The next 50 years

I magiced the puppy. Ok so the puppy got spayed and it got infected.  There was edema and a terrible ugly cyst.  We'd taken her in earlier and the symptoms had masked in the clinic, but then two days later burst out worse than ever. She was depressed, in pain, all in all, just awful. So I rushed breakfast to take her in. The cyst broke open that morning and she was dripping ichor all over that morning. Yech.    Well the vet flushed the wound and prescribed antibiotics, pain killers, and saline flushes.  She also had a cough which was really scaring me.  So I sat down that evening and put myself into magic mode.  I drew down the stars and covered her with shining invisible light. I illuminated her like a 3d xray in my mind and saw the black area where the ichor was flushing away and that it had contained boundaries and was shrinking, but flourishing in the center of her chest, well in her lungs, there was greyness.  Sticky, persistent, alive, some ...

So my kidney is swollen, can't drain properly. Things to do all depend on testing for kidney function. Which only happens early in the morning, at the university hospital.  Which is when my ostomy is active. Which sent me into a tailspin. I told her I'd have to go have my emotions and get back to her on Monday. I also decided to stop vlogging. it's so damn much work and far as I can see, pointless.   When I really need to share, I come here.  Where I know nobody gives a fuck, no illusions. I get it off my chest. Nobody will argue with me or worry about me. I'm so sick of trying to explain myself to people.  It's so pointless. They don't get it. They never get it. Even when it's something as simple as my ostomy problems. in that case I think they start shutting it out after the word "colostomy" and just step back onto protocol. So why am I testing my kidney again? To decide what to do about it. Ignore it or shove a tube up and try to get it flowing...

We are part of God. We came from and will return to It. When we are with it, we know what It knows, for we are they are they are us and we are all one. But Life, for that is another name we have, thirsts to know itself. To speak and hear it's own story. And that is a very long story which contains every story ever told. If it can be, it shall be, and so every life is a part that must be played. The script may be improv, but the nature of events and characters and choices shall not.  For each and every life, however tragic, that can possibly happen must happen.  Each of us plays a role. When we've done wrong, we were part of someone's experience who was slated to have that experience and when we've been harmed, it was also time to feel harm. Or time to feel victory. Or joy or sorrow or shame or pride.  Depending on the story and the part you've chosen before birth. it's yours now. YOu aren't that part, that part isn't you. No more than an actor is the rol...

As I proceed through transition I am addressing the question of sexuality. Now if you'd known me all my life at a bit of a distance you'd immediately say I was going to be a gay man. Truth. I have a lot in common with gay men. Including sex with men and a history thereof. But I find women more visually attractive.  When I fantasize, I'm a man with a woman. Not a man with a man (although gay porn is hawt) and not as the woman in the scene.  However, and this sorrows me, the porn fantasies that work on me are viciously misogynistic.  So to homophobia. I was raised with it. To the degree that the kids and parents would fight about it at the table. Homophobia so bad even their children could see it was unreasonable. My father would state, upon the subject being broached, that "as far as [he] was concerned, all fags should be lined up against the wall and shot!"  His stance weakened over the years as he got better educated about who those "fags" were. IE, m...

it's begun. On facebook in some places nobody sees me as anything but a man. So they're responding to me as a man. Some are harsher with me, they are angry at men. Most, sadly, are nicer and more complimentary. They are willing to say I'm thoughtful or smart. Thank god for the change. It's what I"m chasing. It's a terrible statement on society but it's a truth. Tomorrow morning bright and early I go get my tits removed.  I still can't believe my good fortune to actually get them removed.  I didnt' mind them when I was a hot young thing, they were hot little titties. But now? gross pendular blobs full of painful lumps that swing around quite indecently. They intrude on things I'm doing. They get sensitive and rub painfully against my clothes. They're always hot and sweaty. They fall out the neck of my shirt when I sleep! I can't wear tanks or muscle shirts because they slop out the sides.  Well the nasty ugly things are going bye bye! h...

I understand the petty criminal. Let me try and illustrate how it looks to the petty thieves and muggers of the world. Picture a tribe of cave people in a cave sitting around at the end of the day. Family areas with their own little cook fires dot the floor. In one corner, we see a disabled person.  Wearing tattered handmedowns and gnawing on last night's leftovers. No fire. No fresh food. All around are families laughing and smiling in the firelight, waving hunks of fresh meat around, passing bowls of hot soup and commenting at other families across the housing barriers.  They're in a great mood.  it was a good hunt and the hunters all got a bit. But not the disabled guy in the corner, he can't run far enough.  It's only mild CP or whatever, but just enough he doesn't earn a share of the resources.  Now one day this guy, he's just too hungry to care how hard they'll beat him, he's had no leftovers for days, and makes a play for a plate of unattended foo...

