that."   "You got it sweet pea." I nod my chin upward in agreement.

I never signed up to do this alone but then again, I never signed up not to either. I'm 44 for fuck sake. How did I end up here? No great love, no best friend walking through life beside me.  Always thought I had so much to offer but somehow it has eluded me and remains locked up pretty tight. So tight in fact, I'm not even sure I know how to let it out anymore.

The euphoria of sex, drugs and rock & roll, man do I miss that but life's not about me anymore...it's about my little girl. No looking back to what might have been and more than that, absolutely no regrets.

It's been over 8 years since I've gotten laid. My damn hormones are giving me what for and I'll be honest with you, it fucking sucks balls...and not in a good way. There's only so much you can do with a a vibrator or shower head attachment. Make no mistake, I'll see myself off however I have to but anyone who's been there knows, going solo is not the same high.

"Once you go black, you never go back."  I'd say that's pretty much the case for any female leaving the V-boat behind and embracing that long-anticipated "Ohhh" plunge on into the sea of humanity, if you catch my drift, but I think that expression could apply for any guy within that body who even remotely knows what he's doing, black or not.

Returning to sea I'm pretty resistant, at least now that I have to be hyper watchful for any potential sex fiends with strategic intent to lure naive, unsuspecting females with young kids. As the sole protector and provider, my daughter's safety is paramount and so is my responsibility to her which has become more prominent as every minute goes by.

I'm a bit toasted at the moment so no, there wont be a 'big reveal' on my dime tonight and any current plans to explore the sexy mom-jean cougar affect are now off the table.  'Plenty of Fish' you're off the hook cause I'm not going anywhere like this. No drinking and driving from me as long as I continue to care about those among us on this planet besides myself (so yeah, that'd be a "NEVER" driving drunk or even remotely 'buzzed'. Not now, not ever.)


Sticking around my apartment the rest of the night in some comfy sweats with a glass (or 3) of a rather tasty Merlot if I do say so myself, and enjoy the umpteenth showing of 'Chef' which is quickly becoming one of my favorite cinematic indulgences of late.

As for possible future life strategies, they can wait 'til tomorrow.

Mad About You

I have to say, it's beyond ludicrous how people are so affronted by mental illness. 

Take mama for example;

She's dealt with acute Schizophrenia since even before I was born. My younger sister has taken the position of "God helps those who help themselves", that mama "can help it but won't." and continues to treat her with such neglect and disdain... I'm completely infuriated and baffled by it all. But even more than that, it's my sister's attitude and behavior toward mama that quite frankly pisses me off!

I think even I haven't truly appreciated all mama has done for us and what she's had to endure throughout her life because of this illness. Mental illness is simply nothing more than a chemical imbalance of the body, but rather than say, affecting the blood sugar like diabetes or emotion like hormones, it affects the brain. I think birthing a child of my own has taught me a thing or 2 about how much Mama suffered, being abandoned by her husband, having her children ripped from her by the State and her declared unfit not to mention her self awareness that she was 'losing it'.

Truth be told, mama is wicked smart...I'm talking genius-level smart and on top of that, she seems to have so many thoughts and ideas processing at one moment, it's as though her synapses have gone off the deep end. Her environment affecting her mental chemical balance started pretty early on. Kids in her class were merciless toward her for being 'overweight'. She had no friends. Instead she kept her nose in the books, requesting additional homework from the teacher and even became Valedictorian of her school. Looking for acceptance anywhere she could find it, LSD and other drugs were that gateway...or so she thought.   Mama lost a considerable amount of weight. When her boyfriend got news of the upcoming pregnancy, he bailed for fear his wife would find out. It was no secret that Mama's own mother disliked him. They often fought about Mama's boyfriend and other 'foolish' choices Mama was making...they fought a lot.  

Cancer got the best Grandma when Mama was only a few months along in her pregnancy. After Grandma's death, Mama hit a wall... unable to reconcile dealing with abandonment...it was all too much for Mama's perfectionism and self critical mental and emotional state... Schizophrenia (Schizo-Affective chemical imbalance) reared it's ugly unconventional head. Mama has not been the same since. Having a baby is no small feat on the body or the brain so for that alone, I am grateful to and will always love my Mama regardless of whether her mind is fully present to reciprocate that love.


Here's to you mama! 

Stockholm Anyone?

I need to talk for a moment about taboo sexual fantasies. Now before I get into specifics, I do hope you'll hear me out as the inital description may trouble or repulse you...

