Saturday, April 28, 2012


{NOTE: I had promised to post this here earlier, but, well... forgot}

As an intro, I'll say this: "MORELS taste good in omelettes, MORALS are rules for becoming a better human being". This article is about someone who failed to learn the difference.

If frank discussion of abuse is disturbing to you, especially if you've been where I have, or it's still fresh and hurting, I suggest that you do not read this, or, if you want to read SOMETHING, scroll all the way down to the end to read the uplifting bit.

See, I really should not read any fiction where a child is raped, but I do, sometimes not knowing what is in the book until I get partway through it, and then, I HAVE TO READ THE WHOLE FUCKING THING... It's like my own personal train-wreck: I just cannot look the fuck away...

"The Colour Purple", I blame you. Sorry, miss Walker, you wrote a touching and strong book, but it's definitely calling up some baaaaad memories because the situation of the main character mirrors my own in far too many ways, one of which being that the abuser will NOT take ANY responsibility for what he did- won't even apologize, and doesn't have the balls to talk to me when I approached HIM.... *siigh*

Oh, and this article? It's hella long. A lot of these questions have answers I'm pretty certain I already know, and are just rhetorical, but if anyone wants to "answer" them, go right ahead. I actually wrote out most of these questions several months ago during one of my periodic bouts of depression and I've been wanting to post them for a while. Walker's book merely gave me an excuse. LOL

1: When I asked you why you did those things to me, you replied, "you were the closest thing at hand." Do those words ever haunt you? They SHOULD, and I hope they DO.

2: Do your actions to me ever haunt you? They SHOULD, because it's DISGUSTING that you went out of your way to hurt a little child.

3: Are you sure you even KNOW what love is?

4: Have you ever been told that you are probably a sociopath?

5: I'd ask if you knew what 'guilt' was, but you'd probably be a smartass and point me to a dictionary. So I'll ask instead: Have you ever FELT guilt?

6: Do you hate your father for making you live after the accident that nearly killed you as a teen? (his head was nearly severed by a bale of chicken-wire- he now can only speak in a whisper and has a scar running across his throat from side to side. When I discovered that this was a "trait" often given to stereotypical villains in bad adventure novels, I laughed my ass off at the coincidence)- anyone reading this who is part of, or knows, my family will figure out who this refers to easily enough.

7: Are you ever grateful that he died never knowing that you became a child-rapist not even ten years later?

8: How does a supposedly mature, responsible male manage to justify raping an 11 year old girl?

9: What was your thought-process? Because you obviously were able to do it.

10: Did taking me against my will make you feel powerful, like a man?

11: Why was sex so important to you that you couldn't control yourself around a child?

12: Have you raped any OTHER little girls?

13: Have you ever told anyone what you've done?

14: If not, why not? (I'm reasonably certain I know why, but I still wanna hear your "reasons".)

15: Does it bother you that you are a coward and a bully?

16: If you caught someone raping a little girl you found "attractive", would you stop him, or ask to join in, or stop him and fantasize about a grateful little girl giving you what the other rapist was trying to take later?

17: Did you know that when I pissed on you, it was my little revenge? It didn't matter to me that it turned out you liked it.

18: Can you tell me what exactly it was about my 11 year-old, prepubescent body that you found "hot"?

19: I once saw you mention God and the soul. Do you believe that you even HAVE a soul?

20: Do you understand that you are an opportunistic paedophile?

21: Something in you must have understood what you did was wrong- after all, you switched from vaginal rape to anal to keep me from getting pregnant. Did you REALLY care about pregnancy, or was it that you just didn't want to get CAUGHT?

22: Will you EVER take responsibility for what you did in bald, open terms?

23: Would going to prison scare you?

24: You say you aren't afraid of me, but I know different: when I slammed you against the wall and threatened to kill you for what you'd done to me, you were terrified. So, do I STILL scare you? I hope I do.

25: Do you ever have nightmares? Good.

26: Am I in them? I hope so.

27: What would you do if your girlfriend found out you raped me for five years, until I threatened to kill you if you ever did it again?

28: Have you ever REALLY considered suicide, like you once claimed in a letter to my mother? I have, and it's NOT something you use as a ploy to gain sympathy, you dumb fuck- it's a true cry of pain.

29: So, what stopped you? Pussy.

30: You claimed for years that you didn't believe in an afterlife or in God, yet, recently, you mentioned God and the soul, implying that you have since gotten such a belief. Knowing the weight of your crimes may have possible punishment, what do you really think will happen when you finally kick it?

31: Will you mind if I come and piss on your grave whenever I'm in town? My little farewell present to you, since you liked "water-sports" so much. >:D

32: How fast do you think your family and friends would abandon you if they found out what a totally selfish, self-serving, people-using SCUM-BAG you were?

33: Will you accept it as your "just desserts" along with the one working lung, diabetes and the psoriasis? (If family-members don't know who I'm talking about by now, I could just name the little pustule)

34: I don't believe in God- the existence of people like you ensured that, but I do believe in something like Karma. How does it make you feel to know that I smile whenever I hear about another illness, setback or bad break happening to you?

35: When did you break down so badly as a human being that you'd be OK with stepping over the line from simply being physically abusive (bad enough on it's own) to being a rapist?

36: How can you possibly say "I love you" and "don't tell your mother" in the same breath?

37: How can you possibly say "I love you" to a little girl you'd just raped? Just because I didn't RESIST you doesn't mean I was willing OR that I enjoyed it. You had already made sure to train me NOT to resist to begin with!

38: What would you feel if I told you that I can't have sex like a healthy human being, even now, nearly thirty years later? To this day, I can't do certain things without seeing YOUR ugly face.

39: How do you manage to survive the onslaught of my hate? Dammit, if thoughts COULD kill, you'd have been a pink smear on some wall a million times over!

40: Do you know how many times I've plotted your MURDER?

41: Do you know how many of my relationships fell apart because I couldn't/wouldn't have sex?

42: Do you know, or care, that I blame YOU?