When you face another human, you are expressing your thoughts on your face.  or psychically.  Not sure. But they can get the gist of your opinion without one word yet said. Now you can do that with them too.  So ok, how are you going to negotiate to get the outcome you want?  You are here together for something, and you want something.  What do they want? Ok, now that's the surface statement, but what do you *really* want?  Like the neighbor who wants you to get off his case and you want the stream of noise and stink of garbage to cease. What could reward him for co-operating with your need, and what can you give to enable him to co-operate?  I mean, yeah, sometimes you need to get a bigger hammer, ie call the cops.   It could instead be a police officer doing an inspection and finding a minor flaw in your vehicle that you haven't been able to remedy. It could be a border guard deciding whether to search you.  What's that person, not tha...

"Be who you needed when you were younger" I've always tried to do this and remarkably, parents have kept their children away from me. Not because I am unkind, abusive, cruel, or well, that other abuse. Nope. Because I tell the truth. Far as I can tell. Parents take the shaping of their offspring's mind awfully seriously. They don't want their kids to now the truth until it's impossible to hide it. From santa claus to alternate lifestyles to sociopolitics, medicine and personal rights, kids are deliberately kept from knowing. Well since I'm on the blog now, I'll sketch out the last few weeks. I've kept the dog from spending time alone with Dan over a short time. I figure about a half an hour or so is fine, but by the hour I'll go collect her. She's gotten in the habit of being "my" dog by this anyway and asks to come back out to me. I'm living in a bus in the yard to keep away from the primary source of stress in my l...

I left the dogs in the house with Dan thinking it was a nice break for me but I guess I can't trust him with the dogs because the puppy IS housebroken.  She comes and asks for your attention then you take her out. But apparently not Dan, he just brushes her off over and over and she finally goes in the house.  As she would at her age.  Well she pooped all over the cheap area rugs downstairs and Dan lost his shit and shouted and raged so hard she's still cowering when I try to call her.  She won't come when called and hunkers down low to the ground under something when approached as if she's terrified. I'm so angry with Dan. He came her and drove me out of my bedroom and now my house.  Fucking asshole.

Well today it's been confirmed for me. My BFF IS an abusive prick after all.   I've been pretty suspicious lately.  I really feel abused.  Subtly, though, not out front kind of abuse.  Well he posted a whine about how they put "abusive" in his permanent record at work.  Saying how unfair it was, because the person with whom he had the interaction was the onebeing abusive to him.  Yeah, right.  Nope.  Not necessarily.  This guy is always seeing everything in the light of "but what about MY needs?" Which is my seque to the tits.  I had my consult for surgery this morning and it could come as early as three weeks!  Well I was so thrilled with this news I posted twice via instagram (which also posts to facebook.) Wouldn't you know it, BFF comments on both posts how unfair it is that he has gone 20 years with tiny titties that cause him dysphoria because the surgeon wouldn't remove them. I've gotten the deets. I've studied the med...

A woman came to mind and engendered some thoughts.  She was a particularly nasty person in the old days.  She always had a court of followers arrayed around her in some way, but to me she would direct the darts, the cuts, the put downs, the jabs, everything.  I just learned to keep my distance, puzzled about this weird personality. Then many years later I encountered her and she was solo.  Oh she was so nice, so sweet, so kind.  So false. So strange to see her that way.  Like I was an old friend and as if we'd shared good times.  I've long figured out that other people's memories are much more editable than mine.  I truly rely on my memory.  Perhaps it's a lack of hard evidence to the contrary.  I don't know.  Well anyway, other people seem able to edit out the bits they don't like.   If I did that, I'd think I was five years old...  LOL Well I have been thinking about this "being nice" habit of former bullies....

i've been wandering around in a fog trying to figure out if I'm an abuser or a magnet for them? Then I was listening to Rslash on youtube, he reads out stories curated from reddit about sociopaths and psychopaths and I keep hearing familiar phrases and tactics. Like you try and explain yourself for clarity and they reinterpret you in the worst possible light.  "I'm just too tired to cope today."  "You mean you're tired of me, you're always saying such horrible things to me.  I mean, my problems are huge, you think I don't get tired? I just need...."  Oh boy.  Yeah. That's Carl in a nutshell, isn't it?  I'm a magnet for abusers, aren't I?  I mean, with no true reflections around me I can't get a good idea about myself except what's in my head, and with all the gaslighting (that's what that up there is, a form of gaslighting) I have lost confidence in my self knowlege.  But then when I listen to myself talk, I thi...

