tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-143528112024-03-07T03:19:56.250-05:00pebble dareKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.comBlogger529125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-51699492688914296692019-12-12T19:13:00.002-05:002019-12-12T19:13:28.544-05:00mid-December, 2019I submitted my first manuscript to a journal last night! Now we wait. Then revisions. Hopefully I'll get something printed next year. Getting it submitted in 2019 was a big deal.<br />
<br />
I gave my last lecture in my first undergraduate class today. It's been a blast. I got a really good group of students my first semester, and I got to teach a topic I'm passionate about. And I fulfilled a lifelong dream and taught as Ms Frizzle on Halloween.<br />
<br />
I guess I'm moving right along in this Ph.D thing....Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-60416652486091248082019-03-15T22:12:00.002-04:002019-03-15T22:12:42.066-04:00Linguistic minorityI take a Discourse Analysis course in the Applied Linguistics department. Most of my classmates are international students, many of whom are studying teaching English as a second language. The computer in the classroom is set to display Chinese in most places that I expect English. Last night, the professor showed a YouTube video, before which an ad played. I saw a character with a Doge head and a three-piece suit, and all of my Chinese classmates started laughing. Everyone else looked confused. I thought about asking someone to explain what was going on, but I decided against it. I sat with the discomfort of being in the linguistic minority, for just a brief moment. My opportunities to experience that are few, and the discomfort is important.<br />
<br />
Everyone was laughing, except for me. I didn't get the joke.<br />
<br />
There are people who live with this all day long. Imagine if it wasn't just a joke. Imagine if it was class.<br />
May I continue to check my privilege and strengthen my empathy.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-11930434890189436092019-02-22T22:21:00.002-05:002019-02-22T22:21:35.707-05:00second semester, first yeari'm busy. i miss you all. school is good and life continues to happen. change remains the only constant. Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-20451607498127769702018-12-31T14:06:00.000-05:002019-01-19T19:20:06.393-05:002018 in key dates<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
January 21: attended second Women's
March</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
January 23: got on the jumbotron at a
Penguins game</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
January 28: saw Wicked</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
January 29: got my official acceptance
letter in the mail</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
February 5: concussion</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
February 14: the Parkland shooting</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
April 4: my cat died</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
April 17: hurt my thumb</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
missed six weeks of work on short-term
disability, which included the final weeks of my last school year at
the place I worked for 5 years</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
April 30: hand surgery (first surgery;
first joint repair)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
May 19: officially moved into Co-Lez's
apartment</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
June 1: Dylan won Mr. Pittsburgh Pride
Drag King!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
June 19 (this sounds too early to be true): last appointment with my therapist of five years </div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
June 29: got my Pittsburgh three rivers
tattoo</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
July: turned 31</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
July 19: Foo Fighters concert!!!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
July 26: last day at my clinical job</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
July 27: paid off the credit card debt
left over from my four-years-ago marriage</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
July 28: Alec won Mr. Steel City
Softball back!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
August 1: moved to the middle of nowhere</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
August 22: started Ph.D school!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
September: started asking for they/them
pronouns in my new professional setting</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
September 17: my abusive ex's partner
after me reached out</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
October 27: the terrible thing happened
in Pittsburgh</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
October 29: committed to a mitzvah to
forgive a grudge (still working on it)</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
October 31: officially out of my
abusive relationship for longer than I was in it</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
