ReActivate

Jul. 26th, 2017 01:03 am
sonochesono: (TPATF: Fray)
[personal profile] sonochesono
I'm not sure how far I am through the ReActivate course (textbook.) A lot of it I remember. Some of it I need to review. Some things I need to review a lot.

I'm excited at the idea of becoming involved in the local dive community. I only hope I can start getting involved in 5k runs, as well. The main problem with running is that finding the time to train with two jobs is hard.




Learning about codependency has been really hard. I feel weary. I think of things I've tried to control so long and have finally stopped trying to control them. I think of all the ways I've let myself be a doormat over the years. I hurt over people I lost - either because I pushed them and hurt them, or because I imagined we were closer and more intimate than we were and opened up too hard and too fast.

I've cried a lot the last week. It hasn't all been bad. There's been a lot of thinking about the ways I isolated myself, the way I pushed people away, all the ways I became a husk and tried to fill my identity by attaching myself to another person. People I hurt specifically because I wanted to make sure they were never in my life again. People I've neglected because I was so worried what they thought of me. That stuff hasn't been pleasant. Of those things, the most harrowing has been Memo, because Memo really never did anything really wrong. It just sucked that he found his soulmate when he did.

There's been a lot of confusion - a lot of attempted thought as to who I am, what I like. That feeling, the feeling of being empty or blank. It's a sign of depression and codependency. Undeveloped or neglected self. If I don't know, it's a chance to look for experiences.

I cut a lot of people from FaceBook, and plan to cut more. If we don't talk or hang out, we're not friends, and I don't want to pretend to be friends with people. I want to work on being the person I am.




Some people at work are really mad that I went skydiving without inviting them. It's really funny, because I kept inviting people skydiving over the last year. And people keep making excuses for why they couldn't go.

And a lot of these people don't invite me anywhere. Or they bail. They don't invite me to parties, they don't invite me clubbing, they bail on running or hiking.

And I was just thinking, you know what? Why don't you just get back to me on that when you think about how I've felt, the past year, the past two years... When you go around inviting people to parties while I'm standing right there and you don't invite me out. Or when you all are going to Knott's Berry Farm without me. Or even just dropping by Barnes & Noble.

Maybe it's not gracious, but no one earned any grace from me there. It hurts. It hurts to see everyone out and having fun all the time without giving me any chance to participate. It hurts to be generous and give my all and try to be genuinely nice to everyone, and then no one wants to hang out unless it's a huge event like skydiving. It hurt when Jordan bailed on Irish nachos or hiking, or flaked on sending his schedule - and then finding out he was going to parties with co-workers or see him running through to get alcohol to go drinking with other people. It hurt to see Amanda and Sam hanging out on FaceBook, and Sam not stopping by to say hi to me at all. What'd I ever do to Sam?

So screw 'em. My plan is to keep exploring my own mind this year. See what I like. See what makes me tick. I was thinking about starting a vlog, maybe? Based on the idea of doing things solo. And maybe I'll do group outings as well. But I think doing things by myself or with strangers and acquaintances (e.g. clubs) will be important.

And I don't feel like going skydiving with people who can't be bothered to invite me out to a party or make it for a job. I don't feel like going on adventures with people who can't bother to text me, or constantly bail on planned outings.

It's not something I want to do. I want people in my life. But I want people that are in my life for the mundane and the adventurous. I don't want to make my life about getting people together for the huge stuff and no support for the small things.

So I won't.

(no subject)

Jul. 25th, 2017 11:11 pm
impertinences: (Default)
[personal profile] impertinences
Weeeelll, this didn't pan out. Posting just because.


-


Palmer flashes Mac a hard, fixed smile. “Back so soon?” he asks, digging his fingers into the rind of an orange, nails blunt but pressure hard.

Mac’s expression is boyish in response. “I’m a glutton, it’s true,” he says, his smile splitting his face, the hint of dimples at each corner of his mouth adding a flair of sweetness that Palmer knows he personally has never possessed.

Sunniva is more diplomatic. She pivots her weight to her good leg, taking Mac’s arm in a practiced gesture of welcome. “Patrons like yourself are always welcome here.”