Non-consent sex fantasy.

What I am talking about here is the kind of fantasy which involves someone you find sexually attractive. And in this mental role-play, you imagine that they've suddenly chosen to hold you against your will, tearing off your clothes, touching you in those forbidden places, tying you up and/or making aggressive moves on you when you least expect it... in some spur-of-the-moment random location like a back office room, a rooftop or some elevator somewhere... And there, with their mouths, their hands and their bodies, they do all the things to you that you've secretly wanted them to.

In this fantasy, nothing about any of it is at all unpleasant or painful... and yet your voice begging them to stop is almost as an elixer to further excite you... finding yourself finally giving in to whatever pleasure they are giving you as you feel yourself beginning to climax... The whole scene kinky as it is, turns me on although... should that scenario ever happen in real life it would *undoubtedly* be my biggest nightmare!!!!  Cause when all is said and done - NO ONE wants to be raped in real life... and straight to the point: sex without consent - well, that's rape.

So what is it about that type of mental fantasy that is so addicting?! Why even go there..and how did it become such an appealing mental medium for 'getting my rocks off'?? One would think that loving, affectionate and romantic sex would be far more appealing... so what is it about that mental playground that I crave so much?  Am I just too fucked up to be so affected by such thoughts? I'm curious how many other women would agree or admit that they too find the whole thought-confined scenario a big turn-on.

I heard someone say once that the things/scenarios we find within our fetishes (aka. spanking, being controlled, the emotional and mental rollercoaster of constant fighting and making up afterward) are often found in the abuse of past relationships and/or in childhood. 


I've always been curious if people actually have a Stockholm-esc emotional/mental attachment to the specific types of physical, sexual, mental or emotional abuse they endure, either in their childhood or in a past abusive relationship... Is it possible that it is actually those attaching characteristics which repeatedly draw abuse victims or persons from unhealthy past relationships into the same exact type of damaging relationships - again and again throughout their lifetime? And if so, is there a way to 're-program' ourselves and eventually find those genuinely healthy relationships that deep deep... deep down, we truly crave?


I can't help but wonder.

fever

I've got a solid case of cabin fever... It's my 6th month of pregnancy. Seems I'm somewhere between planning and waiting.

I can't tell you how hard it's proving to be, planning for something I've never done before, particularly something/someone this significant. This isn't just spring break or a fall semester in college... this is my baby girl I'm planning for... the most important thing in my life from here on out.

I just wish I knew what to do with myself. I've so much time on my hands and yet the only thing I seem to fall back on is my bed. Napping and eating are pretty much all I do anymore. It's as though my brain somehow feels that the more rest I'm able to squeeze in now, the less I'll be tired later on. Boy am I in for a rude awakening. literally.

When they said crazy dreams start to show up around the 6 month mark, they weren't kidding. Dreams as I understand them are the mind's way of sorting out the conscious and unconscious emotion, thought and experiences.

Me, I dream vividly regardless. Considering my life and the fact that I've just gotten out of nearly 2 years of the horrors of homelessness...it's not hard to understand why. I keep having re-occuring catastrophe-type dreams, of people I care about and family, dying in a fire or getting killed or about all my belongings being taken from me... and there's always the element of the specific persons with whom I am not speaking to at present...


Aside from nightmares, my waking situation has it's current challenges as well: my step-mom and 'the biological one', her husband whom I refuse to call 'dad' though we share some gene similarities, and whom she's welcomed back into their home despite his on-going perverse tendencies. I want nothing to do with him. The fact that she keeps calling me to hang out or continue a relationship with her... the very thought drains me to my core. I love her but I hate that I can't separate her from him.  I also feel she's so used to living in denial that even her's and my relationship has been affected by this approach she seems content to embrace... that in itself is all too painful and stressful to cope with and process on an on-going basis which is what it would take.  I can't have that around me and my little girl...I just can't.


Sam still keeps in touch. To be honest, I wondered how that would go. He really was sincere in his offer to provide me with a baby, no strings attached. It's crazy I know... no one can believe that he and I can be just friends, no romantic interest whatsoever. We are all too happy with our arrangement: he relinquishes all legal rights and I do not pursue government-enforced child support. This way she is soley my baby girl.  We've also agreed that he will be available as a friend and father to her in time as she needs, and he's also insisted that before I should ever end up in a 'dire situation', I'd better know I can ask, and I'd better ask for financial help from him at any time - whenever we're in need.

