The hardest thing for anyone with -any- “invisible” disability, mental or physical, seems to me to be that no one really believes it. As long as you are doing badly, dark days, physical issues, pain…it’s fine. But just as soon as you manage to drag yourself up from the bottom, it all of a sudden becomes a commonplace. Not a struggle well rewarded, but merely “Why didn’t you do that before?”.
They hold “normal people” up to you as if they were some goal that you are supposed to aspire to. “Normal people take daily showers. Normal people are social. Normal people…” Normal people can kiss my ass. I can’t think of anything I’d less rather be than “normal”. Normal people watch politics, reality shows, commercial/cable tv…and -enjoy- it! Normal people are “too old for cartoons”, even anime. Normal people believe everything someone posts on FaceBook, even when the same picture has been used a thousand times to solicit help for so many different causes no one can even remember what the original was. Normal people watch sports…well, the guy half, anyway. Normal people don’t take medications unless they have a cold, or they’re over 50. Normal people don’t collect “toys” from their favorite series or books. Normal people don’t read speculative fiction, unless it’s romantic, and then it’s ok.
Let’s pause on that one for a second…never mind that, as the quote almost said “it’s like having an affair with a cheese sandwich”…never mind the uber-teen-angst aspect…never mind all that. Since when did the paranormal/supernatural turn into todays fantasy romance? Not dissing the goth thing. Far from it. Full-fledged Fairy Goth right here. But seriously, people? Vampires and Werewolves in love triangles with poor confused women…notice that it’s almost -never- a human -male- having to choose between the woodsy, outdoorsy, sexy-feral wolf-chick and the sophisticated, refined, sexy-dangerous vamp-chick. Hmm. Maybe I should write one. Or mix it up. Gay vampire is a thing…and lord knows that Were’s and Bears would hit it off…so a confused young queer boy who doesn’t understand why both sides are attractive to him? *giggle* No, luckily for the world of Para-Romance I have more self-respect than that. ;p Besides, according to “rule whatever-it-is” it’s bound to be already out there. >.>
Ok, Wild Tangent exercised, now back to the original rant. It’s just frustrating to be the only one telling me how well I’m doing, and having to lift myself by my own bootstraps, figuratively speaking. And it’s downright painful to have people accuse me of not being sick, now that I’m doing better. Hard enough swimming upstream without the folks around me pouring poison in the water and strengthening the current by weakening me. I know all the explanations: “They’re jealous. They’re afraid you won’t need them. They need to be needed, so they sabotage.” Bull. In my case, while the first might be barely possible, it’s accompanied by so much straight out hate and paranoia that “unintentional sabotage” isn’t an operative phrase…it’s closer to “deliberate malfeasance”. Frustrating? Try infuriating, especially since there’s not a blessed thing I can do about it, not having that sort of temperament, little say the physical, psychological or emotional -ability- for that sort of nonsense. *shrug*
So yeah. It’s almost 5 in the morning, I haven’t written a word in weeks, haven’t even opened my laptop to play games…why should I, I have my phone for that? And so my brain rots slowly away, and my “curious appetites” get…well, curiouser and curiouser, if you’ll excuse the misquote. ;p So I get on tonight, for various reasons, and start looking at craft things. >.< Doh. Sooo many new toys!!! I need all the pretties and shinies! Mia and I are in a constant tug-of-war over all the bright beads and moldable plastics and jello-molds (No, dear heart, we need to actually -use- the ones we’ve bought before we can -maybe- justify buying more…no, not even the 100 count silicone gummi bear mold with the special dropper, I’m sorry. ;p) and so on, until I’m left to wonder…how in all the special hells of Hel do “normal folks” manage to keep from going insane and running ferret-shock through the internetz screaming “Shut up and take my money!”?
Also, is insanity different from creativity, and if so, how? Discuss. ;p
This is now over 700 words long, in case anyone is interested, and since I love you all to distraction…I’m gonna go and stop distracting you. Don’t worry, though…I’ll be back with more whinging and complaining and maybe, possibly, although don’t count on it, some actual creative work. Like a poem or story or something. Not just me/us rambling. Oh, and just in case it isn’t clear or you’re just tuning in to the Kyotzeta Channel…there’s only one of me. Promise. I’m BPD (or whatever new buzz-word they’re calling it now…;p) not MPD/DD. I just happen to have unusually talkative inner voices that refuse to stay inner, and since I’m my own best company, why the Hel not?
TTYL, my internetz!
KC, Mia, et al.
“Look!” Cries the Head Clown. “I can be the Ringmaster! In his pretty suit, with the whip of Ultimate Authority…I can be the Ringmaster!”
“Look, look!” Cry Dick and Jane. “Look at the funny clown pretending to be the Ringmaster! Oh, look, his pants just fell down!”