November 6: voted a straight-party
Democrat ticket</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
November 22: cooked my first
Thanksgiving meal</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
November 27: met Frank Warren from
PostSecret</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
December 7: finished my first semester
of Ph.D school</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
December 20ish: found out I got A's!</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-16206460849797241392018-11-29T20:41:00.001-05:002018-11-29T20:41:39.000-05:00Time is a monster, part [X]yesterday was one year since i found out i had been accepted to my phd program.<br />
<br />
how did all of this happen so fast?!Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-21745250036552816722018-10-26T16:59:00.000-04:002018-10-26T16:59:17.556-04:00Boobs.<i>this has been buzzing around in my head for a few weeks now,</i><br />
<i>and i started to think</i><br />
<i>"maybe it's not prose.</i><br />
<i>maybe poetry will work"</i><br />
<i>so let's give it a try, i suppose.</i><br />
<br />
something happened recently that hasn't happened since I was about 15.<br />
I had to buy all new bras because <br />
I gained a cup size.<br />
my modest B turned full-up C.<br />
my 17-year-old self rejoiced,<br />
and my 31-year-old self lamented.<br />
above what this means about changes in my weight<br />
and the steady downward march of my metabolism,<br />
there is a gendered layer.<br />
sometimes, I don't want any there at all.<br />
<br />
I meet only fleeting dysphoria,<br />
and I'm not concerned enough to change my body.<br />
sometimes, it's still only right to go tits-out<br />
(Rocky Horror comes to mind;<br />
we are all called home from time to time).<br />
<br />
I know I read woman.<br />
if my chest doesn't give me away,<br />
my voice will soon enough,<br />
and my face probably already has.<br />
I only ever pass as femme.<br />
Part of what I have loved about this body<br />
is that it provides such a supportive<br />
structure for androgyny.<br />
slight female.<br />
there's so much room to build on that.<br />
Did I just become<br />
less androgynous?<br />
<br />
I wore my binder to work today<br />
for the first time.<br />
No one bats an eyelash at my requests for "they,"<br />
unless it is in shock that I didn't feel safe sooner.<br />
I like to know where I am first.<br />
<br />Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-40471135289793641872018-09-18T09:34:00.000-04:002018-09-18T09:34:43.984-04:00praying <div>
His partner after me reached out to me last night.</div>
<div>
We had a few exchanges that ended after</div>
<div>
I told them, "Trust yourself."</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I hope it was what they needed to hear.</div>
<div>
</div>
<br />
<div>
The whole time, </div>
<br />
<br />
<div>
I remembered sitting on the floor</div>
<br />
<div>
in the spare bedroom, back against the door,</div>
<div>
listening to him scream on the other side</div>
<div>
and waiting for him to give up, </div>
<div>
texting one, two, three people</div>
<div>
trying to make sure that I was sane and this was wrong.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
That was the day I finally realized,</div>
<div>
I deserve better.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It still took me three days to leave.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You got this.</div>
<div>
You deserve better.</div>
<div>
You know exactly what's happening. </div>
<div>
Trust yourself.</div>
Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-81513857849501151902018-09-13T22:42:00.000-04:002018-09-13T22:42:02.776-04:00week 4this week is better.<br />
<br />
the seminar that shook me up last week was much less stressful. instead of discussing research and current practices in ways that made me feel defensive about what i've been doing clinically for the last 7 years, we talked about the peer review process and what it's like to participate. from all sides. the assignment was a mock review of an article we all agreed had unfortunately been accepted.<br />
<br />
this week, I step more deeply into two big projects! one is part of the same seminar, where I'm working with a classmate, and the other is with my advisor. it was so exciting to see the lightbulbs going on over each of our heads in turn when we discussed the direction we are developing.<br />
<br />
I get to spend time reading and writing about things that interest me!<br />
<br />
oh, and i'm pretty sure i passed my first statistics exam.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-50575472317511833422018-09-05T21:10:00.002-04:002018-09-05T21:10:59.408-04:00week 3today was my day.<br />
the day everyone told me was coming.<br />
the first two weeks of my phd program were great.<br />
i felt like i had a handle on things,<br />
which of course made me feel a sense of impending doom.<br />
<br />
today was my day<br />
to wonder,<br />
what the fuck have i gotten myself into?<br />
why would anyone do this?<br />
<br />
the theme today was<br />
All the Science is Bad,<br />
And We Know Nothing!!!<br />
tearing apart the knowledge i thought i had.<br />