43: Do you care about ANYTHING other than what YOU want?

44: Did you know, of all the things I regret, the biggest one is not finding the stones to report you to CFS when I went to them to BEG them to take me away?

45: Do you have any fucking idea what being afraid all the time feels like? Maybe I should TEACH you.

46: Did you know that you don't call someone you love a "stupid cunt"? When you called me that, Mum stepped in and chewed you out, one of the only times I remember her EVER defending me. I still treasure that moment. Go Mom!

47: What's it like in your fucked up head?

48: Do you find it ironic that you'd beat me for drawing monsters, yet, you were the one who introduced me to them? (he got me into horror comics and really bad, violent horror novels, then beat on me if I drew vampires or werewolves, 'cuz he thought I was "obsessed" with them! Twit)

49: When will you do the decent thing and confess to the world what filth you really are and take the consequences at long last?

50: Knowing how abusive behaviour tends to run in families and that it sometimes drops in severity down the generations, if what YOU did to ME was your idea of fair, what did GRANDPA do to YOU?

51: If your childhood was anything like I suspect, do you know that this would be the ONLY reason I'd pity you?

52: By the way, did you learn your "winning ways with women" from your father?

53: Did you know that your brothers were as fucked up as you were? One asked me to suck his dick when I was 8, telling me it tasted like honey (I refused) and the other was just a bastard who picked on us when we were kids, even dumping a bowl of hot porridge in my little brother's lap. Mom still has a scar under her eye where he punched her and bounced her head off some plywood stacked against the hallway wall from one of Grandpa's many never-finished "projects".

54: Did grandpa rape your sisters? Maybe that's where you learned that it was OK for daddies to rape their daughters.

55: Do you have any fucking CLUE how fucked up our whole stupid FAMILY was?

56 Are you afraid of dying?

57: Are you afraid of LIVING?

58: Are you afraid of what will happen if you were to own up to what you did?

59: Did you know that I can still remember your smell? Yeasty and cloying, with an undertone of auto-paint.

60: Did you know that memories flood back whenever I SMELL auto-enamel paint?

61: Why were you such a SELFISH little prick?

62: Do you know that I coined the term "button boy" to describe your little prick- the way your penis disappears into your pubic hair, leaving only the tip and the ring of what's left of your foreskin showing? Even your COCK is ashamed to be seen in public! It has more of a conscience than YOU do!

63: Do you know that I find it laughable that you thought you could TEACH me ANYTHING about sex, except how NOT to do it? You were probably the most self-centred, stuck on himself, unskilled lay I've ever "had". Yes, you SUCK IN BED. Ewww, I went there...

64: What would you do, if I came over and kicked you in the balls, right NOW?

65: Did you know I used you for money during lean times? I figured that since you TREATED me like a cheap whore that I should CHARGE you like one. At least then, I'd get SOMETHING out of it other than a whoppingly huge sense of self-hatred... I once calculated that you owed me at least fifty grand over a period of five years... You still owe at LEAST 40K, pal- should I demand that you pay up?

66: Did you know, that in a perverse way, I'm GRATEFUL to you? You showed me EXACTLY what to avoid in a man and what warning-signs to look for to avoid being hurt again and prevent myself from getting involved with a possible paedophile. Thanks. I mean it.

67: Would it matter for you to know that, despite my passionate desire to flay the skin from your bones, I'll NEVER actually physically hurt you? I think life is doing a fine job of that already. Hope you're having fun living on one LUNG, asshole.

68: When you found out a family friend had also been sexually abusing me, you were furious enough to punch me in the belly for it. You didn't do anything to the family FRIEND, you attacked ME instead. AND it didn't stop you from raping me, either... Was it a jealousy/territorial thing, ya big ape?

69: Did you know I hated "69"-ing with you? I hate doing that with anyone else, too, thanks to you, you stupid bastard.

70: Did you know that you had the smallest penis of any guy I ever slept with? I still laugh at that. Big man, itty bitty joystick. Typical.

71: What went through your tiny little mind after you read the question about your tiny little penis?

72: How do you feel knowing that every one of my friends, lovers, even ENEMIES, knows what you did?

73: Want me to tell you how MANY of those friends and lovers have offered to KILL you for me? Hint: ALL of them. Even some of my ENEMIES offered their services.

74: Do you know that I haven't been scared of you since I threatened to kill you that day in my hallway?

75: And that I consider that day a pivotal moment in my healing?

76: How can you love someone you have no respect for? By saying that I "was the closest thing at hand" you pretty much told me everything I needed to know: women are holes for god-like you to stick his dick into.


78: No matter how much you whine, beg, or plead?

79: What would you do if I posted this where all your friends and family could see, like I'm doing, RIGHT NOW?

80: What do you think they'd do, or say?

81: Did you know that the very idea of sex, with anyone, often made me feel physically ill?

82: Do you know that I think your pasty white skin, bizarre beard, funky scent and piggish nose make you seem like a parody of a human being? In other words, you're a fucking JOKE to me.

83: What went through your mind every time you made me CRY? *glares*

84: Or when I gagged and barfed in your lap after you made me swallow?

85: Did you know that I can't give a blow-job without gagging and seeing/smelling you? This was one of the things that killed a few of my relationships, as mentioned before. Yeah, some men are fucking pigs, to drop me because I wouldn't suck them off.

86: Did you know, or even care, that I had to fight to keep from cringing any time you touched me in public because in some warped way, I was trying to protect our family from pointy questions?

87: Did you realize that I pretended to be asleep when you came to my room at night? I didn't sleep much at night- I spent five years on less than four hours of sleep a night to AVOID you. Imagine my disgust when you tried to have sex with me ANYWAY. As if I needed any more proof that my body was just a convenience for you... Scum-bag.

88: What went through your mind when I told you I would kill you if you ever touched me again?

89: How scared were you when I finally told MOM what you'd been doing?

90: Do scared, bruised, crying little girls turn you on?

