Monthly Archives: June 2013

against the wind.

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remember the last super moon? everything was so different then, a weekend full of riotous love and living super hard. living, living, living. it’s 1:30 am and i am vaguely drunk. spent hours after work walking up and down steep hillz, looking for a super moon dance party in the park, but i missed it due to not really knowing where i was going. it could have been magical, but i missed it. i had my own magic, sort of, on that long holy climb up, with good music a-playing and gorgeous houses all around me. made me nostalgic, a sad happy.

all of my tarot card readings as of late have similar cards coming up–most frequently, for those of you who care: the world, the moon, and queen of pentacles/artist of bones. sometimes right-side-up, sometimes reversed. the world is usually reversed, which is bad. queen of pentacles is good right-side-up but i often get it upside down. both the queen & the world reversed mean that things are slipping away from me. that i’m not going to be able to save them. i get a lot of mental illness cards too. (the moon, ten of feathers/swords) this could be just because of the paid work i do, or it could be because….i am mentally ill. and not doing too well. i have been on-and-off hysterical these past few dayz. been triggered majorly and nobody out here understands. i know that i will cope, know that i will feel different, know that things will change. but it often doesn’t feel that way.

i am glad that i wrote my last post, as it seems to have resonated with strangers on the internet. nervous that friends will read it and think that i am being passive-aggressive. this isn’t my intent; i just seriously have no idea how to bring it up. just saw a picture on facebook of a good friend of mine chatting casually with my abuser and i took it like an arrow to the heart. but i guess here isn’t the place to process it.

i read something here that i thought was really validating. it’s a piece calling out joe biel, founder of microcosm publishing & incredibly manipulative, emotionally abusive person (who i have not liked/supported for many years now, although that’s another story). :

“I’d been in relationships where the person used public shaming, threats of violence against me and my loved ones, physical abuse, and openly ridiculed and insulted me. For me, the experiences Joe has put me through have been far worse. It was so much easier for me to process a person becoming violent. Easier to acknowledge to myself, “yes, obviously this is abuse. No one deserves to be treated like this.” So much easier to see the red flags and to get out.  Joe is so subtle. He pours on the charm while totally fucking you over.”

and, oh, i have nothing else to say in this public forum besides that i understand. and how i wish i didn’t.

also, i saw this image on my friend maranda’s
page. they took it in toronto and i really hope that they don’t mind me borrowing it, but i took it as an answer, a sign from the universe, something running with the theme of my last post:

marandaelizabethyouareenoughgraffiti

something that i don’t really talk about but that weighs on me regardless.

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people i love are still close with someone who has been abusive to me.

even though they witnessed the fallout. even though, in some cases, they witnessed it themselves. even though this person is in the process of being called out for being a sexual assaulter. they are still friends with him.

lately i have been writing them letters in my head. these letters all say, “how many people does he have to abuse before people stop standing with him?”

and today, that mind-letter got added to with a realization that i had, one so harsh, so sharp, that it had me doubled over on my bed, hyperventilating sobbing:

“why wasn’t i enough?”

why does there have to be another one for you to take me seriously? why have there been multiple people and still, by your friendship, you are giving your tacit seal of approval. why, when you saw what he was doing to me, when you saw the way he completely and utterly destroyed me for his own whims and convenience–why wasn’t that enough to cut ties?

why wasn’t i enough?

it’s so painful. it’s so painful, thinking about how i would like to include his name in this, so when people google him they know the full truth of him, not the nice guy persona that he projects, but the realization that, even if i did that, it’s highly unlikely that nobody would care. he’s got a “nice guy” persona and we are weird, we are radical, and no matter what we say he will not be sorry that he did things that have affected our entire lives. he will do them again. he will realize that he can abuse and still have friends and a community, because you all stand by him.

so how many, how many, how many people need to be abused. how many of us need to be sobbing till we can’t breathe, even years later, even in a whole new life. even though my life is notably better now, even though i have emerged from the tunnel and am making my dreams come true, this still has to weigh on me.

and no matter how much i live fierce and free and strong, the world will still reward him. that’s how the world works. the world is run by wifebeaters and abusers and rapists and sociopaths. the people who speak out wind up in institutions and the street and deep poverty. the victims get shunned. even in radical communities. even with good intentions. this doesn’t happen 100% of the time, of course, but it’s way too often.

i don’t know what i need now. i need to be enough.

this past month or so, in “i statements”

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i stay up the latest. i have had several radical changes of heart. i told her, in a moment of desperation, how i continued to live, how i get out of bed every morning. i have been blindsided several times today–once by a song shuffling on my ipod, one that i haven’t heard in almost a year, one that i put back on after deleting it because i thought that i could handle it by now–and once by something i don’t want to mention here.

i am just trying to live my life. i almost took an ativan but didn’t. i have revelations every day. i had the worst thing happen with my memoir. i felt grief, real grief, for this book. i felt sad because nobody knew what to say, even though i didn’t expect them to, because it’s SUCH a strange situation. i thought it was over; but it’s not, it’s not over, and the author of one of my favorite books is the one who told me so.

i miss pittsburgh but i can’t imagine living there again. i lose every home i love in painful ways; it’s just the truth of my life. just the cross i have to bear. i saw a psychic for free on valencia street who told me that i shoot doves from my heart, and they touch other people, that i assumed a human form because i wanted to be able to receive love as well as give it.

i have witnessed a lot of pain lately.

i am thinking of doing something i swore i’d never do (grad school!). i stopped by that bookstore because i knew there’d be a zine in there that was powerful enough to change my life. i was right. i don’t know if i want to cover up my scars with a tattoo anymore because several people said that my scars make them feel safe, because they can tell that i’ve been through something too.

i don’t know if very many people read this blog anymore. i don’t know where i’m going, or what i’m doing. i fixed my bike chain by myself and it made me so fucking proud. i am mending bridges, healing old wounds, and learning so much.