<br />
critical analysis.<br />
<br />
why would anyone do this?<br />
<br />
why am i signing up to be<br />
a Researcher,<br />
to publish papers I think are great<br />
for other people to tear apart?<br />
<br />
what have i gotten myself into.<br />
<br />
<br />
I am going to do my best,<br />
and I am going to do it<br />
with my whole self. Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-24751247265229073892018-08-04T19:39:00.000-04:002018-08-04T19:39:58.072-04:00New home<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I live somewhere else now.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cooked dinner on the stove tonight, which helped me feel more normal. It's the fourth day of living here. Dinner was nothing fancy--sausage and peppers--but it meant that I have done enough unpacking and organizing to use a pan, a cutting board, a knife, a big spoon, some countertop, and the stovetop. (My original approach to unpacking cookware was to stack it all on the stove so I could see it and figure out what to do with it. That lasted about two days. Combining two full sets of kitchen stuff into one tiny kitchen is a process.) </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Oh yeah, that's the other part. I officially live with a partner again. We've been living together for about three months already, depending on how you count, but now we are in the same place, with all our stuff in the apartment (instead of mine stored in the garage), with both our names on the lease. This is only the second partner I've ever lived with, and given how the first one turned out, I've been understandably apprehensive. I'm not nervous about this one--they're good. They're a good person, and they're good for me. But when you've been tricked, goodness doesn't seem as genuine. I'm still rebuilding that trust, and I kind of expect that I always will be.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The view from my front window used to be a brick wall, and now it's trees. The row has a backyard with bunnies in it. There are no tall buildings, and there are mountains everywhere. I'm so disoriented. On day 1, it was an enormous relief to walk into Target: basically the same everywhere.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Every successful drive without GPS feels like a victory.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My partner had to go back to Pittsburgh for another week to finish their job, so I'm alone with both our cats in an apartment full of boxes, and no one expects me to be anywhere until the middle of the month. There is a heady freedom in that, and also the knowledge that two weeks without structure and routine will probably be the most that I can handle. Boxes and furniture and checklists. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I cried when I came through the Fort Pitt Tunnel for what could be the last time. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I am about to be a doctoral student. What an exciting, scary adventure.</span>Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-42407839465352163362018-06-17T12:30:00.001-04:002018-06-17T12:30:57.221-04:00on or about the 5th anniversary of my weddingspending the weekend in my parents' house.<br />
i almost pulled out the computer at 12:30 a.m. when i couldn't sleep,<br />
thinking of you.<br />
i want to pour a work-in-progress, stream-of-consciousness mess<br />
into this text field<br />
and let it simmer,<br />
let it throw steam until it burns to the pan,<br />
that kind of sticky damage that can never be undone,<br />
no matter how you soak, how you scrub.<br />
<br />
there is too much i could want to say.<br />
the echo of my younger voice<br />
is screaming against my realization that<br />
more often than not,<br />
my comment does not matter.<br />
my voice is not necessary.<br />
<br />
but sometimes it is.<br />
<br />
sometimes it is,<br />
and i have been shamed into silence<br />
by those who should know better.<br />
by "advocates."<br />
by "friends."<br />
<br />
i tried to save her.<br />
i am still trying to save her.<br />
but how can you rescue<br />
someone whose mind has been poisoned against you?<br />
i remember that, too.<br />
<br />
save roux.<br />
<br />
save the one after, and the one after, and the one after me.<br />
<br />
all i want<br />
is to make the world a better place.<br />
lock him up,<br />
take the alcohol from his veins<br />
and fix the serotonin in his brain,<br />
and any of the other chemicals<br />
whose pathways have been overgrown.<br />
take the monster out of him.<br />
he is just a human being...<br />
isn't he?<br />
<br />
in spite of it all, love.<br />
compassion?<br />
<br />
i grapple with a question of "choice."<br />
what does it mean to choose behavior?<br />
when are we capable?<br />
what does it mean when we act without capably choosing our behavior?<br />
how long ago did it stop becoming a choice?<br />
when one no longer knows the truth, one can't help lying.<br />
<br />
<br />
love is big,<br />
and much bigger than my misled affection.<br />
my love needs to know,<br />
<br />
How can I warn every woman, everywhere?<br />
How can I tell them, Don't!<br />