91: Did you know that I "divorced" myself from the human race because I kept MEETING people like YOU? We "re-married"- me and the human race are happier, now. I realized that I should have divorced YOU and anyone LIKE you from humanity, not myself.

92: Why is it not a surprise that I gag at the smell of cum?

93: Why did I feel guilty just for EXISTING when it was YOU who committed the crime? I remember the bruises, cuts, the lumps on my scalp from being hung by my hair...

94: Were YOU ever sexually abused? If so, I am SO sorry you had to go through that- I'm NOT being sarcastic, either. NO ONE should go through that, not even you.

95: If you were, how could you EVER put anyone ELSE through that?

96: If you were not, how could you possibly be so lacking in compassion as to do that to me?

97: Have you EVER felt sympathy for another being in pain?

98: Why wouldn't it surprise me to find out you haven't?

99: What is it like to be so disconnected from anything human?

100: And last, but not least: HOW THE FUCK DO YOU LIVE WITH YOURSELF?

Now people might have an idea as to just how much, and why, I despise incest and cub-porn "fetishes", and why I have real trouble seeing anyone who gets off on stuff like that as anything but the kind of fucked up you can only fix with a knife to the throat. I'm not normally a violent person, despite all the talk of doing violent acts- it's just that things like this fill me with such rage, that it's hard for me to think straight. I've actually had visions of myself going to prison one day for beating to death anyone I caught raping a child (or ANYONE, for that matter)... Though I like to think that my answer to the question "what are you in for" would be guaranteed to make even the hardest of criminals back up.

Anyone who has gone through this or worse, I am so sorry for your pain. Know that someone else understands, doesn't judge you or think you're weak, or worthless or small for not being able to fight them off. You were a child- you were an easy target. It was NEVER your fault. Please don't tell yourself that it was. You've survived this long- that means you're STRONGER THAN YOU THINK. Keep fighting, know that it ends if you allow it to. YOU can make it stop, both the abuse and the memories it leaves behind. The memories are nothing more than the ghost of the one who hurt you, trying to keep a hold on you- cut yourself free. Know that you will eventually meet someone who knows that real love doesn't exploit, doesn't rape, doesn't confuse fear with respect, doesn't beat on you, or drive your friends away or keep you from seeing them, or tell lies about you, or keep you imprisoned, isn't jealous, isn't controlling and isn't demanding that you be less than him/her at all times.

Love is trust. Love is sharing that trust. Love is beautiful. Love is finding beauty, even in a mud-hole. Love is compassion and sympathy. Love is truth. Love is being able to kiss when you awaken, despite morning-breath that could kill a Tauntaun. Love is being able to let go when things don't work out. Love is being willing to be vulnerable- trust again. Love is knowing that s/he will be there when you need them. Love is fun. Love has no fear. Love gives YOU power. Love can change your world into something better. Love sees age as beauty, no matter how run down you may actually look. Love destroys an abusers' power. Love can say "I'm sorry" and MEAN it. Love grows, even in the darkest places. Love is a painkiller. Love can end, but the memories it leaves behind are always treasured.

LOVE is what saves your soul, not god.

Love is meeting another soul and being able to say "I understand".

Oh, yeah, and a certain special someone got this in his in-box.  I did it the weekend of his birthday: April 1st- Day of the Fool, and he is, above all, a fool..

And, the Earth moved...

What a way to wake up!

Ok, what was your first thought?

Seriously, the Earth moved.  At a 3.8 magnitude (downgraded from the original 4.1), to be exact.  The largest earthquake I've yet experienced, I think.  Very short shake to the whole house.  Some pictures moved a bit and now need to be straightened.  That's it.  LOL

I'm laying in bed, contemplating the idea of getting up, feeling sluggish and slow...  Wiggle, wiggle SHAKE.  Alrighty, then, I'm WIDE awake now.  Chris comes in, saying "we just had an earthquake".

"Yeah, I felt it, too.  I thought it was Diva having one of her scratching fits again...  Think there'll be any more?"

"No idea, but maybe we should get dressed..."

How can we be so calm?!

When earthquakes get mentioned, my friends back in Winnipeg all have that panicky reaction that makes me grin even now: "Get yer ass out of that natural-disaster of a state ASAP!"  That was my buddy, Corey, after the Easter quake that smashed Baja in Mexico.  That one was so big (Magnitude 7.2), we felt it up in Valley Village (I keep wanting to say Value Village- any 'Pegger reading this will understand) as a roughly magnitude 3 ripple (my guess) that made me a bit queasy.  It was also the longest tremour I've felt, at that point (still the longest, as of this writing) at 90 seconds of gentle swaying, the sensation reminiscent of being on a boat on water.  Slow lead up of ripples, then a short stretch of stronger movement, then fading away to nothing.

What amused me more, was finding out just how poor most of my friend's education in geography was!  They heard "Baja California", and immediately thought my area of "California, United States" and promptly went into panic-mode: "Oh shit!  Terrakian's out there!", forgetting that California, as a land-mass, extends into Mexican territory as a peninsula...  Cue a lot of frantic emails and calls...  I had to tell them that I was fine, the epicentre of the quake was actually over 300 miles away, in Mexico, where "Baja California" is the Northern part of their country:

Quakes are interesting, and sometimes terrifying, things to me: I had no idea when I moved down here, that they had such a variety of "feel" to them, either.  I thought it would be harder or lesser shaking- but essentially the same in overall feel- with things moving in that circular, Coriolis motion I always found so odd and fascinating in earthquake videos...  Instead, I've felt that Coriolis motion under my feet, making me feel as if I was unstable, on a moving platform turning in the breeze, and about to fall down (messes with the inner ear, I suspect), a loud rumble that shook the apartment, opening cupboard doors and setting hanging things to swaying, that slow weak-weak-stronger-STRONG-stronger-weak-weak wiggle of the Easter Quake, and a loud "double knock" of a RAP! RAP! on the building that was so sudden, and so fast, I almost didn't realize what had happened until it was over.