“What she means to say,” Palmer clarifies, his fingers wet from where he’s broken into the heart of the orange, “is that you’re welcome as long as you can pay.”

Sunniva’s gaze is hard. Her mouth purses into a thin line. There’s a warning in the look she’s giving Palmer, but he ignores it.

“What? Let’s not pretend we’re running a shelter instead of a business, my dear.” He flashes a full-teeth grin that doesn’t reach his eyes.

Mac laughs good-naturedly. Sunniva looks unamused, but she steers the young man towards the atrium with an outstretched hand. “Come on. Eda’s waiting.”




The atrium is golden. It’s the finest room in the Isle, the mosaic tiles scrubbed to shine, the sun glittering off the clear waters of the shallow pool. There’s a few girls lounging on the lavish furniture, enjoying the afternoon breeze. Eda has her feet in the water, perched on the edge of the pool. She is resplendent in pink, the delicate shade of seashell and beach sand. The dress is damp at her calves where the water has hit her. She’s missing one of her pearl earrings, and Mac’s first thought is that she’s lost it swimming.

Sunniva releases his arm and clears her throat. The girls recognize the signal and rise together, slipping through discreet exits. They cast knowing glances over their shoulders. Eda is the Isle’s prize – she has a room larger and more lavish than any others, but she’s not limited to entertaining guests in a 12 by 13 space. She can have them anywhere, or they can have her.

“Take your time,” Sunniva tells Mac, closing the double doors behind her.

Eda dances her fingers across the water. When she smiles at Mac, her entire face arches into the expression. She looks like she’s spent her day waiting for him.

wowza

Jul. 25th, 2017 03:11 pm
suzume: Suzume is swooning melodramatically (Swoon!)
[personal profile] suzume
So I don't usually spend my money on commissions, but, uh I do recommend Renée...!


it's Fio :D


+


Jane modeling a version of this circa 1912 butterfly dress! (click through and then onward to see more detailed pictures)

And Jane in black and white below the cut. )

Oh, also: letter from Hideyoshi to Chacha How sweet

ReActivate

Jul. 25th, 2017 03:09 pm
sonochesono: The Rachel Maddow Show (Political: Rachel Maddow Show Sign)
[personal profile] sonochesono
The PADI ReActivate course is (currently) really common-sense. Then I just have to go by the dive shop I made my 'home' dive shop and see about getting dives set up with a Master Diver.

My thought is I'll 'ReActivate' all my past certifications first, then see if I can knock them all out in the same few dives. (I only had three.) Then I'll start getting involved with the dive clubs in Orange County.

Then after that I want to start doing specialty courses - especially wreck diver and cavern diver. But I'll probably focus on a few of the easier ones first, e.g. Underwater photography.




The flight school responded to tell me they don't sell dollar-value gift certificates online but if I visit them I can get a dollar-value gift certificate there. So what I'll do is go down there to do a tandem flight, and each time I do, I'll have $200-$400 to put on a gift certificate toward the P1 + P2 certification combo.




I was thinking about trying to apologize to Jordan and telling him he really doesn't need to avoid me at work. Like, my feelings will recover (I think they would have already if it hadn't been his avoidance at work.)

But I'd already told him that. So instead I guess I'll just try to practice MYOB: Mind Your Own Business. Eventually he'll either stop avoiding me, or one of us won't work in the shopping center anymore.




In the meantime... Time to go to work.

I can't wait for next month...

Jul. 25th, 2017 07:51 pm
malurette: (adorkable)
[personal profile] malurette
Maybe it's already old news(?) but I just learned that the next (half?) season for Dragons: Race to the Edge will be available on Netflix on August 25th. Yay new episodes! In just a month!
...right during the week I'll spend on a vacation in the middle of nowhere far away from civilisation, internet and fandom. Oh. Well. They'll still be there later, of course, and being away from the internet nobody will spoil them for me.

That, and the next volume of LastMan will be released on August 23rd... what else will I miss?

(no subject)

Jul. 23rd, 2017 07:54 pm
fairwells: landscape sky bridge (Default)
[personal profile] fairwells
Two of my cats were run over by a car today.