If You See This Man, Run.<br />
Don't let him charm you.<br />
regardless of gender, regardless of age,<br />
he is still the same.<br />
<br />
some people do not change.<br />
<br />
<br /><br />Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-57658799493011103962018-03-04T20:15:00.000-05:002018-03-04T20:15:34.694-05:00Labeling boxes, 2018I'm getting ready for big change. That's scary. This is more like a series of changes, culminating in relocation and a completely new life and career path. It's not the farthest move I've ever made, but it is certainly among the most significant.<br />
<br />
Packing up this apartment is going to be incredibly strange. I've lived here for three years now. That's the longest time I've ever lived in an apartment. This is the first place that was ever just <i>mine</i>, and I arrived here at such a critical moment. I feel like the entire time I've been here has been one huge purging process, and it's time to begin the final stage. There are pieces of my life I want to lose, pieces I want to destroy, and pieces I can't let go yet. Yesterday, I brought a trunkload to goodwill, and I can only hope that some young drag king loses his breath over Christopher Crash's very first pair of shitkicker boots. It stings to cull my keepsakes to What I Want to Carry Again.<br />
<br />
There are different ground rules at every move. This time,<br />
1. If it doesn't fit me, it will fit someone else.<br />
2. I never want to see his handwriting again.<br />
3. If I don't know why I have it, I don't need it.<br />
4. "It once belonged to Peter" is no longer sufficient.<br />
<br />
This time, I get to move twice instead of once. I can't stay in my apartment for as long as I need to be in town, so I'm moving in with my person for two months of the summer. I'm excited to live together, and I hope they find a job that will let them join me in my new place this fall. It's becoming less and less surprising to remember that our relationship is healthy. I want this supportive relationship in the next part of my life.<br />
<br />
What can I live without for the summer? What can I live without? What do I need for a temporary place to feel like home? What will I need to find immediately once I get where I'm ultimately going?<br />
<br />
Lists, calendars, and countdowns. <br />
<br />Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-48218011693946689072018-01-22T20:54:00.000-05:002018-01-22T20:54:07.008-05:00afterlifePeter and I used to have conversations through music, and occasionally, we still do.<br />
<br />
"Under Pressure" is playing on the turntable in my living room.<br />
in my mind, i tell him, "i'm sorry i didn't get <i>your</i> record player."<br />
in my mind, he answers, "you got out. that's all that matters."<br />
<br />
<i>veritas.</i>Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-60312220661952482552017-10-09T09:25:00.000-04:002017-10-09T09:25:18.250-04:00as the flowers fadeI stopped trusting you the night you didn't make sure I was okay after I ran out of that show. My trust for you vanished, and it never came back. In that moment, I learned that your public image was more important to you than I was. In that moment, it was over.<br />
<br />
If I surround myself with people who prioritize their vanity over my safety, it is dangerous to my mental health. I need people who will check on me when I do things that are out of character. I need people who react when I show signs of panic (like squeezing their hand under the table with all my strength). If I surround myself with people who ignore my mental health, I put myself in danger.<br />
<br />
You apologized for me. That felt like taking the side of my abuser. No matter what role you may have played in my escape, these have been your actions most recently. For someone who preaches living in the moment, you have spent an odd amount of time encouraging me to stay in a certain past.<br />
<br />
I don't know if I will ever be able to rebuild trust after it's broken. I don't know if I'm supposed to be able to do that.<br />
<br />
*****<br />
<br />
Black-eyed susans still get me.<br />
<br />
One of the nights you helped me escape from my house, we ended up in nature, or some semblance of it. You plucked a black-eyed susan and tucked it behind my ear. For the first time I could remember, you made me feel pretty. If I am worth decorating with beautiful things, then maybe I am beautiful.<br />
<br />