This morning, it felt like a large vehicle had gone past the house... or, like my cat, Diva, was scratching furiously at her ear, like she does so often.  That kind of shake-shake-shake back and forth motion.

Incidentally, this morning was the first quake I've felt while up here in Crestline.  This area isn't known for having many quakes, but we do get them, on occasion.

Oh, and we live on the San Andreas Fault, along with a host of lesser faults that are, apparently, more likely to shift.  I wonder what a large quake would feel like up here?  What kind of damage could I expect?  Yup, still weirdly calm, asking silly questions.  Why?  Because earthquakes are a feature of living up here, they're fascinating, they're scary and they're, oddly enough, kind of fun.  Go figure.  I'm sure I wouldn't be so sanguine if a high-mag quake hit our area- I think about what happened to Chile the same year as the Baja quake and shudder...

But, you got to admit, that's one hell of a "wake up call"...

Tuesday, April 24, 2012

"Why are you unsubscribing from DailyWorth?"

I have a bad habit: I read fucking EVERYTHING, it seems, and it is an egregious time-suck that I need to eliminate with extreme prejudice... like with a bazooka.  Though I suppose that would be rather bad for the house, the forest I currently live in, and terrify the neighbours (some of whom are crazy Republican "Mountain-Types" who's shotguns are treasured members of the family, along with their Bibles, and would just take loud explosions more than a little badly, poor things) and finding my hard-drive afterword would be a challenge worthy of Mensa- which I am expressly not high-enough IQ to be a member of.  I asked.

Do you know how much the embarrassment burns when you get the letter back that says "you missed it by this much"?  I hate them, I hate them forever.  Well, I shouldn't really, they still allowed me to attend the local meetings, since I only failed by a few points (OK, it was closer to nine, but who's counting?).  Actually, because I didn't have the money to pay for the real assessment, I only did the tests for a lark, of course commenting on how many of the questions had nothing to do with intelligence at all, but were rote memorization questions, that ethnocentric questions posed a problem, and that it didn't take into account creative, out-of-the-box thinking that ADHD/dyslexics like me are famous for...  I had to cover the fact that I sucked abominably at the mathematics sets, after all.  The local chapter of the Mensa-folks looked it over and told me what my "score" was...  But, the embarrassment was still the same...

Tangents are another feature of my sort of mind: "confused and prone to wandering".

And, my mate should possibly stand at my shoulder when I'm online, if only to keep me from signing up to yet another newsletter of doom.  It can range all over the map from Steampunk Emporium (still fun, so I'm keeping it), anything by or, the Centre For Biological Diversity (no, I did NOT spell "centre" wrong.  I'm Canadian, and we spell it correctly, thank you very much), political sites, atheist sites, joke-pages like ICanHazCheezeburger...  The list is long, and I've actually forgotten some of them, why I signed up in the first place, or I'd thought "I got rid of that one ages ago!"

I'm compulsive, and reading anything, even the backs of cereal-boxes, has been my obsession since I was around ten or eleven years old.

Now, when you're a nerd, this isn't an unusual obsession, by any means, but I think my situation was a bit different from the norm- at least, whatever "norm" we nerds ascribe to.  I was functionally illiterate until I was... well, ten or eleven years old...

One of the few things my mother did for me that I think was actually a good idea, was sending me to a Catholic-school run by the teaching order of Grey nuns (for which I'm sure she had a fondness for, since the Order was founded in Montreal, her home-town), her "reason" being that it would be a more "disciplined" environment.  It must be mentioned here that "discipline" in my family had a distinctly different context than the usual one found in dictionaries, and relied heavily on the physical.

Ah, screw the nice language!  Mum figured I'd get more smacks from the nuns, who were not reticent about using a ruler on someone's palms for even minor offences (failing to complete home-work was one), and this would somehow "improve" my ability to learn.  Goodness knows, I was doing terribly in the public schools.  Public-school teachers weren't allowed to give students the ruler treatment, you see.  I had cruddy grades, no stick across knuckles...  2+2 added up to five, and QED, I needed more whuppin's more often in the school environment.   My Mum, such a special person...

She also seemed to be of the opinion that my difficulty in school was somehow my fault, as if having ADHD and dyslexia wasn't a factor that just might inhibit learning and retention.  It didn't stop me, of course, just slowed things down to a level an impatient woman like my mother (who also has ADHD and dyslexia- what a surprise) wasn't able to accept.

Forget about explaining to her that being bullied constantly, and being left with burning anger, resentment and humiliation throughout an already miserable day was more than a little distracting from school-work.  I'd daydream, chew on my pencils and doodle all over my pages (I went through more pens and pencils than any other student I knew of), not even realizing I was finding any sort of escape I could.  I only knew that I would get out of class eventually, to finish the routine of the rest of my day: get pushed around in the halls on my way out, jeered at by many I passed, spit upon, laughed at, smashed into lockers or water-fountains, chased home and then be yelled at, smacked around and generally be treated much the same as I was in school, but on the other side of the door to my house...

Anyway, despite how much I absolutely hated the Catholic-school's Principle (a cast-iron bitch with an utterly dead sense of humour- or she never had one to begin with), I rather liked my teachers, and I learned.  There was a strange trait in me that only served to further isolate me and mark me as the social-pariah I was:  I actually liked classes.  I liked learning.  Even my husband has noticed this.  It's really difficult for me to keep to one type of art, because my life's mantra seems to be "is it new?  Can I learn something?" and, "how much can I suck up from library or the 'Net on this?"

One teacher had the heart and compassion to see that I was unhappy, and did what she could (within the confines of her Order, I suppose) to give me at least a few successes and fun times.  She is responsible for discovering my talent for illustration, and I was then designated Holy Day artist, giving me a big set of coloured chalk with which to put my masterpieces on the blackboard.  She saw that I was having trouble with reading and writing when I was in grade five, and took time out of her short day to get me past the abysmal reading comprehension I was currently at.  Functionally illiterate at the age of eleven or twelve.  How nice.  I could read barely past a grade three level, but Boy Howdy, I could draw.   But, by the time the school-year ended, I was beyond the grade five level and up to roughly grade ten.