I'm glad we are in agreement that we don't need to create a relationship just cause of the baby. I think that even if I were really up for a relationship, it wouldn't be with him. It's the 'idea' of him I am more affected by. I definitely vasilate between feeling content and happy that it's just my baby girl and me... and then find myself saddened that I'm going this alone.  

To add to those feelings, I am in a state of unattractive. It's difficult to feel attractive in this stage of boob, butt, thigh and womb enlarging. Since the end of my 20's and the slowing of my metabolism, I've grown used to a weight plateau at 130lbs. Now I've become a whopping (for short 5' 3" little me) 160 plus... all in just the last 6 months. My face has filled out and to my horror, I've since acquired a lovely set of cottage cheese thighs as well. I don't fit any of my clothes right now and unfortunatley I'm too broke to buy maternity attire, what would actually fit me and possibly even be flattering for all my pregnancy curves... so though I know matter-of-factly that this body weight/shape is only temporary, I'm really struggling with it just the same. I also can't afford a good haircut just yet, nor am I able while pregnant to dye my hair, which has begun to closely exhibit threads you'd pull from a box of christmas tinsel.

Yet inspite of the downsides of this evolving and birthing.... I am completely and utterly over the moon for my baby girl and would NOT trade ANY of this for one second more without her... what can I say, I've got the fever...

Deliriously happy Momma-to-be, thy name is Fairlight.

Insatiable... maybe not?

I'm beyond hungry for success.

I think I'm starving even, but really it's only my fear glimpsing future famine and anticipating the impending disappointment of a life of just scraping by. This line of thought is ludicrous.

Just because my life doesn't have all the ingredients for a profitable and conventional route to success doesn't mean I can't get there by alternative means.  I think the best kind of success for it's staying power is the ability to use whatever you have available around you without privilege of family money or of social status or connections.

Well, it looks like I'm about to find out by personal experience. Even though I'm nearing the end of my first Trimester and come April, will be stepping into Single Mom role for the many years ahead, that doesn't mean success is not attainable as I persist. Therefore, I REFUSE to concede a life lived at the poverty level.

What's a brain for but to work it out, right?

Sure, I'm poor. I'm in debt. I have no father or mother I can look to who will be there for me, no partner to support me and truly love me for who I am. (not what I look like or can do for them)

There was no happy, healthy childhood I can draw from. No male in my life to satisfy and share in basic human intimacy needs. No College degree. No solid full-time job, and a car only Macgyver with all his toothpicks and paperclip jerry-rigging could love.

But what I do have: survival skills - Determination, passion, persistence and belief in myself that I am worth it.

Anything is possible if I'm hungry enough....

So how hungry am I?

                                                      Hungry enough to make it happen!

Not exactly what R Kelly had in mind

I tend to think that there are a large number of men who consistently date hypothetically.

What do I mean?

Well, you know how when a guy is interested in some girl he feels is way out of his league? He pursues her, turned on by the chase, eager to know if he can actually win over this 'girl of his dreams'. When she reciprocates to his great surprise, he feels suddenly that the whole situation is no longer hypothetical and he is then suddenly not up for it. He was only wanting to see if it was 'possible' and was not actually looking for a relationship right then, but merely looking to see if it could be possible in the future at a time when he then really would be ready to invest his time, money, etc...

I think I'm guilty of treating my Uterus in that same manner.

If you've read any of my previous posts, then you know that I've begun taking on the 'invincible complex'. What I mean is, there have been far too many occasions wherein I should have gotten pregnant but did not. Those instances have solidified my beliefs that I will probably never get pregnant, unless hell were to freeze over.  Well, the devil better get his parka on...

I'm pregnant.   At least I think I am... that is to say; four pregnancy tests can't all be wrong, can they??!   Now I'm officially screwed. What the fuck was I thinking?!! I was just so sure it wouldn't happen to me, despite my deepest longing to eventually birth a baby of my own flesh and blood.... Don't get me wrong here, I am beyond happy that I'm pregnant, I just don't want to be RIGHT NOW!!!! I just barely am getting back on my feet after being homeless and am completely unprepared... 

My ridiculous need to challenge and test the future on the assumed lack of my body's baby making capabilities....   NEWS FLASH: If you test the future out now, it will happen NOW.

This is definitely not what R Kelly had in mind... 

9 months of (baby) Bump... 18 years of (daily) Grind.

Ugghh...

Well, I better get dressed now and haul my denial over to Planned Parenthood for a confirmation pregnancy test.  