They're dead.

They had feline AIDS.

THIS POST IS PUBLIC.

(no subject)

Jul. 23rd, 2017 05:57 pm
impertinences: (words you spoke)
[personal profile] impertinences
Trying out a newbie! Welcome, Calder, you silver fox.







I sink the boat of love, but that comes
later. And yes, I swallow
glass, but that comes later.
- Richard Siken




YOU STILL see your wife’s face after all these years.

It comes to you at odd times – when you’re scrubbing a cast iron skillet after breakfast, after you splash cold water on your face in the midafternoon heat, when you kick sand into the fire-pit before bed out on the desert – and you see her as clearly as if she were still slipping into the back room at Mick’s bar, her feet bare, her smile wide, hardly a day over twenty. She had a girl’s face, still round with youth, and a dusting of freckles across her nose that made you think of constellations in the night sky.

(She was younger than you; everything about her body proved it. You had a scratch of beard across your jaw when you met and a moral code that could only be classified as grey. You’d wanted her immediately, her face a sunflower between your palms.)

Sometimes you mourn the gaps in your memory. You can’t recall her voice (was it soft, melodious, or raspy, full of need?) or how she smelled, so you cling harder to what you can remember: copper eyelashes, the slight gap between her front teeth, the mole inside the shell of her ear. It’s the details that are precious. It’s the details you try to memorize.

You want to pay homage, but you want your guilt too.




YOU ACCEPTED the blame for her death long ago. Looking back, you’re almost grateful for it (the catalyst that is your cataclysm). Her death made you rootless, sent you crawling from backstreet gutters to mild, open planes, over sandy dunes and across mountainous cliffs. A misplaced soul. A rover. You needed a reason to change, and you were always the type of man to seize an opportunity (you know that’s how it all started – you see the irony).

Your grief was a stone in your chest, weighing you down. It threatened to suffocate you while you slept. You would wake, wide-eyed and clutching at the air, her name like a plea in your mouth. Drinking helped, but not enough. So you turned to the desert like a madman and used the elements as a test. If you could survive the land, you could survive your sorrow.

It took six months before you realized that you liked being unmoored. You liked trading the mud and blood on your hands for more honest callouses and the ache of a hard day’s work. Your body, as in approval, responded well to your new way of living; your face weathered the changes; your skin darkened; you lost your laugh lines.

You lost much.




IT TOOK three years before you decided to return to society. As far as you could surmise, not much had changed. It was still full of hatred, greed, spite. You remember having to look just as hard as before for anything good.

You’d gone to Palmer because he was familiar. You’d gone to Palmer because there was no one else.

“Calder! How’s your temper?” he asked as an ice-breaker, as unshakeable as you remembered him being. He watched you take off your coat and signaled to the bartender for another beer. “I just want to know if I should expect to get my ass kicked before the night ends.”

He passed you the beer, and you took a drink before answering. “Not your fault. What happened.”

When Palmer grinned, it was sly, foxlike, an expression you never cared for. But you sat with him anyway, drinking slower than you had in years, and surprising yourself when laughter escaped your throat from time to time. The bar felt comfortable. The din of other nearby conversations was not as grating as you had remembered it being. Even Palmer’s smugness didn’t bother you or the carefree manner he had of discussing the past.

It was Palmer that told you about the Range, the old Mistwood ranch a handful of miles out past the western ridge. Palmer had been scouting for land in your absence, on the hunt for a business opportunity, but he handed over the news as a favor.

“I owe you,” he’d said, and for once there hadn’t been a hint of humor in his voice. His face had been a closed door.




YOUR WIFE’S death taught you what happens after love.

You don’t want to forget the lesson.

You bought the Range.




THE RANCH is small, but it’s still hard work for one man. You start slowly and spend long hours making lists of repairs and materials needed. You start with the main house, mending the weak spots in the roof, digging a second well, stocking the pantry with canned goods, dried spices, and cured meats. You have to fix multiple posts in the fence running the length of the property. The best news you hope for is that patches of the land are still viable. You settle for a stretch of pasture hardly larger than an acre.