I've been inhaling libraries ever since.

Sister Nadine of Belgium, I thank you.   If it ever came down to public nominations for sainthood, I'd put in your name.  <3

Anyway, back to the crap I keep ingesting from the 'Net.  I have to cut down, reduce the amount of... stuff I read and get in my inbox.  It took less than two months to get over two-thousand e-mails...  And I had to weed through every one and pitch those that were no longer relevant.  Days it took- technically, I'm still weeding.  I'd rather be weeding the garden I don't yet have.  Yes, that makes sense- stop that!  I'm down to around 900, at least.

One of the sites I was excited about, at first, had to do with financial-planning, budgeting and generally just doing better than hand-to-mouth advice for women running their own businesses or wanting to run one...  It was a new site, and there were some great articles at it's inception, but I'd noticed the quality and topics had rapidly gone downhill within the short year I'd been following it.  Damn.  There were some neat things in there.

The "unsubscribe" widget is so handy- most times, you just go to a stop-page, hit that button, and you're done.  No more stuff from whatever site you're junking.  But, some have taken to giving you "boo-hoo" messages saying they were sad to see you go.  Really?  Is the site (or those who put it together) seriously telling it's readers that they even know who they are as individuals?  That "we're sad to see you go?"

Bizarre new take on the old form-letter, and just about as sincere...

But, this one, Daily-Worth, had a slightly different approach.  They had the "boo-hoo" script, of course, but they also gave you the option to tell them why you were leaving...  *grins in evil glee, rubbing her hands together*

With me, that's not a good idea.  I'm wordy, and I will tell you exactly why I think something blows goats without a condom.

So, this is what I sent them:

"Frankly, there is very little I relate to in the dailies, lately- I'm not a fashionista, into make-up or shoes.  Conversations about 401K's sound like Greek to me- I don't have one, and I likely never will.  Opinion-articles about women in the board-room and how they get reputations of being "bitches" because they have to be forceful, while it was an interesting discussion on sexism in business and how little things have changed, even in this day and age, just failed to grab me, since the closest I've gotten to being a CEO of anything is running a very small, personal design business for custom-clothing and art.  Investing has never been a big priority for a person like me who's spent more time so far below the poverty line- that actually REACHING it was a fantastic dream of financial comfort- than I ever had being even within the shadow of anything resembling affluence.

The articles read like "Cosmo's Financial-section", and are just as fluffy- so it seems things have devolved to that level.

I really like the idea of empowered women making a stronger mark in the financial and leadership worlds, but advice on my shoe-collection or "how to save money by cutting everyday things" type of articles suggesting that I cut-back on things I never buy or use in the first place just seems ridiculous.

I GREW UP in poverty, I KNOW how to keep out of debt: never get into debt in the FIRST place.  You HAD to, or you didn't get to eat, or have a roof over your head.  The common suggestions I've been seeing in the articles are so out of touch with REAL people working to get out of the poverty-cycle are laughable when you attempt to apply them to their (and my) situation: I don't use credit cards if I can avoid it, don't own a car, never buy "high-fashion" anything or take expensive trips.  Telling me to cut out trips to Starbucks is nice, for example- if I actually bought anything from them more than once a year...

See where I'm going?

The stuff I've been reading in the newsletter seem like missives from an alien, upper-middle-class world to me, where people with $60-$80K (and higher!) incomes discuss strategies to improve their investments, how to "downsize" by selling off their extra car or old wardrobe, or save a bit on their taxes, where I'd like to make enough money to actually PAY taxes!  I relate to nearly NONE of it, at the moment.  So yeah, unsubscribe me, please.  Let me know when you folks come back to the Earth I actually live on, and I might start reading it again.

Yours- a reader wondering where the articles I'd first read and had signed up for, that had actually been useful, had gone and why the "Pod-People" replaced them with "girly" fluff."

Yeah, I hit them with the sexism card.  I mean, these are articles written by women for women, and yet they're continuing the very stereotypes they said they wanted to debunk in the first place!?  Shoe-buying advice?  Really?  There actually was an "article" that was more of a glorified advertisement than anything serious... about shoes, of all the stupid things.  Another article I mention up there was written about female CEOs and whether or not being "tough" in the board-room in order to be taken seriously was being a bitch.  We still have to worry about being taken seriously?  After nearly a hundred years of having the vote?  After more than sixty years of being in the work-place? After fifty of the Civil-rights Movement?  What?!

I thought we were in the twenty-first century!  That junk read like drivel from the seventies- from the last century!  Times I wonder why I hadn't seen the underlying "Barbie-girl" in that site.  You'd think I'd have noticed, considering it was clad in bright colours, slick, scrap-booking/retro graphics and well... lots of pink...

So, it's gone, along with a lot of other sites I just never have time to go to any more.  Pity, really, since there are many that I still like.

Now, maybe I'll actually have some time for myself- or this blog- so I can convince readers to waste their time reading my attempts at serious dialogue and prose.  :-D

Though, I gotta say that I still harbour a fondness for LOLcats.

Is that too "girly" of me?

Naaaaahhhhhh.  <3

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

My Family Gave Me Everything- Now I'm In Therapy To Get Rid Of It!

Looks like the Step-Monster is now denying that he'd ever done anything.  If that didn't make me so fucking furious, it would be hilarious.  Is this guy really that fucking stupid?  He's admitted it to at least two people that I know of, one of them his divorce lawyer!  Dipshit doesn't have a leg to stand on.

What also truly has me wanting to explode in rage is that he's lying to his family.  That just makes me sick to my stomach...

All right, if he is going to be that much of a moron, public shaming it is: Bill Corley, I'm pressing charges against you for at least five years of sexual and physical abuse.  We're doing the research now, finding out what he can actually be charged with, whether child-molestation has a statute-of-limitations (I believe it doesn't), and if I'll have to come up to Canada for anything else other than the actual trial.  Whatever I need to do, I will do.