Wish me.... oh to hell with it, it's too late for that now!

The Lap of Luxury

It's not what it's cracked up to be.

I doubt I'm the only one who has fallen prey to the lure of the 'glamorized, easy life' - alcohol, sex, drugs and rock & roll... strippers are often smack dab in the middle of that scene, riding on the 'laps' of monetary gratitude... though it's hardly what I'd call luxurious!

I told myself it was the dream of pursuing the things I loved and using this unconventional role as the means to fund that dream as I could not procure my immediate cost-of-living through other venues. Rent was due, my credit was shit (a great big thank you to Capitol One for that outcome)  Truth is I was frustrated that my culinary career was not unfolding in the way I had hoped. So I took the desperation plunge and on a 'fuck it all' whim, landed myself in a strip joint. To my instant relief, free time was now ample. One shift would easily pull in $500-700 take home, more than enough to cover rent and necessities. That was even under the "you can look but you can't touch" rule. Hypothetically, it seemed a perfect solution on the surface. I had only to work 3 maybe 4 shifts a month to be set up quite well.

The ugly truth was I hated it all. I hated being objectified. I hated that people who knew, treated me like a slut. Often the assumptions of my character or lack of would be based on the stigma that all dancers were of course cheap and easy and fucked up and therefore all the easier to prey on and manipulate for sexual purposes.  We girls were treated like dogs...seen only as tits and ass, legs with holes, mere punchlines to the frequent testosterone-filled bachelor parties swarming through the clubs, hoping  for a bit of groping, ogling and possible extra-curricular activities as well.

"Everyone has a price, just gotta find the right price, a few rocks, fat lines or a wad of cash, any bitch would hop on this 'opportunity', duck out to the parking lot for a quickie blow job or two on a moment's request, why the fuck wouldn't they...they're at a fucking strip to make some dough up in here!"  Frequent offers which I turned down just the same.

All my initial dreams at this point were fading fast and disillusionment was setting in... losing my conscious inhibitions, surrounded by drugs and a hell of a lot of hard liquor. Snorting Cocaine my frequent drug of choice was quickly incorporated into my slippery, now self-medicating lifestyle in the hopes of numbing the shame of the ditch I had crawled into and in which couldn't seem to get back out. 

The months flew by and I knew something had to change.  Mustering up a shit load of courage to leave my hometown and get away from my festering addictions  I realized drastic changes needed to be made or the path I was on would eventually be the end of me. I chose to start over in LA, near family but was blindsided upon arrival; instead of getting a fresh start, I was forced into homeless shortly after getting down there.  Here I am, having to escape a destructive lifestyle, this time in family which ironically mirrored the very addictions I'd sought to leave behind in my own life.

The Government, I quickly discovered, had done a smashing job of creating shelters for homeless children, mothers with children and the drug and alcohol dependent addicts.  Bravo! Single females who seek to improve their lives despite dysfunctional family, emergencies or just plain having fallen prey to the crashing economy...well, those women are just clean out of luck.  

So what to do... should I have turned back toward the addict lifestyle again or maybe get knocked up and then give 'em a holler, they'd be happy to hook me and my baby up then.  

 In the meantime,  sucks to be you... hope you make it lady.  And do be careful you don't get raped, beaten, trafficked or killed out here on your own in the process.

Locals referred me to a warehouse shelter in that area where, after being frisked for possible weapons, my eyes could then grab a restless hour or two of sleep for the night on a thin mat with a military-issue wool blanket. Then we're up at 4:30 and hit the streets. Me with my luggage in tow and, provided luck were on my side, have directions in hand on exactly where I could get in line for one free meal that day to hold me over until evening rations were doled out.

National guard staff and civilian volunteers welcomed us back in at 5:00 each evening to stay another night there under the dimly lit, drafty warehouse and so I'd return every day, hopeful to reclaim a sliver of dirty concrete floor next to some worn out urine-soaked stranger who had just been booted out of their halfway house for tweaking out on Meth, Heroine, or prescription drugs again, and was then eyeing what little belongings I had managed to retain with no choice but to cling to them as though it were an extension of my last breath.  

Being vigilant 24/7 was beyond exhausting and was beginning to take a real toll on me emotionally and mentally not to mention my immune system.  It was there at the shelter where one of the volunteers advised me to lie to their intake supervisor who could get me set up within a 'Sober Living' facility. This advisement came on the back of being solicited for sex by a Sergeant in charge of that military homeless relief venue the night prior... I was desperate for anyone to help me... PLEASE, ANYONE help get me off the street!!!!  I'll go to meetings, I'll say I'm an addict... just please... please don't leave me out here vulnerable on the street anymore!!!