You start a garden out of necessity. You raise sheep for the company. You have three horses, one little more than a pony, and an old cow that still stands for her milking.

You can’t go much further west. There’s drifter towns to the south, desert to the east, and unexplored areas to your north. You don’t get many visitors. The western ridge is difficult terrain for the unfamiliar traveler, and the ridge hides your valley well. Even the headhunters stay away, preferring desert heat to untrustworthy, treacherous rock. Rumors suggest tribes of beasts occupy the area, migrant clans that roam the lands, laying waste to human allies and Compound sympathizers. Palmer doesn’t give the idea much stock, but you’re grateful for whatever reasons may support your isolation.

You’re on the periphery.





YOU AREN’T searching.

But he comes to you anyway. He arrives at the change of the seasons when the nights are a little calmer, the wind a little madder. He arrives during the month you’ve been dreaming of sharks and the coastal waters of your childhood.

You find him half-alive and feral in the barn, scaring your favorite mare with all the noise he’s making. It takes you less than a minute to realize he isn’t an immediate threat, not in his current condition, but you’re more cautious these days. He’s talking nonsense, his eyes mostly closed, clawing the far corner of your mare’s stall. There’s the smell of sickness about him and something else, something chemical, something synthetic. You open the stall door slowly, coaxing the horse into your steady hands, and out into the yard. When you return to the barn, you have a shotgun in one hand and a medicine kit in the other.

He’s passed out. You’re grateful, but you still keep the gun in reach.

There’s more blood than you were expecting. You have to go back to the house for hot water and clean bandages.

Later, you’ll find blood under your nails even after you’ve washed your hands. You’ll chew on the side of your thumb and taste copper.

You’ll see your wife’s face again.

Family Drama

Jul. 23rd, 2017 02:29 pm
sonochesono: (DP: You and I (Sam to Danny))
[personal profile] sonochesono
Kevin, "Can you take me to Target?"
Me, "Okay, let's go now so I can sleep before my night shift."
Me, "Hey can you hide your [pot]? It's poisonous to cats."
Kevin, "No it's not."
Me, "Yes it is, you can look it up online."
Kevin, "Never mind, I don't even wanna go to CostCo and Target. I don't want to deal with the stress. I don't need this third degree."
Me, "I wasn't giving you the third degree, I was asking you to keep the pot--"
Kevin, "NEVER MIND."



Thirty Minutes Later After I've Come Home




Kevin, "Mind taking me to the gas station?"
Me, "You asked me to take you to Target. I agreed, and you changed your mind. I'm sorry you're stressed out, but I'm home now and planning to sleep before work."

And... Now he's screaming at everyone and throwing stuff. But maybe he'll realize this constant yanking on my chain is inappropriate. I'm not sure how much this works when the drug/alcohol abuser you're dealing with someone who ALSO has a personality and mood disorder.

He doesn't get it. We don't want him gone. We want him to get help. But letting his mood swings dictate all our decisions is not a solution.

In the 'getting out of this living situation' - since paying half the rent didn't work in giving me a better say in my living situation and Dad still forced us to let Kevin move back in - I'm thinking I could try moving to Anaheim? There's an ROP nursing program there, I wouldn't have to quit any job, and it's a good halfway point to Long Beach, too, which is where the CNA courses are hosted.

Room-searching scares me though. Lots of creepy advertisements. Then again, it can't be that much worse than living with my brother. Except the ads looking to rent a room 'for free' in exchange for being an 'FWB.'

Like... I know most men are not disgusting, most people are generally good (or at least well-intentioned), etc.

But there are some doozies when you're looking at ads searching for roommates.

(no subject)

Jul. 23rd, 2017 02:02 pm
rozen: (AW HELLLL NO)
[personal profile] rozen
So I haven't checked this in a while, and it turns out part of the css is borked because the bg part of the links is from Photobucket, smh

(demi) nuit LastMan !