If it gets this man to face me, to take responsibility for what he's done, and to ensure the safety of others (I am ashamed that I allowed for the potential abuse of others to go on for so long), I'll do what it takes to get him off the streets, or at least on the sex-offender registry.  I know that actual jail-time might not happen for a number of reasons, not the least of which being his health and age.  But, he'll still have to be on the Registry, and any neighbourhood he tries to move to will know what he is.

My brothers are having fits over my revelation of these events, it seems, and while I'm insulted by their take on this matter- with their "just leave it in the past and move on" and "is it possible that you could have mistaken your attacker?" type of patronizing nonsense, completely forgetting that this man has COMMITTED A SERIOUS CRIME- I still feel for what they're going through.  Yeah, even Mike.  I'm sorry they have to hear such bad things about their father.  I'm sorry that it hurts- I wish it didn't have to. I'm sorry that I've kept this mostly quiet for so long.  I'm sorry that I couldn't bring myself to charge him earlier.  I'm sorry that there may be others out there whom he's hurt (I am NOT saying there are, but it isn't beyond reason as a possibility).

But, I am not sorry for standing up for myself.  I am not sorry for speaking out.  I am not sorry for slamming this fuckhead up against a wall when he called me a "thing".  I will not be sorry for making this man suffer what I've had to suffer for thirty years.

I was eleven years old when it started.  I was fifteen when I made it stopME, not his boredom with me, not through anything resembling his decision.  It was me, and only me, that made it stop.  That four-and-a-half, maybe five, years was a third of my-then life.  That's a fuck of a long time for a kid.

And, now, it's been thirty years since I told him not to touch me ever again.  I've tried "moving on", as some idiots have so "helpfully" suggested.  I am in therapy, and I've seen counsellors and therapists since I was eight years old.  Why?  Because I was raped when I was six, and then when I was seven.  I went through one court-case already with a local paedophile- who was convicted.  But, I was still being abused at home with insults, yelling, being slapped and so on.  I was viciously bullied every day at school.  I had virtually no friends.  Then I'd have to go home, and get the same kind of treatment from my parents.  The violent part got worse when we moved to our own house when I was about nine or ten (? I'll have to figure out dates).  I'm pretty certain about the eleven-years-old age for the sexual-abuse because that was when I started going through puberty and growing breasts.

To this day, I hate men seeing or using my breasts as a sexual object.

Two bouts of what the psychologists call "suicidal ideation"- no real attempts, though I did catch myself in the act of climbing up and over the railing on the Osborne Bridge...  That made it all snap- I practically ran home and then went to our family-doctor the next day asking for help.  I have a brain, I know what suicidal thoughts really are, and I took their message to heart: "You need help- you hurt too much to do this alone".

Major depression, medication, more therapy, moving as far away from the source of my pain as I could get... and it isn't fucking ENOUGH.

Don't tell me to "move on"- anyone who says that is so full of shit, I'm surprised they aren't hauled off for compost.  Don't tell me to "get therapy", since you're obviously too out of touch with me as a person to know that I've already sought therapy on my own, twice, without any need for "friendly advice" from ignorant people.  Especially don't feed me Biblical fucktardery- to an ATHEIST, yet- like "let those who are without sin cast the first stone"- my situation and that of the adulteress are in no way comparable.  Trying to use guilt on me- "he gave you everything!"- telling me that I should be fucking grateful?  For what?  This ... person fucked me up the ass when my body rebelled against him so strongly, that my vaginal-muscles wouldn't allow him in, roughly twice a week for four to five years.  Are you seriously trying to tell me that whatever work, time or money that genetic-mistake had put into the family is worth MORE than the third of my childhood he stole from me through weekly/daily RAPE?  That this somehow excuses his being a fucking paedophilic RAPIST?  Are you seriously that lacking in simple empathy, or just that fucking stupid?

By the way, I'm being conservative about how much of my life that fuckwit has stolen.  If I count the thirty years since, with all the nightmares, the paranoias, phobias, sexual problems, Panic-Attacks, anger-management issues, loneliness, misery, ill-health (depression and PTSD are known to depress the immune-system, too), poverty (since anyone going through this kind of thing will find it hard to get work, let alone keep it), living like a hermit escaping my "life" through books and my cats, and utter distrust of everyone I met- even people I liked, this "ugly sack of mostly water" has taken nearly two-thirds of my current years of life.  TWO-THIRDS...

I am not letting him take any more.  I have at least another sixty years left in me, and I am going to do my best to make sure they are happy ones.  And, that includes making that twat-waffle pay me for the time I've lost that I could have spent building a career, raising children, loving someone, being happy, living...

Whatever I can "give" him: court-time, jail-time, public humiliation, being on the sex-offender's list- is nothing compared to what he's done to me, but it will be a good fucking start.  And, if it turns out that he has done this to others, I'll have to live with the fact that I COULD HAVE SENT HIM TO PRISON DECADES AGO AND IT'S PARTIALLY MY FAULT THAT OTHER KIDS MAY HAVE BEEN HURT BY HIM.

Put that in your self-righteous pipe and smoke it- I hope you fucking choke on it.

As for me, to all of those little sociopathic, unfeeling shits in my family who have, over the years, thought I was nothing more than a loud-mouthed, fictitiously-intense, mentally-unstable, money-mooching, drama-causing loser: my "friends", I'm just getting fucking started.  Just you wait until I'm in court, telling the world what a slime-sucking, pustule-ridden, microcephalic, genetic-mistake your relation is.  On TV.  On tapeOn fucking record, where you can't deny it's existence with crap like "he's given you everything" and "move on"...

Monday, April 9, 2012

Ketchup, Catsup, whatever you call that tomato sauce

So, It's Been A While, Hasn't It?

"Life, don't talk to me about life..."- Marvin, The Paranoid Android.

