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I have a general policy with my lovers - I don't befriend their wives. For those of you that have been holding your breath since my last post... if you are a friend of mine, I won't shag your partner. There is a hoes before bros rule that is sacrosanct.
This blog is not for the judgmental, the fearful-that-it-might-happen-to-me or those suffering from projective identification. You and welcome to read it, however, you are not welcome to judge me or level abuse. That's the disclaimer...
And the dharma makes six - in no particular order
I met Claud on a dating site ten years ago and discovered that he was married and had a long term lover. He wanted to add me into the mix and I declined. We kept in touch and when I met up with him recently he was still married with the same long term lover. Kudos Claud. I did wonder if his wife knew and was keeping mum or was simply incredibly naive. How do you keep a 14 year old affair a secret from your spouse?
I confessed to Claud that I had recently recently realised that my last 5 lovers over the last four years were all married. Not exactly a life of dharma! To protect their identities, I told him about Matthew, Mark, Luke I and II, and John.
Those flaky words: EAT. PRAY. LOVE. FAMILY. scattered over walls everywhere...
"What shall I do with this Lou Lou?" I looked up at what Priscilla was talking about. The word FAMILY was stuck the the wall. "Remove it!" I said and watched as she tore it off the wall leaving double sided tape on the cupboard wall. I don't feel that family vibe. I am on speaking terms with two of my siblings, one has his head up his arse and the other flagrantly ignores me - even in public. When I see those posts on Facebook about having a sister who means the world to you then share! I am left cold with a stabbing pain. My mother was evil - I am not going to share the "if you have a lovely mum" share on Facebook either.
I bumped him as I tried to muscle my way to the small corner table at my regular restaurant in Long Beach Mall. I apologised and said "sorry, I'm not trying to see if you have a wedding ring or anything". He thought I was flirting with him, while in truth I was a bit manic, and was feeling in love with the world and didn't give a fuck about anything. "I don't suppose it matters much these days", he said. "Nope", I agreed. We started to chat including details like where I lived, finding it on Google maps, and my number. His kids arrived to join him and we stopped chatting.
My lift fetched me early, but it wasn’t a big deal sleep-wise as I had been waking up earlier for a while. I had been slowly titrating all my meds and wasn’t as catatonic anymore. I was also over the anaemia and didn’t need to sleep for 14 hours a day. In fact, I was struggling to fill up the day and looking at the time frequently to see how much longer I still had to be awake. It wasn’t a hysterical depression like 2012/3 where my bin was always full of used tissues, but I was depressed and I feel depressed as I write this. I am simply filling the time. I am drinking a cup of tea, but I just checked the time: 15.47 – that is about 4-5 hours before I can go to sleep and escape being awake. There is no joure le vive.
Will I ever be able to live with someone?
When a psychiatrist writes a referral letter, they mention poignant points: living alone is considered an important issue to communicate. However, at the age of 41, I really don't think it is pathological to not want to stay with someone that I am not shagging. Somehow a person's idiosyncrasies are much more tenable when there is sex involved.
#Oh #See #Dee #OCD
There was pandemonium. The bathroom was flooded. As the teachers at my preschool rushed to turn off the tap and considered the flood in woe, I felt desperately guilty. I considered the possibility that it was my fault. I was consumed with guilt as I watched the adults hurry to mop up things. Boy was I in trouble! Why would I blame myself? Besides being somewhat neurotic and used to taking the blame when it was handed out to me, it was quite possible that I might not have closed a tap. What I knew for certain was that I used the small basins more than anyone else in school. I visited the bathroom regularly to wash my hands. So regularly in fact, that my hands were dry and chaffed to the extent that they bled in the cold winter months. I was teased for it: for the bleeding hands by my peers and for washing so regularly by my parents. Thus so with time I learned to hide my need to wash the dirt of life off my hands.
I pushed send on my cell phone and turned to the machine. I attached the pressure regulator and turned on the gas to test it. "Fuckit!" I cursed; the valve was leaking. This process was supposed to take five minutes so that it could not be foiled. I'd practiced this. I grabbed for some plumbers tape, unscrewed the valve and added a layer of tape before replacing it. That fixed the leak, but now nothing came out the front nozzle. "Poes! Tit! Prick! Cunt! Moer!" This worked before I hid it! I'd practiced this.
This might be difficult to read. In the interests of mental health advocacy, I have chosen to share my story. Please remember that I DON’T ask you to fix me and I DO ask you not to judge.
This is a way of coping when I feel overwhelmed.
So I cut – again! This year has been a particularly uncontained one and I have never cut as much. I have never cut as violently either. Things have got progressively worse…
(This article is not for the faint hearted and is in the interests of advocacy!)
I was recently hospitalised. Some of my new friends in the Capri community came to visit me bringing my preferred drug of choice: coffee, and some snacks. My good old friends chipped in too. I am grateful for the care that I received from my community / tribe (and the professional staff). Thank you everyone!
One day several of the pieces of one of the puzzles started to move around. There had been rumblings that I had heard via my eldest sister and not internalised, I was way too busy trying to keep myself glued together.
One day it clicked. I realised why the mother was so pissed off: she was coloured!
An open letter to a concerned Christian.
This is a response to a kind Christian friend sending me a pm encouraging me to "put on the full armour of g-d".
I find that the energy around the end of the year gets more aggressive. I imagine people are tired after a long year; there is a lot to do before year end; and I feel that people load themselves with the added responsibility of celebrating end of year functions and Christmas celebrations.
I'm a little different. I'm okay with it. I find it odd that people get rat-faced knowing that they will inevitably wake up with a babbelas from hell. Some people drive while drunk. Others drive too fast without consideration for others. Some people are mean – some are verbally abusive – some are physically abusive. I find this all somewhat disquieting.
Recently I needed new batteries for my car remote. My boyfriend at the time said that we would just have to pop it open and see what batteries it needed. I was confounded and frankly wondered to myself "what the fuck does email have to do with this?" Now a techie will understand that one of the kinds of email one gets is pop3. Being a techie that is what occurred to me first. I then cottoned on that he meant that we would open the remote. Easy-peasy in his world.
They say Geminis get bored easily. That is a pretty tricky achievement if you love technology - there is always something new. When I get that boring and stereotypical questions at interviews: "what do you see yourself doing in five years time?" *yawn*, my answer is generally "something that doesn't exist yet". My heart also belongs to psychology and the discourses that the Interweb have provided present many new ways of being that I have and will continue to explore.
Facebook is not going anywhere soon. It is anticipated that it will treble in the next three years. Mark Zuckerberg is the best paid CEO in the world. Facebook rocks! (I know that some people will disagree with me, but stay with me for now).