Maybe that's how I can reshape memory. Black-eyed susans can just remind me that I have beauty. They don't need to go through you to get there. But they do. The smell of them can still stop me. My heart skips. You loved me, once. I trusted you then.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-15453334483726380972017-09-10T20:57:00.003-04:002017-09-10T20:57:48.835-04:00Now I'm 30.Part of not writing for months at a time is not knowing where to start up again. Re-traumatization. Anxiety. PTSD. The never-ending story of financial and psychological abuse, with and without direct action by my abuser. The complicity of my community. Alienation from everyone I thought I knew. Re-learning healthy relationship (if I ever knew it in the first place). Feeling confident enough to move forward a little. Spending a lot of time with one other person in particular. Getting a couple's tarot reading at a Renaissance Festival on a whim. Making plans for myself, regardless. Taking steps to create positive change. I am ready for different scenery. I am planning and procrastinating and trying to be good with my money. I am grateful that my brain chemistry is working well enough to allow me to act within my life, even though I don't do it perfectly all the time. Doing stuff every weekend Camping trips in two different parts of PA, one of them solo. Visiting lakes and valleys. Carrying a pocketful of rocks, especially while Mercury is retrograde. Burning sage. Reorganizing everything. Living too much in the future; working to remember that now is still happening. Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-4626288083708037362017-01-14T12:46:00.001-05:002017-01-14T12:46:35.769-05:00paragraphs from quarantineI woke up this morning with my right eye crusted shut, confirming last night's suspicion that I was developing pinkeye. MedExpress opened two hours later (what's this adult thing of waking up at workday time on the weekend?), so I wasted no time in seeking prescriptions to heal it. Now I'm quarantined alone at home until at least tomorrow.<br />
<br />
I'm an introvert, and I appreciate my alone time. But there's something different about being told you're not allowed to be around other humans. I value the <i>choice</i> to seclude myself, or to seek others, or to be alone in a place where I might encounter someone. I had plans today! I'm supposed to be somebody's birthday wish fairy! Fortunately, their birthday isn't really until tomorrow, so I have a little time to let antibiotics work and make me less contagious. I'm upset with my body for spoiling somebody else's plans.<br />
<br />
I'm reading a book that I'm really excited about. <i>Uniquely Human</i> by Barry Prizant. One of my autism research idols wrote a book reflecting on his 40-year career in the field. He trained as a speech language pathologist, too. It's been a while since I've picked up a book and wanted to keep picking it up until I read every page. The basic drive behind the book is that we ought to stop trying to fix people with autism, and try to understand them instead. I'm positively delighted every time I encounter someone who shares this belief and articulates it meaningfully.<br />
<br />
So that's what I'm doing today. I suppose I could provide some life updates, too. I guess the biggest one is that I am legally divorced, as of late December. Happy New Year, indeed. Getting that piece of paper evoked such a complicated mix of emotions. Functionally, it changes nothing. We have lived apart for over two years, and most days, my life does not involve him at all. I am independent. The divorce decree represents the close of a chapter, the conclusion of a long, expensive, and emotionally exhausting process. People expect me to feel some kind of closure, but there is none. This is merely a long overdue legal measure that does nothing to change my feelings about him or the situation, and little to advance the stage of my healing. There is far more to my recovery from my abusive relationship than just the dissolution of my marriage.<br />
<br />
An interesting thing happened right around New Year's. This is the calendar year in which I turn 30. Yeah, age is just a number n'at. But something about it feels significant. And maybe it is this realization: I am an adult. Therefore, whatever I do is what an adult does. Having that realization has relieved some of the pressure to act like a grown-up.<br />
<br />
I still plan to apply to PhD programs, and I'm going to wait another year. I went to a big ol' speech pathology convention in November, where I made some connections and discovered that my niche is even smaller than I thought it was. I need to learn some more things before I can feel confident committing to spending the next several years of my life in a place. The likelihood of attending school in Pittsburgh is incredibly small. I am putting off confronting the reality of that.<br />
<br />
I am okay.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-56440359338296733532016-10-03T19:16:00.002-04:002016-10-03T19:16:19.068-04:00magnetic poetry 13<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Been a while since I've done one of these, hasn't it?</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">borrow one day</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">every year or so</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">love me as the sun does the moon</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">your shine on my light side</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">pulling the earth between us</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">****************************</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">give me</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">only loud soft favorite fruit</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">full and sweet</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">the tenderest of summers flavor</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">***************************</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">get me through every fire</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">revitalize my garden</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">let me grow like fresh life</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">flowers drinking freedom</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-57100513157850048472016-09-29T20:29:00.000-04:002016-10-02T10:54:28.491-04:00Freedom Day 2016Two years after escaping my abusive relationship, I still...<br />