And, that's what's been happening while I was "gone".  Life.  Seeing new places, meeting new people, learning new things- some of them about myself.  How nice, I've been getting introspective.  Don't worry, it doesn't last long.  Anyway, life has "interfered" in it's trade-mark way by removing nearly all semblance of free-time from my days: I'm building a business- slowly, but I have one.  I make costumes, custom clothing and jewellery.  It doesn't pay much, at the moment- it can't, when you only do a few commissions a year.  But, hey, it's something to build on...

Cue nested "bullet" lists:

-Kani, the fellow in that first, long ago post, turned out to be The One.  I ended up spending more and more time down here, so I finally just said "screw this visiting flot..."  I'm not sure who proposed to who- my mind keeps insisting it was a mutually-arrived-upon decision, but, by the end of that last trip, there was an engagement-ring and we were filling out forms... and forms... and more forms...  Ugh.  What does it say about a country where one must ask permission to ask permission for an entry visa?

- I finally made the Big Move to the U.S. on April 2nd, 2009.  I felt like I was committing a crime in my attempts to strip down my stuff to the "minimum" I could stand to part with and still have it fit in a 6x8 U-Haul and the back of a Prius with the back seats pulled out.  Kani still had to ship two car-loads of fabric, books and my music-collection to his parents first...

-The border-guards had fun with our arrival- didn't make us wait too long (is sitting around bored out of our scaly minds for an hour and a half too long?), but Kani got to see their faces when they opened up the back of the trailer.  Apparently, they pulled out a few things, shook their heads at the enormity of the task, put back the items and locked the doors, counting that one as a loss.  I have no difficulties believing this- that trailer was a solid BLOCK of belongings.  I've since cut even more stuff from my "hoard"- but that came later.  Diva was the only cat I could bring with us, and, well, let's just say she doesn't travel well.  Poor thing.

- Three months that Entry-visa gave us, three months to plan the wedding, invite guests, make up cards, decide what we were going to eat, how to decorate and what to wear.  Let it be known that I was called "Bridezilla" in the most respectful and admiring manner possible, due to the amazement people felt at the insane amount of work I did in that time.  Heck, I'm amazed, too- I doubt I could repeat a performance like this: 

   -I designed both of our outfits,

   -Drafted the patterns,

   -Sewed them up- barely in time, I might add.

   -I made the invitations that we printed and sent out.

   -I suggested a menu and a wedding-theme (Midsummer Night's Dream, as it was going to be on the Summer Solstice),

   -Provided a recipe I'd come up with years ago for cream of leek soup (so thick, it might as well be a stew).

   -I even made our wedding-rings and the large torcs that we now wear on special occasions!

   -Started on the decorations for the day and the broom we would jump over (Pagan thing, remember?), but had to leave the remainder to some very patient volunteers, while I finished up our regalia, which we still wear to special-occasions, like the geek conventions we go to most years.

   -Kani felt more than a little left out of the fuss, so he was designated "Music and Medieval Foods Researcher".

We didn't have much time to rehearse anything, so the moment of truth had some stumbles- all on live web-cam feed, so my mother and brothers could watch it in real time back home in Winnipeg.  A sweetie by the nickname of "Synge" was responsible for that.  Technically, there were two ceremonies- the main one for the Muggles was a Pagan-oriented arrangement, with a lovely lady we were lucky to find as our officiant.  The other was earlier in the morning, and was a more... personal ritual.  Both Kani and I are dragons- that's often how we see ourselves- and this was a different sort of bonding-ceremony with our dragon-selves specifically in mind.  One of our specially-invited friends, SeHT, came all the way from Britain to head a ritual he and I designed.  We're still looking for time and money to do a honeymoon...  :-p

-We then took up residence in Kani's apartment- nice place, actually.  I even had space for my first studio.   Life continued: we settled into this mystery called "married life"- it was a mystery to me, in any case.  I'd never been married before.  :-p  I've lived with people, been hand-fasted once for a year, but married?  No way- Terrakian barely knows what love is, let alone that she'll actually get to experience it.   My final opinion?  It's like any other day, just with two people to consider, who happen to prefer each other's company.  >^__^<

-From there, we lived.  That's pretty much it.  We had our first arguments, lots of fun, pondered when we could look for a house (or if we could afford one, even with the burst real-estate bubble dropping high-prices like flies).  We decided to find out what we wanted in the realm of neighbourhoods, landscape, environment, and so on.  We both seemed to agree on these parameters: fewer neighbours, less noise, cleaner air ('cuz of my asthma), somewhere up high and close to nature...  Ok, that's pretty much most folk's idea of a dream-environment, right?  How the flying HECK were we going to find such a thing that wasn't stratospherically-expensive and not already crowded with people wanting the same thing?

Turns out, we had a couple of friends who lived in a wee town called Crestline, and it had everything we were looking for.  Now, it was look for a place to rent for a year to see how well we adapt to a higher altitude, getting more exercise, cooler temperatures (there is snow up here, something Kani never had in Santa Monica), and being so remote, that you NEED a car, or preferably, a 4x4 truck (roads of doom and snow), and residents don't get mail to their door, just a PO box at the local USPS.  It was remote, night-life is non-existent, little social-contact, too many churches of the scary Evangelical sort, but the locals were friendly anyway, even to as odd a couple as we were.  :-)

Kani looks so average-geek, few notice him.  Then, there's me: short, dark, stretched piercings, newly-forming dredz with colourful beads, shells and wound thread woven in, Punky/Gothy/Hippie clothing-style.  But, it's obvious to anyone who see us that we're a couple- we're joined not only at the constantly-held hands, but at the brain.  :-D

-We moved up here in May of 2011, and we've decided to stay.  The official house-search was started mid-February and we've hit on two wonderful properties that we now have to make a choice between.  As luck would have it, we prefer opposite houses.  :-|  Drat.  So many houses up here for sale...  O___o  Kani just will not believe me when I tell him there seems like a good fifth to a third of the properties are up for sale, in foreclosure, close to foreclosure or just seized by the banks...  He's probably right, in terms of straight numbers, but who CARES?  Every street has a half-dozen places for sale, it seems.  That's still a fuck-ton of a lot of houses...