I'm not functional right now. Who knows why?  I sure don't. Ok so I got up an hour early, or an hour and a half, something like. So I could get in to the blood lab before breakfast. I'm required to give a sample on an empty stomach. It's not easy.  My stoma was running, so that was on my mind. My mind is foggy and stupid and I should not be driving like that.  I technically *can* drive but so can a drunk, eh? I shoudl not be driving like that. Well before I left, hoping to speed it up so I can get to a bathroom sooner, I looked up the website. it's changed hands again and there's a new system and it's down.   I just go to the clinic. Right as it's listed on google, but I don't know about the website, everything after the main page is "coming soon." The lab has moved. My lap stinks. I'm wearing jeans and they'r enot baggy enough out front so I am at greater risk of a blowout and I can smell something.  I just go home.  Fail. I...

Let's call him Carl, he uses me to unload his mental shit.  He's my only friend, really, aside fromthe abusive husband.  I feel like an emotional toilet.  Flush it into the strong person, the one that keeps saying yes. I wasn't available enough yesterday, having had my own reality, and so he dumped his frustration on me via passive aggressive and text means.  Told me he was suicidal and I was scary and my household was scary and made me fuck around trying to please him while fucking around trying to keep track of the puppy my husband was ignoring and still trying to salvage something of my day's plans. I mean, I was in the middle of something. I had not planned to spend the day sitting on my ass watching videos.  I did that the day before, a pattern Carl himself established after years of visiting on saturdays. I feel like I'm either an abuser or an abuse victim and can't have healthy friendships. I think I need to go cold turkey off trying. I do not feel like ...

I can't get it out of my head.  Two kids come out of the store.  One is a little girl around five or six, the other a little boy around seven or eight. He appears to be in charge of his sister and she isn't obeying. He's hollering at her to slow down and come back, she's ignoring him. He catches up and turns her round and then grabs her hand to pull her back into the store. She stumbles and gets road rash on her elbow.  He says "you're okay, come on" quite impatiently while she's just discovering the shock of pain and starting to cry. I tell him "no, she's not okay, you pulled too hard and she fell and she's got a scuff on her now."  He gets up her with slightly less impatience and hauls her into the store.  Following behind I can hear their arrival at the adults in charge of them.  Because grand dad is yelling his face off at the boy, accusing him of pushing her down. I hustle over to see these two oldsters and pipe up and tell him h...

I coined a new term.  Facebreak. To take a facebreak is simply taking a break from facebook.  A common thing, just get fed up with all the discord and take a powder. I'm sick and fucking tired of all the false friendships, the criticism, the ranting. What's worse, is all the times someone expresses regret that I'm going from an interesting woman to an evil man.  Because all men are evil, and all women are saints, right? No regard for the reality that the person inside the shell is the same.  Fah, I can't take the annoyance anymore. I just got to the point where I felt hatred to all mankind at a more personal and intense level than usual. It's so much easier being neglected without reading a bazillion memes about human love and caring and having all these people express love and caring without one fucking single one of them actually extending themselves to give care! oh yes I do.  I'm currently bunny sitting and just got released from dropping in on my neighbo...

I'm truly beginning to believe that "human kindness" is a myth to keep people in line and mark out who the best victims are. It really doesn't seem to matter what I do or how I do it, it only garners criticism.  I have always clung to trying to hold friends, thinking I need people.  I mean, they're the ones holding the resources. I don't grow a garden or farm chickens or hunt moose.  If I want food and heat in the winter, other people have to let me have it for some reason. Money is the most common one, but to get money, I again have to turn to other people.  Thing is, they don't generally seem to come through. Not well anyway.  There's no shortage of good wishes but the actual resources are doled out with an eyedropper and that much I could get from the government.  I'm so fucking tired.  Tired of being nice. tired of trying. Tired of hoping.  Tired of caring for a world that just doesn't reciprocate. So what's the worst that could happen...

My black skinned dog seems to be helping me with my racism.  Now I, like any white, do not see myself as a racist. In my mind, that's someone who acts on it knowingly.  Who lets it be a model for their world, or lets it answer questions (who should I hire?) and so on.  Meantime, the POC folks keep telling us we're all racist even so. Because we benefit from the system that is built on racism. Because we have unconscious bias from racism. I say they're pretty damn racist too because they colour every moment with it. But they rejoin that this is because they never get a moment to forget what colour they are, why should we?  Well it's all rather frustrating for us all and in the end, systemic kindness is the only that can fix it. You can legislate people to be nice. However, you can legislate the government to be nice, and anyone being paid by it.  Like how in the medical system, right down to the pharmacies, I can actually demand male pronouns. Side story from to...