I continued to work hard to get beyond the very real temptation picking away at me to succumb to my surroundings and medicate my life away, because amidst this 'Sober Living' facility I soon discovered, it was anything but! The scenery may have changed but the content was still the same...same destructive, addictive, lying, conniving and manipulative environment.  Spinning my wheels with all this effort, only to land in the exact same spot... I felt like a hamster in a cage, relying on others to bring me my proverbial 'food and water' essential to survival and I felt emotionally/environmentally caged off as well, from the freedom I so desperately craved.

What I needed was to take control of my life quickly... and there was really only 1 way I knew how: that was to earn my own money... jobs were scarce particularly as I did not speak Spanish. And most jobs available I was turned down as 'overqualified'.   I threw my hands up in desperation and headed back to the club scene, still emphatic on drawing the line "You can look, but you can't touch!" I made up my mind I would not 'get in deep' this time... this decision was solely for the intention of securing the money I needed to GET OUT of California and back to Oregon where I still had family and hopefully survive this on-going nightmare before it got the better of me. 

I KNOW what I would have done hypothetically BEFORE I actually physically ended up in that dire situation. It's a funny thing.... where we draw our level at which 'the buck stops here'. When push comes to shove and survival is on the line... and I'm not talking about a one-time decision here either... It's an on-going, every minute of every difficult, scary as all hell, dangerous, day by day... by day.

Now that I've finally emerged from the Adult entertainment scene and out of homelessness altogether, I can say this with certainty;  I'd damn sure rather turn down the hand of luxury than have to sit ever again in it's perverted fucking lap.

Waking Up Naked

I had an old friend from way back. I'll call him Sam. He was the first guy I'd had a crush on during my highschool years that actually seemed to reciprocate my feelings despite the 'nerd-shy introvert' status I held back then. Well, as much as he could anyway, under the circumstances.

'Sam' was a good guy, albeit he was still met with extreme skepticism by both my sisters considering themselves my 'keeper'...introverted, naive, closed off even, I was easy prey, often attracting testosterone-crazed males who sought to take advantage... that was the pattern anyway.

I recall a time in particular: I was 15, Sam had asked me if he could kiss me. Well, his question threw me... I'd never been kissed before. (outside of the biological one's incestuous behavior toward me)

Growing up under very strict religious boundaries that were contradicted daily at home, I felt acute impending shame should I choose to go against that which I'd been ingrained to embrace. Utterly convinced that even a kiss was of course, terribly wrong and sinful. Needless to say, I shut Sam down instantly, giving him an emphatic "No way, are you kidding? You know how I feel about that!".

Truth was, I really wanted him to kiss me, but the very prospect of guilt kept me from exploring my own feelings, whether I agreed with what others felt was the right choice to make or not. Took me 31 years to climb that mountain of guilt holding me back and begin exploring the other side of those repressed feelings I had labeled as shameful for so many years.

It seems silly now when I look back at the emotional turmoil I wrestled with over something as simple as a kiss.

Sam and I recently stumbled across one another on a free local dating website of all things.

Strange to bump into him now, 20 years later, after so much has changed in the process of my paradigm shift and the numerous ways those changes have shaken the very core of my belief system. (I'll be elaborating more on that as well...)

I didn't know what I thought of running into Sam again. I admit I was so set on NOT exploring the crush I had way back when, especially on the first 'date' if you will.

I came over to his place to see his 'project'...the renovations made on the previously 3 bedroom house. We talked, ate, swam in his pool and after a few Rum and Cokes he'd made, I did what I said I WOULD NOT!!!! I even stopped him and said I wasn't ready... and then, I don't know why, but a minute later I changed my mind, grabbed his hand, drug him to the edge of the bed and insisted he 'just do me'.

Strange too, because aside from an emotionless, unromantic itch on my part for a quickie, the only reason I even had mechanical sex with him was to get pregnant. He gave a compelling argument, why I shouldn't wait to have a baby of my own and offered to be the donor. (gee wiz, so accommodating.)

Sam managed to persuade my alcohol-faded ass, that if I was gonna go the sperm bank route anyway, wouldn't I much rather save all that money and at least know whose genes were participating in this decision. Genius of course!

...seriously, what the hell was I thinking?!!??!