Jul. 23rd, 2017 03:13 pm
malurette: (kinky)
[personal profile] malurette
Oh Yeah! Malgré le changement de programme 24h avant et le chamboulage de plans j'y ai été avec le pote qui m'avait fait découvrir la série en premier lieu. On a commencé par aller voir l'expo Valérian à la Cité des Sciences, Read more... )

Maintenant, j'aimerais beaucoup-beaucoup que le ciné de plein air arrive à créer une date bonus dans son programme pour projeter les épisodes 14 à 26, pour la complétude et pour les gens qui découvraient la série à ce moment et sont restés en plein sur un sale cliff-hanger, et puis comme ça je pourrais en profiter pour aller voir l'expo sur les dragons au Palais de la Découverte... J'y crois très peu vu les difficultés d'organisation que ça doit poser, et le succès mitigé en terme de nombre de spectateurs, mais on peut toujours espérer, non ?
Rha, j'aurais tellement, tellement envie de voir les épisodes 17, 21, 25 et 26, oh et puis 20 aussi, sur grand écran !
Et tant que j'y suis, j'aurais tellement envie que la série soit éditée en DVD. Et sa BO en CD. Et qu'ils arrivent à faire une deuxième saison !
Mais, déjà, je vais attendre ce fameux tome 10. Mmh, vivement les vacances et le retour ensuite...

Thoughts

Jul. 23rd, 2017 01:14 am
sonochesono: (TPATF: Ambitious)
[personal profile] sonochesono
So I was looking at bungee jumping tomorrow, or paragliding, but then I decided I didn't want to do things that would take hours of my day and make me tired for work that night.

Which is too bad, because it was so tempting.

Instead I'm going to try to go rock climbing tomorrow, and study up the certifications I'm 'ReActivating.'

I'd like to work on backpacking too. I was thinking I could start getting the gear, going to one of the local campsites on the weekend, and practice basics. Then I could do trips when I feel comfortable with the gear and believe I can make it a few days without running back to town.

generation gap

Jul. 23rd, 2017 04:24 pm
sideways: [gundam 00] marina seated (►my mind's running to you)
[personal profile] sideways
Title: Generation Gap
Rating: G
Series: Bungie's Destiny
Wordcount: 523
Summary: Guardians have never been children.
Remarks: At least partly inspired by an anecdote from my mother's years working in childcare.

lot of guardians claiming to like children )

The Summer I Went Crazy

Jul. 23rd, 2017 05:47 am
ofmonstrouswords: (thg: haymitch coffee)
[personal profile] ofmonstrouswords
Serious content warning for this post. I talk about childhood abuse, trauma, suicide, and sexual assault.

There’s a video making the rounds on social media. I haven’t watched it. I don’t want to watch it. But I’ve seen the comments and I know, basically, what it’s about: a child having a tantrum on a train.

Comments have ranged from “this kid is probably autistic” to “this kid needs to be disciplined” and it strikes me this is just yet another way for people without kids to judge parents for not doing a good enough job; or people with kids to feel superior because THEIR child never had a meltdown on the subway.

It also strikes me how very lucky I am to have been born in 1986 and become a teenager in the 90s. Because I grew up without ubiquitous cellphone video cameras and the ability to post video of strangers online. I grew up without the danger that my one bad day would have meant worldwide shaming of my mother, and custody being ripped away from her.

Before we moved to Hawai’i my summers were split between my parents. (After moving there, I spent them with my bio-sire, for what was called “access” because he required access to his child and I was supposed to have access to my tormentors.)

After the first half of the summer being spent with my bio-sire and his new girlfriend, a woman we dubbed Wife #5 (he’s on #7 now), and her band of ill-mannered, horrific monsters of children, I got to spend time with my mom. This particular summer we went to Hawai’i to visit with people, including my new friend who became my best friend and still is (she was my maid of honor at my wedding).

I’m not really sure why she stuck with me for so many years, because that was the second year we knew each other and it was the summer I went insane.

I was a monster. I screamed and cried and kicked. I lashed out at everyone, including my best friend. I threw tantrums on a regular basis. I said cruel, hurtful things. I tried to kill myself. I wielded sharp weapons and was a danger to myself and others.