...think of him every day. <br />
...have a physical reaction to reading his name.<br />
...struggle with feelings of worthlessness and inadequacy.<br />
...wonder if my finances will ever be what they were before. <br />
...cringe to see his handwriting in my home.<br />
...have a hard time trusting new people.<br />
...double-check my locks.<br />
...double my heart rate every time I see a grey Jeep.<br />
...smile with relief every time I find my car where I left it.<br />
...am not legally divorced.<br />
<br />
Two years after escaping my abusive relationship, I now...<br />
...live independently.<br />
...make plans for my own future. <br />
...speak honestly about my experiences. <br />
<br />
...have money left after I pay the bills.<br />
...manage my mental health.<br />
...set and maintain the boundaries I need. <br />
<br />
...go where I want, when I want, with whomever I want.<br />
...am dating two fascinating people who respect me.<br />
...have confidence I didn't notice I'd lost.<br />
<br />Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-25927205529701399602016-08-23T20:05:00.002-04:002016-08-23T20:05:26.164-04:00I'm aliveI have a sink overflowing with dirty dishes, and I had plans to attack that tonight. Living alone means I can put it off another day (or two...or four...) and no one will be upset but myself.<br />
<br />
Everything is still good. Legal processes still refuse to end. Life goes on. I have steady work, and I'm looking at going back to school. I've been in my apartment for a year and a half. I painted my bedroom green.<br />
<br />
I'm embracing polyamory and striving to do it right this time. I'm learning a lot about myself and others and relationships and boundaries. I remain surrounded by good people. I am taking steps to meet new folks.<br />
<br />
I am alive, and life is good. I remind myself every day.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-21278846281048409402016-03-07T20:58:00.000-05:002016-03-07T20:58:12.967-05:00Neural JourneyI ran out of refills on a prescription and had to go off my meds this weekend. My SSRI. The one that keeps the happy molecules moving the right direction in my brain. Don't worry, I got it refilled today!<br />
<br />
I hadn't been off my meds for longer than a few hours since I started taking them 2 years ago. I knew it was going to suck, but I wasn't entirely sure what to expect. My first missed dose was Friday night. I planned to run some errands Saturday morning, because I knew I wouldn't feel any different until later in the day. (I bought a new sofa! That was a weird adult experience.) Around 1:00 Saturday afternoon, I started getting a headache, which could also have been attributed to hunger or a nicotine craving. I treated myself extra gently, stayed close to home, and took an almost 3-hour nap through the afternoon. In the evening, I met with a small group of friends to do arts and crafts. By 8:00, it felt like time to go home, where I fell into bed and stayed there.<br />
<br />
Sunday morning, I woke up--more or less--at 8:30. My head felt foggy, almost like I wasn't in it. My bed was the only good place to be. I knew I needed to get up for a cigarette, coffee, or breakfast, but I couldn't tell which one. Somehow, I managed to make it through a morning routine of all three. It felt like I was moving my limbs through thick air. Initiating movement became difficult: Once I crawled back into bed, there was no getting up. I hid in caves of my blankets, playing in my phone. At one point I watched a 30-second video of a couple dancing to Bad Romance at their wedding reception, and I burst into tears. I barely moved until almost 3 PM.<br />
<br />
I was surprised to realize in the midst of Sunday morning that I could tease apart what was withdrawal, what was depression, and what was anxiety. I worried about unlikely things: What if the doctor's office has to cancel my appointment? What if this new doctor won't write my prescription? Anxiety! I didn't want to leave my bed, and even when I was in it, moving was hard. Anhedonia found me again. That deep, dark place where there is no joy. I felt guilty and worthless for doing this to myself because I couldn't just make an appointment before the prescription ran out. I felt helpless. Depression. I'm not sure if I remember saying aloud, "Who unlocked the cages on these beasts?!" It was a solid reminder that I need these pills for more reasons than just avoiding physical withdrawal. I had been starting to question that. I wrote in my journal, "Life is ugly when my serotonin is fucked. My brain doesn't regulate that on its own, so I need to take medicine to help it."<br />