-In the meantime, throughout all of that, there was a breakdown...  This is the serious part- there won't be that many of these, but this one tried to kill me.  I'm a long-term sufferer of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder brought on by years of abuse.  Physical, social, mental and sexual.

Yes, people can be socially-abused- bullying, racism, sexism, and ostracism are forms of abuse that occur in the social realms, rather than at home.  It's often the form of abuse we condone as a society, that we never question or fight.  It's not any kind of an "official" category, of course, just one I made up.

I do that- make up terms to express what I need to get across.

Anyway, couple that up with bi-polar disorder that had never been treated (I'm a stubborn old lizard), and it added up to misery, suicidal thoughts, anger out of nowhere and a very confused and worried husband.  We looked for answers- everything from my already-diagnosed ADHD (since I was 7 or 8), to the abuse, and chemical issues with my brain.  I got therapy- still in, actually, and medication that seems to work... most of the time.

- I finally told the rest of my family, in public (on Face-Book- that's public, right?)- and on the weekend of his birthday, no less- what the Step-Monster had done to me for nearly five years...  Reactions have been... mixed.  My Mum's side of the family, except for one brother (who I'm considering disowning for being a dick about this whole event) seems to understand why I not only waited so long and why I did this at all.  Some members of the SM's side of the family have yet to reply, but, from the current "standings", let's just say they either don't believe me, refuse to believe me, or DO believe me but think I should "move on", whatever the flying fuck that means.

Several have blocked me, one with a message of "Don't contact me again" (the brother I want to disown), another with no message at all (the SM's girlfriend- I'm sure he has her well-programmed to believe he's a 'great guy' and that I'm just some loser who wants to start trouble- yeah, that's exactly what I am, sure.  I emerge from my cocoon of a personal hell maybe every twenty years or so, just to... irritate people? WTF?!), and one with a long-winded rant about "forgiveness", "moving on", "getting therapy" and so on, all while showing none of the "forgiveness" on her end that she was demanding of me, all the while utterly proving she's a fucking idiot by showing that she not only believes me, but that she thinks I shouldn't have to worry about what he may have done in the thirty years between his attacks on me and the day I pulled the "Big Reveal", all because he "gave me everything and worked so hard..." 


Who fucking CARES what material shit he gave to me or my family?  In what fucking sort of dream-world does she live in that rapists can be exempt from being revealed as the monsters they are just because he gave us money, a house or food?  SHE sounds as if she thinks it's fucking OKAY to rape someone as long as they fed and housed their victims!?  WHAT. THE. FUCK.

 Someone is so utterly clueless.  Beaten with a stupid-stick.  Mind you, this is all coming from a woman who thinks she can talk to angels, get "assistance" from them for people and charges them for the "service".  *head-desks, HARD*  That... person has NO "moral" or ethical ground to stand on when she attempts to make a LIVING by fleecing gullible, stupid people...  I want to fucking slap her.  Doesn't surprise me that someone as shallow and self-centred as my middle brother married someone just as fucktardedly fucked up as himself.

She can just shut the fuck up.  I find it also "hilarious" that she sends that vitriolic piece of shit to my inbox, then blocks me so I have no way to respond.  Yeah, must have the last word, mustn't we?  I wonder what arguments between her and my brother are like?

So, now I'm wondering what to do after all of this.  There is SO much more that's gone on over the last four years that would be impossible to encapsulate into one post, but this year, I think, is the big one- the one where I've been facing my demons fully in the face for what is likely the first time.

Fuck.  Thirty years...  I still feel like I'm sixteen.  Like the day I left home was fucking YESTERDAY.  Part of me just cannot accept that I'm in my forties.  I'm middle-aged.  Half my life is DONE.  I'm only just starting my career.  Only just got married.  Only just now looking for a house.  All of the stuff I took for granted that everyone else would get to have... and not me.  All of the impedimenta that "proves" one has had a "life".  Part of me cannot accept that I DID have a life, it was just not what I hoped for.  I got what I expected, though...

And, maybe that's part of the problem.

Moving on, like so many keep telling me to do (fuck you all, by the way)...  Some cathartic things I'd found while re-starting/putting this blog together.


A site guaranteed to make me sick/full of rage/ so disappointed in the human race (not the writers, but the carbuncles they tally in their daily-sadly- cataloguing of the worst "parents" on this continent), but still one worth the read.  Why?  Because they refuse to be silent, allowing these pukes to hide, so they splash their fugly faeces, er faces, all over the web, so we can all recognize them, and maybe prevent them from breeding ever again or from coming in contact with ANY child.  I give you: Bad Breeders, and yes, the name is VERY apropos: 

One wonders how the ever living, flying FUCK any of those fuckwits were allowed to have kids.  People like this are the reason I advocate breeding-licenses and parenting courses one must PASS before even considering having children.

 Another site with very readable rants about abuse and why it should die a quick death is Evil Sits At The Dinner Table:

She also collects and offers opinion-pieces on abuse-related current-events, and there is some bitter, sad, horribly-disappointed and angry commentary, both from the writers and their commentators.

Many of the writers in these two blogs have been through similar things that I have- many far worse and much more violent- so they KNOW where someone like me is coming from.  Worth reading. Check them out.  But, be warned- they swear, some of them, a lot.  There is very little in our language vile enough to express the things they've had to experience, so they swear.

So do I, like a longshoreman.  If you don't like it, that's fine- you're entitled to dislike anything you want- all I ask is that you don't complain at me because it won't change.  If "expletive-deleted"s offend you, just don't read my writing.  :-)

Abusers: if you want to get fucked, why not go fuck yourselves!  It would really save the world a lot of trouble.


Next up: an old post, already in two places, but it couldn't hurt to have it here, either: "100 Questions I Want To Ask The Step-Monster Before He Dies".