No one knew what was going on. My mother was at a complete loss, trying to manage a child who had never acted out on this scale before. She was inches from putting me into an institution, and had the threat of my bio-sire taking custody not loomed, she may have done so.

And I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t tell anyone, because I didn’t have words for it and I blamed myself.

What was happening was a culmination of years of abuse and trauma. I had been suffering abuse from my bio-sire since I was 2 years old, and now he had a new family who liked to join in on the fun. I was accused of stealing money from my stepmom, had my belongings stolen from me by my stepsister and then blamed when I tried to get them back from her, called names, threatened, punished when I complained of headaches or coughing because my stepmom liked to smoke cigarettes below my room.

I remember being told by my stepmom that everything was my mom’s fault — yes, even the fact that she and my dad weren’t fucking anymore, which is completely appropriate to say to a kid, right? — and that she was my new mom now and I had to get used to it.

I remember being loathed so completely by my stepmom and step-siblings that I would have done anything to be accepted and loved. Anything.

So I was very easy to coerce.

My stepbrother may have only been 6 months older than me, but he was fully cognizant of what was going on. He’d convinced me the only way I could be accepted by the family was if I did what he asked. I didn’t want to, but I wanted to be accepted.

Of course, I never was. And I blamed myself for what happened for another 10 years. It wasn’t until I confessed, crying, to my first boyfriend about what a dirty, shameful slut I was for having had sex at age 10, telling him the whole story, that he held me and said: Babe. You were raped. That was rape.

It was rape, and it was the cherry on top of the shit sundae of trauma and abuse ladled out to me by my bio-sire and his new wife and her children.

And I couldn’t tell anyone. All I could do was go insane.

If this had been now, if I’d been acting out that way in the modern era, some asshole would film it and put it online so people could shame my mom. She’d lose custody of me and I’d have to live with my bio-sire, where my stepbrother would be free to rape me as many times as he wanted. And in the end, I’d take my own life.

There are so many times I wish I’d told my mom when it happened. If I had, that would have been it: she would have been able to get sole, full custody of me and prevent my bio-sire from ever seeing me again. I would have had a better adolescence. I would have started healing sooner. I wouldn’t have had to spend the night with then ex-Wife #5 in my teens because of a missed ferry connection, and weathered the look her older son gave me as I stood in their kitchen, the look that made me feel dirty, and ashamed, and like I wanted to jump into the Salish Sea and drown.

I have searched for years for ways to cleanse myself of the shame, and the anger and the hatred. Ways for me to process the trauma — not just that rape, but all the other compounded trauma that came after it, including another rape. I have done so much, but it is still not enough, and sometimes I feel like that ten-year-old: ready to scream and break down in public, ready to fling myself off a building, ready to kill anyone who gets close to me.

I’ve thought for a while that I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I’ve been close to committing myself a few times in the past year, which might be the right move seeing as I requested a psych consult over a year ago and BC’s medical establishment moves as fast as a glacier when it comes to mental health. I want a diagnosis. Because what I think I have doesn’t help me get help. It won’t help me get better meds than what I have.

Recently, I heard that Borderline Personality Disorder can look the same as C-PTSD. C-PTSD, or Complex-PTSD, is what happens when someone suffers trauma over and over for a long period of time.

I already know I have PTSD; now I’m pretty sure I have C-PTSD. Because I suffered trauma for years on end from my bio-sire and my stepfamilies, then later from partners, people who were supposed to love me but only hurt me.

One of them, I still can’t speak his name without freaking out.

Another, this year I celebrated it having been 7 years since he touched me. I have grown into a body he never knew.

And I had C-PTSD when I was 10, because that was after 8 years of hell.

Last night, instead of sleeping, my brain decided to replay the abuse over and over again. Over and over again, I remembered the rape. It’s been over two decades, and I still cannot shake this trauma.

Maybe that kid in the video just needs discipline. Or maybe they’re fighting a battle we know nothing about. Maybe the last thing that parent needs is strangers judging them. Maybe what they need is compassion, and understanding, and patience.

Maybe we don’t know the first fucking thing about other people’s lives. Maybe we should consider that before we whip out the cell phone and start filming.

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