“Look!” Cry the Audience. “Look, look, the Ringmasters pants just fell down!”
Meh and double-meh and other words of frustration. Once again I am esconced in a perfectly lovely rehab, for more work on my wounded leg…and all that is fine, other than spending Christmas away from home 😦 but it has complicated my already challenging work on Chapt. 50. Not that I am having trouble writing it…what I am having trouble with is -not- writing it. I’ve gone from a 2,000 word mess that wouldn’t gel…to a 4,000 word piece that won’t let me quit! Everyone in it wants their own say, and just keep pouring it into my brain and out my fingers, despite my grumbling, griping, and bitching. If it doesn’t settle down by this Friday, I’m giving up and letting someone else have it. I’ll keep my story, and y’all can read it to see what’s what…but as it stands now, it’s just too big and involved and…annoying. *sighs* I -really- need help with keeping things concise. Trouble is, my writing is, like my poetry, word pictures…and I hate to leave any corner empty. I mean…then people might miss an important detail! >.< I love you guys, and I’m really really sorry this has been so much trouble…and thank you -so- much for your patience. *hugs*
One of you was always there,
To keep the nights from stress and care,
All the small things you did with a smile,
And the big ones that piled up, mile on mile,
No arguments, no crankiness,
attention to detail all the time,
I’ll miss you in my long lonely nights,
And so I wrote this little rhyme.
( Eugene and Inga are an awesome married couple who work as Certified Nurses Assistants at the rehab I’ve been in for 6 and a half weeks, and I wanted to say goodbye properly since I leave tomorrow. And for those of us who can’t read cyrillic, let alone Russian: on top, Thank You Very Much. on the bottom, Goodbye. )
I need a favor…this is the beginning of a wip…not sure whether it‘s big enough to build a whole book on, may be just a short…but most importantly, what do you think? Is it worth continuing with? Please comment with any opinions, positive or negative…please try to make any critism constructive, if possible.
Thanks in advance,
“Stumbling down the icy cold streets, she paused for a panting breath, one trembling hand in its filthy fingerless gloves leaning on the equally filthy wall of the alley, the other holding her slightly extended stomach, protectively. Whispering sound emerged from her, head down. From someone less desperate and half-frozen, they would have been words. “its gonna be ok, love. i promise. just a little more…”
Hot tears threatened to freeze on her cheeks until she shook them off, impatiently. With one last deep breath that ended in a coughing fit, she pushed off the wall and continued her stumbling run. Her eyes darted from side to side, looking desperately for some sign of civilization, someplace to hide, but just as in the past 48 hours, the city stood empty and echoing, a giant rat maze with her as the cheese.“
Just had to share this…too much fun to keep to myself. I know I’m easily amused, it’s part of being 4 going on 44, but this was cool. *g*
Sitting in CVS (big chain drugstore) waiting for a prescription to come in, kid runs past and my first thought was “hmm…long coat?” That got my attention, and then I almost squee-ed out loud and barely managed to keep it in so as to not scare the poor kid. *laughs* Full Matt Smith Dr. Who. Well, all but the fez. Coat, bow-tie, sonic screwdriver…just perfect. Kid couldn’t’ve been older than 12. Listened to a bit of fen-talk between a random patron and the kid…”Y’know, there’s a theory that the Dr. is the Master, only from the future…No way, cause that’d mean that he came back…” They walked out of earshot, but I don’t think my grin went away until I left the store. The Geek Shall Inherit the Earth! *giggles*
In one of Neil Gaiman’s “Sandman” comics, I believe it was in Brief Lives, featuring his creations, the Endless, there is a story that I think of right now. It talks about people, normal people, who live longer lives than other people, but they just don’t tell anyone. They just live their lives, glad to have them. One of these, I think his name is Bernie, lives as a “normal” accountant or something…even though he can remember the smell of wet mammoth fur, and hear the sound of the hunt.
In this world, Death is one of the Endless, a family of brothers and sisters who represent/are the basic elements of life. In no particular order: Dream, Destiny, Destruction, Desire, Despair, Death, and the youngest and my personal favorite, Delirium. Death, in Gaimans world, is a beautiful young girl with a taste for gothic clothing (or are the goths dressing as her?) and a gentle and kind of quirky attitude and behavior.
In the story, when Bernie-the-accountant finally dies, from a wall falling on him, Death comes for him, and he looks at her, confused and frustrated. “Is that it? Is that all I get?” Death looks at him and smiles. “You got what everyone gets…you got a lifetime.” For some reason, that comforts me, right now. Not sure why, but it keeps coming up, and I always smile, which right now is rare…so thank you, Mr. Gaiman.