Just remembering my sister's behaviours towards me. How when I make a statement of observation she ALWAYS shoots me down and tells me no way, I'm wrong.  She's gaslighting me! I'm seeing her behaviour in a whole other light lately. I never saw her as a sociopathic narcissist before, so I was always feeling quite confused.  Confused at how differently we see the world, how her self statements conflict with her reality, how she treats me like I'm weak.  Now I get it. She's taking up her mother's mantle and continuing my schooling and placement as they see it.  I'm constantly being put back in my place, and since it's NOT my place and I don't fit or belong there, I'm constantly being put back there by them. That's the whole tension in my family. They want me in this one specific narrow role of "poor crazy person."  Why they want me there I don't get, but mom's been putting me there for a very very long time and Sis is just ...

I go to try and ask her to stop bringing me food.  I put it as "treats" and then "gustatory pleasures" and all she heard was "you're making me fat, you fat bitch."  So she starts interrupting me and defending herself that she's done nothing wrong and don't blame me and why would you say that. So I raise my voice to get a word in edgewise.  So she says I'm getting too worked up and drop it and let's just leave it.  Meantime I feel dismissed, disrespected, and unheard.  Now I truly AM angry and just want to flee.  Just go and never come back as long as I live. But see, I have a week yet on this project. I don't know how to navigate this. I can't say anything without it turning into some kind of psychotherapy about my problems.  She has this skill of twisting the conversation around to that topic no matter where it begins. I can't even see how we get there but within five minutes it's all about what's wrong with my head...

I'm all disabled by ranting out loud about my family's pecuniary attitudes. The latest was the utterance of a wife about her retired husband.  She stated that while she would indeed enjoy some fancy vacations, she was NOT taking her husband.  "I'll be damned if he's living the good life off my hard work!"  A quarter century together with kids and all and she's counting the balances. My spouse may be a holy terror for personality abuse but one thing I admire is he does not discuss or count cost.  I understand so much better why the emasculated retiree in this case is so frustratingly frugal.  He is quietly experiencing nut-crush over having retired young due to disability.  It's a tragic scene to witness.  It's infuriating too. Because in my family this is the very sort of accounting that took the place of the love there should have been.  Listen, if you're around me, what's mine is conditionally yours and you have a right to share it.  I do...

Oh dear, it's getting ugly in here.  I was trying to get off the "I hate that and I hate that and I hate everything" funk I was in and only my dog and my car made the "i love" cut.  I am just angry at everything anymore. Everything seems like too much.   For no reason, what's more. I mean, caused doubtless by excess tension.  I'm really struggling to manage my tension.  With my plans to drive around canada all summer on less than a thousand bucks and soon to be about $500 when all is said and done, it's very stressful. I'm worried about people judging me worthy of suffering for not making the decisions they think best, and leaving me hanging.  Then plus my tits. Oh GOD my tits!!!  They hang up on everything! They force my coat open and I can't zip up my jackets over them.  I don't know what the hell happened but they're bloody great flops of flesh with super sensitive little pebbles at the end which poke into everything and scream in ...

There's a movie quote that became a meme.  "I know you think you can do these things and you really want to try, but the fact is, you just can't!"  This from a mother to her child who is "differently abled" and trying to find her abilities. In the meme, it's communicated that this is an instantly horrifying quote. That it shocks people that a mother would say such a thing.  Yet it sounds quite normal to me. Even to this day my family are deciding, before I've had time or practice to get good at something, that I can't do it well enough and I shouldn't be supported in order to drive me away from fruitless endeavour for my own good. Meaning I get no support.  Then they also consider me a quitter.  They say things like "you can't do it.  You don't put the time in and that's why, and you'll never get any good at it because you just don't practice enough."  Even while dropping support for a fruitless endeavour, saying...

I was a disabled child with an invisible disability. Nonetheless I was certainly brought into the support system quite young, at age 8.  Every time I had difficulty with something one or both of my parents would become exasperated and quit on me, leaving me to sort it out myself and then laying shame on me for not doing so. that's how I learned a "can't do" attitude.  When I thought of things I might like to try, they'd vet my choices against some strange preconceived notions of what I should or shouldn't do, not against my proclivities and inabilities, and they'd tell me I can't. countless times I approached people with the dilemma of figuring out what to be when I graduated school and got "you can't" from them.  Then out in the world, still not prepared for adulthood, still not "being something" and people kept telling me my problem was that I had a "can't" attitude and gave up too early.  Still, nobody ever trie...