TRUE, I do not want to be a single mom, but nor do I want to live my whole life never having had a child of my own because I'm 'waiting for the right situation' which may never come... From a clinical standpoint, I honestly feel it would be beyond miraculous if I were to actually get pregnant. I have level 4 Endometriosis. The chances of my getting pregnant, even standing on my head are slim to none.

I admit it, I have foolishly and brazenly beaten the 'single mom' status to this point.... not because I was smart by any stretch, but simply because my body has thus far chosen to deny me pregnancy. I feel I have been both fortunate and deeply unfortunate. I desperately want kids... so badly, it hurts and I recognize that my impatience and sadness being without a little girl or boy of my own flesh and blood is probably clouding my judgement.

Clearly it is unwise for me to recklessly dive into steps toward becoming pregnant as I am hardly in a suitable situation in which to birth a child. Single and grappling to get back on my feet after a recent 3 very dark years, 2 of them homeless in LA. (escaping the blindside of a family member's surfacing acute addiction.)

As you can see, still decompressing and recovering from that nightmare, as I slowly begin again to rebuild my life from the ground up, this is hardly commendations for nurturing and raising a child.

It's been two weeks now since meeting up with Sam. I'd be willing to bet money he failed to get me pregnant despite his supreme confidence in the abilities of his little swimmers. Quite sure I'll be proven right in another 2 weeks or so, you'll see...


As it stands... time that is, I don't know what to do with myself anymore.

I'm wide awake now, in my late 30's and facing my nakedness with a grain of salt... how vulnerable I truly am while I begin to see myself honestly for who I really am, what I've become and more importantly, who I can be if I really believe it and don't give up.

I seem to take turns - on and off the fence when it comes to my own level of self esteem and self appreciation...reminding myself, if I truly love me, I must love ALL of me. I must embrace my 'nakedness' of mind, heart, soul and emotion, no matter what.

The good and the bad, they don't define me after all... they merely serve a purpose, leading me to my healthier and more balanced self throughout my day-to-day steps toward wholeness and to also give back along this journey out of the depths of what I've endured and what I have learned since.

Then again, who am I to talk about being an example? I feel so dysfunctional anymore... but I wanna learn from past mistakes and from the mistakes of others so that my past and the mistakes to come (and they will come) won't all be in vain.


Hmmm.... nope. Not an ounce of attraction this time around between me and Sam... at least I certainly don't feel it. I am however, uncomfortably aware after a brief 5 minute sexual encounter between us, that it was and is far easier for me to just straight fuck and forego any kissing or cuddling. It's easier for me to say "no foreplay alright, just get on me already and let's do this."

There's a level of intimacy where I feel vulnerable and weak... I abhor that feeling! I push it/him away, afraid the guy will not respect my boundaries. If he doesn't really 'know me' on the emotional deeper level, then I feel I can somehow exert some sense of control, in that he cannot know the emotional buttons by which to push or manipulate me. I am at liberty to withdraw and disappear easily if I feel threatened by any possible chance of vulnerability.

You see, in my experience guys have often expressed by behavior that upon encountering vulnerability or the broken and scared elements kept deep down...they want to 'fix you', 'control you'... they feel you 'owe' it to them to express your gratitude. This then translates to submission and forced dysfunctional intimacy...that scares the hell out of me more than anything else... that my boundaries will not be respected and I will essentially be his 'fuck slave' by way of guilt. "I pleased you because I love you, so you need to reciprocate or else you ungrateful piece of trash!" "After all, you're not worth shit, no one would want you, but I love you and I believe in you even when no one else will, especially when they see how worthless you are, even then, I'll still put up with you and I'll still love you..."

Fuck that! I REFUSE to pack my bags for anyone's guilt trip!!!! And so to protect myself, I kick him to the curb (sometimes prematurely for fear of those tactics and the pain that ensues) and I run like hell the other way...

I hate that I am so fucked up as evident by all the triggers that occur with every man I date. They are either repulsed by my past or are far too interested in hearing the details of my pain and abuse.

How can I ever be in a normal relationship? Normal? what is normal anyway. ...correction, can I ever find and maintain a healthy relationship? One that would be nurturing for the child I will have one day?

In spite of the hovering cynicism, as I rebuild my life I'm finding fragments of ideals amidst the ruins and I do think deep down, there's still hope for me...

though the very thought of trudging ahead with my own personal recovery, it's bloody exhausting!

(sigh))

time for a nap.