<br />
I had saved an emergency dose for sometime Sunday so that Monday morning didn't have to be so awful. Within 5 minutes of taking it, I knew that I was going to get my brain back. Within 30 minutes, I felt like I lived in my own body again. What a simple solution for a brain disease that kills thousands of people every year, and almost killed me.<br />
<br />Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-51470829767366163112016-02-16T17:11:00.000-05:002016-02-16T17:11:13.428-05:00To Peter, on Lady GagaDear Peter,<br />
<br />
I just watched Lady Gaga's tribute performance to David Bowie at the Grammys, and I wept. I wish you were here to talk to about it. Gaga's androgyny recalled Bowie's perfectly. Her high accented cheekbones were not a portrayal of conventional white femininity; they honoured Bowie himself. The line of her cleavage left no doubt that she was presenting female, but the minimized breasts beneath it reminded us that there is more to gender than hypersexualized femininity/masculinity. Gaga's tenor was remarkable: She sang everything in Bowie's range with depth of sound and feeling. Her broad-shouldered white jumpsuit and laced oxford dancing shoes... They teased "Under Pressure" but didn't sing it, and I got really disappointed by that.<br />
<br />
I want to talk with you about it. I want to smoke a bowl and watch the video twice in a row, once in silence and once for critique. Then I want to listen to Ziggy Stardust on your record player and recognize you as a teenager. I want to read the Pitt News article you would have written reviewing the Grammys, with specific emphasis on her performance.<br />
<br />
We never read much of each other's writing. How ironic.<br />
<br />
We did go to that Lady Gaga concert together. I remember you telling me, "This is like seeing Madonna at the height of Vogue. We'll be able to say we were there." The Monster Ball, after the "Born This Way" single had been released. That poster is still waiting to find its place in my home. You looked so happy dancing there.<br />
<br />
I miss you. I love you.<br />
KKhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-12572044772008042952016-01-11T20:03:00.000-05:002016-01-11T20:03:41.577-05:00Goodnight, Ziggy Stardust<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">David Bowie makes me think of Peter.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><i>Disclaimer: My knowledge of Bowie is unfortunately limited. I saw Labyrinth once, when I was about 20. The only song I can name is Under Pressure. </i></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Bowie was one of the 80s icons Peter emulated in fabulousness. The blatant disregard for gender roles. The habit of saying only the right thing at the right time. The hair.</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Hearing news of David Bowie's passing evoked memories of Nelson Mandela, of Maya Angelou, and of Peter himself. Peter would have been the one to tell me, simply and with urgency. He would expand my knowledge by sending me exactly the right link to the perfect video that would fill me with understanding of Bowie's cultural and personal significance.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">All grief is the same grief. One loss feels the same as another loss, on a primal level, even though each experience of grieving is unique. Peter is David Bowie is Freddie Mercury is Nelson Mandela is my grandmother is the breeze and the waves and the stars. Once you have experienced grief, it never leaves you. It becomes part of your everyday life. You learn to live with it, and it fades into the background, until you experience another loss. All the loss feelings are connected, and one experience evokes memories of another and the feelings deepen in intensity. And you grow in your ability to manage it and to live with this part of your life. Our losses shape us. Grief teaches us. The ways we handle grief mark how we've grown.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">She texted me, "If there's anyone who can make you think there's someplace to go after, it's him. I imagine there's a raucous concert going on right now." I replied, "David and Freddie are rocking Under Pressure in non-linear time. Peter is headbanging in his soft human way." "And that grin."</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Let's all sing our hearts out from the midpoint of gender and the absolute certainty of our worth, not caring what they think of us because we care too deeply about our own Truth. Why can't we give love, give love, give love, give love, give love, give love...</span></span>Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-35845501378184752782016-01-08T19:55:00.001-05:002016-01-08T19:56:23.028-05:00white rocks and yellow diamonds<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I left rocks at the place we got married. There were two white ones that were supposed to fit together somehow. I threw those off the overlook. Then I took three flatter grey ones and stacked them on the stone wall. Proceed with caution.