if I don't own the title racist, it's because of my fragility. I just can't face the truth. If I do own my racism, or if I don't, I'm a racist. Which leads to a lot of aggressive disrespect.  Which also leads to a confirmation bias in which every act you make is either proof of your racism or a momentary slip, an exception. The more ignorant you are, the more of these proofs you'll provide. If you get angry at being so deeply examined, that too is proof. I'm ignorant. I've done and said racist things and I remember the ignorance behind them. I remember when I learned it wrong and where I learned it wrong, and I remember also when i corrected that database upon learning better.  I know too as I encounter other ideas about other people in my head from my childhood, that they also are to be questioned. I question them. I know that everyone is an exception to every rule and that rules are naught but descriptors to help us remember things.  The trouble happe...

I really want to talk about the changes I've noticed with someone but nobody wants to hear about it.  I've been on testosterone since november now, that's about four months.  I don't percieve a vocal change, though I often have a huskier voice than I expect. Mind you I often go days without talking above a murmur, talking to myself, except a word here or there in response to Dan. Anyway, I don't see it changing yet.  However, there's one weird change.  I smell different.  It's logical but surprising.  I don't smell different in my sweat, but my crotch!  My vagina was left behind after all the surgery and I guess it can still ooze lube or whatever.  It had dried out before the surgery due to the cancer killing the ovaries.  With the testosterone it started up again and I have been getting that "snail trail" effect intermittently. Some days my underwear stays damp.  Gross but natural and nothing to be done. Well it doens't smell like mushr...

he highlights my faults and dismisses his own. He highlights his virtues and dismisses mine. All to make me seem like the abuser.  he keeps me on edge and agitated all the time, putting me at my worst. Being tense causes me to be less fun and more grouchy.  It makes me clumsier and less careful and less attentive to detail. it makes me "lazy" because I'm frequently disabled by stress.  it has multiple outcomes that feed cyclicly into the stress pattern. Like how being stressed stops me from irrigating which bungs me up and causes me to feel ill. This also causes me worry.  Stress on it's own does health damage.  Even my dreams are becoming poisoned by this insane dynamic. All my positives are treated like exceptions and all his faults are treated like exceptions. Neither are balanced, it's good vs bad.  My complaints are then dismissed as fallacious and my feelings are dismissed as my bad choices. I choose to feel angry. I choose to feel abused. I choose t...

For thirty or so years I tried to earn income by finding work. By giving away my work. By getting institutional help to find work. I've tried contract work, black market work.  I've tried websites that sell your hand work,.  I've tried putting my pics on knick knacks to sell. I've tried selling my hand work on the street.  I am even now turning to fundraising. I've harvested a lot of bad advice so far. I really don't get it.  Why is it so damn hard for me to earn any money? it kind of lends creedence to my growing suspicion that money is a supernatural deity with a conscious awareness of me.  That I am being shut out by same because I so virulently speak out against it. But nobody ever hears me so... ~sigh~ My doggy needs his teeth done. He's on pain killers now. I can't even pay the fucking bills on time. it couldn't possibly be the worst time of year for it, but come on, I can only earn money for physical labour jobs intended for kids and I'm ...

Yep, I'm now at that age where I'm having health issues and it's annoying. Very. I had to go to ER after 24 hours of vomiting.  Because of an "adhesion" point on my bowel I can get blocked by too much of the wrong stuff and not enough of the right. It'sa formula.  I'm not far off the thing so it's a tuning issue and discipline issue rather than an education issue.  but monday night to thursday night in a very crowded ward full of friendly talkative people mixed with utterly miserable people have left me emotionally paid out. But now I can't stop running at the mouth. I want to tell about so much and I want to think aloud.  Most of the time with people I've been thinking super hard trying to remember to throw the conversation back at them and to hear what they're talking about and make the right faces at them. I haven't a clue what body language I'm using, that's past my line of ability, LOL  I know I use it, but not how or what ...

I ran across  this article  on facebook.  It's left me asking, what is a breakdown? What is psychosis?  Because when people try to describe a "breakdown" it sounds like they entered my mental reality for a short time and got terrified.  But of what?  What's the headspace of the average human that mine is hell to them? What's so hell about it anyway? What am I missing? Am I just a shaman unrecognized?  I know I've done a lot of the kinds of mental and physical trials that shamans go through. From the sleep deprivation to the fasting to the drugs and the labour and the cold and the adventures and privation. All of that. I wish I knew how to profit from this. I think I would be a fabulous teacher if only others would allow it. I think I could talk someone down from an existentialist crisis as well as anyone running.  I think I am enlightened but I also know that nobody out there would believe me. I think we have a very skewed myth about who and what ...