(Edit: I truly apologize to anyone who was subjected to that “unidentifed individual”s rant this morning. It took me a bit to get past the hurt and once again, privacy invasion…and remember that I have control over my own comment section. So, problem solved, and my last bastion of privacy and self-expression defended. *sighs* On the bright side, I went from 6 vph (views per hour) to 21, so in the long run, she actually did me a favor! *g*)
I’ve been told that I intimidate people. My 8 yr. old nephew is so afraid of me that his psychiatrist has forbidden him to be around me. What?? I want to be a 5yr. old, or a little pup or kitten….no matter what I do, in situations where my body can’t be seen, I get called cute, adorable, etc. How does that intimidate?
Easy. Because out here, I weigh over 300 lbs., and my family, 4 step-siblings, inherited my dads slight, short, size. I was 3 months old when my mom married my father. My real father? Well, there are three or four choices, but the one that is the most logical, both from ethnic similarities and from time and availability options, is pure Hawaiian. So, my size is genetically logical, and since I helped nature along at the age of 14 or so after a particularly bad thing happened…
So…now I intimidate people. Like I needed another reason for physical people to dislike me. I mean, I thought disgust, I thought disdain, I thought simple amplitude resentment…(I understand that one…two seats on the bus, too big for amusement park rides, etc.) But I am so…timid. I’m -very- afraid of authority figures…and to me, that means everyone down to the cashier at the checkout window…anyone…well, normal. Anyone who has been able to be normal long enough to have a real job, in a real place, has so much more real life, so much power over the world, that I am petrified of dealing with them. And don’t get me started on anyone who’s had children…the power there…*shudders*
If it’s my size…how do I stop intimidating people? Never go around anyone? Stay locked in my windowless room, tapping away at my real world? I don’t know what to do. I can’t stand the thought that my physical presence -scares- people. That people are -afraid- of me. I’ve never dealt with that…ever.
My family fought…I mean physically fought…a lot. My dad has what I like to call “Little Man Syndrome” or LMS for short. This generally reveals itself in overdoing of substances…in my dad’s case alcohol and now cigarets…and a horrendous temper. Unfortunately, my step-siblings inherited that rage, and they like to express it…a lot. Now that we’re older (43 – 32?) it tends to come out more in words than fists, but when we were younger…whew. Not a window, screen, wall or door was safe from the kicking squalling ball of fury that was my siblings and I (in absence of parents, obviously).
But although they were so much “smaller” than I, and skinny to my already burgeoning thick…they beat the crap out of me, because I was afraid to hurt someone. I feel it, whenever I hurt someone. You know that stupid saying about “This is going to hurt me more than you.”? Well, unfortunately, for me, it’s true. And so now…I’m hearing that I scare people. I’m so confused…. *sighs*
Just in case the blog has hidden them from view, I wanted to let people know that there are two posts beneath the lyrics one. One fairly decent new poem, and the second part of the fan-tribute to Stephen Kings Firestarter that I wrote previously. Hopefully you all can find them, and the blog hasn’t eaten them for lunch. 😉
Listening to the distant fireworks tonight, I thought about the fact that in some places, some countries, those might be frightening sounds. Sounds of war, or at least confusion or trouble. Whereas here, for me at least, they make me smile. Not really for any patriotic reason, but for the memories. Memories of gathering blankets and picnic food, of packing into cars or if you were lucky, walking, to get to the “best” view. Maybe it was big sponsored show, or a smaller city-run show, or even, if you could find a good height, the whole thing spread out in front of you. Waiting for dark, running in the dusk, kids tied to parents by invisible strings of excitement and anticipation; is it dark enough yet? are they starting? when-when-when?? Then somehow knowing it was time, somehow sensing the migration, everyone running through the dark to curl up next to a parent or sibling, maybe snag that last piece of lunch, all eyes to the sky. The time between that first waiting and the first small, far-off “poomph” was an eternity…but once it started, it didn’t stop. Stars and wheels, showers and fountains, balls that fell to flowers that fell to sparks…and all the while the noise. Half bang, half boom, half the whisper-roar of the crowd, squeal of small kids and yell of larger, startled but trying to pass it off as excitement. Parents/adults laughing and watching and waiting, trying to guess the next set…is that the last one? Is that? Wow, that -must- have been the last, they can’t top -that-…but they always did, until the end. Until the sky was alight with stars, booms and bangs and thumps coming so fast there was no differentiating them, just one tremendous roar of noise and light and the being on the ground, all hearts beating in time with the lights, feeling the explosions on your skin. Then it was done, just a few sad sparks falling from the heights, kids refusing to leave until the very last star winked out, then bundling sleepily into cars, or carried home, tired parents listening to a replay of every little bang or boom, and you were separate…but for a while, there, you were one animal…one being…one child, watching in wonder and awe as the stars danced, and fell, for you.