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I went back to the bar for the first night since the police came, on an exploratory mission for my girlfriend with a friend in town until the morning. I stepped outside for a smoke alone and was enjoying the relative quiet when Rihanna filled my head with yellow diamonds. I froze.<i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>We found love in a hopeless place.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">We used to sing it about Pittsburgh.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">We left this city and moved to another one where we were completely isolated from anyone we knew. We started a new life together and became entirely dependent on each other. Then we came back. Thank goodness. This place holds my hope and my home-feeling.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>yellow diamonds in the light</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>and we're standing side by side</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>as your shadow crosses mine</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>what it takes to come alive</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>it's the way i'm feeling i just can't deny</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>but i've gotta let it go....</i></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I vividly flashed back to a night on the dance floor, strobe lights animating his face. Smiling that unabashed, charismatic smile of his at me. With me. He was always good at dancing with me...or always until almost the very end.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">We were good, once.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Were we good, ever?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I only almost cried.</span>Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-66764497515695621032015-12-06T16:43:00.001-05:002015-12-06T16:43:26.968-05:00Bag of rocks
<br />
<div style="border-width: 100%; direction: ltr;">
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0in; width: 6.6041in;">
<div style="direction: ltr; margin-left: 0in; margin-top: 0in; width: 6.6041in;">
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I am making a bag of
rocks that need new homes. Rocks and an extra railroad spike. I don't know why
I'm still carrying these heavy things around. I can let them go. I don't know
where they're going yet. I'll know those places when I find them. If I'm going
to do this, I should figure out the reason and the purpose. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I'm choosing the
"Life is a Journey, Not a Destination" bag. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
C always liked to
pick up souvenirs. Everywhere we went, he'd ask if we could bring home a
souvenir. He got kid in his voice when we talked about it. I don't remember
where most of these rocks came from. Picked up in our travels and displayed on
the altar, wherever it was. I need to put a more concerted effort into building
my altar. I have a start, but I don't have a lot of intention. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
There are other
rocks in the kitchen, because the glass jar that used to be the meteorite jar
is in the sink because I decided that if I am going to continue to have this
thing, I might as well make it shine. The meteorite jar was a souvenir from one
of our very first dates, exploring in Highland Park. It is a reminder that
once, things were good. It's hard to look back on it now that I see it all as
part of the trap.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
These rocks need new
homes. I feel like they should be returned to nature, or at least to the
ground. To dirt, to concrete, to other rocks. I took them from their homes to
put them in mine. I like this idea about moving rocks. They can't move by
themselves, and yet they do. They travel so far for things that can't control
their movement. And when they stop traveling, they tell long, long stories for
anybody who knows how to look. I can aid them in traveling. In the
process of releasing these heavy things that I no longer need to carry on my
own journey, I can help them to continue theirs and have a journey where one might
otherwise have stopped.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14352811.post-21958999213361951802015-12-01T17:03:00.004-05:002015-12-01T17:03:48.022-05:00distractionOne of the hardest things about the harrowing process this divorce has turned into is that I get really sick of looking at things related to it. Legal paperwork. Emails. Lists of names and phone numbers and dates. There is plenty left to do. I reach a limit. I can't look at it anymore. I just read a court order related to my car three times. I still don't know how much I can write on the Internet--you'd be amazed what else is readily available if you know where to look.<br />
<br />
I am surviving. I am doing what I need to do. I am always ok.<br />
<br />
Having a solid set of affirmations means more than anybody ever taught me.<br />
<br />
I'm trying to keep Kate Bornstein's rule for life: You can do anything you need to do to stay alive, just don't be mean.Khttp://www.blogger.com/profile/13764190794608434090noreply@blogger.com1