Acceptance and Blessings

So it has been a while. Things have definitely been busy and crazy, but despite the hardships, I feel blessed.

I’ve met the most amazing and caring person. Not to mention incredibly sexy. (He says no, but I disagree. Though when he says the same to me, I say no as well.)  He’s helped me by just being who he is. He knows who he is and is comfortable with who he has become. He accepts me for who I am, this includes my past. He embraces it, stating it has created me into who I am now, and that is who he loves.

Knowing this, and feeling this love and acceptance, I’ve been able to heal. It’s more of a total healing. I’ve been able to accept myself.  I know, who would have thought this would happen. I never did, but it’s amazing. I really am healing. I am finding my true self, and accepting who I am. When I say accepting, I mean it not in a “Oh that’s just who I am type of way, and it won’t change”, no not that, I’m realizing who I am, what makes me, and embracing it.

That’s right. Embracing who I am and what makes me who I am.

I’m also learning to trust. After everything I have gone through, I’m learning trust, something I thought was gone and would never come back. I won’t lie and say it is easy, because it’s not. Not a chance in the world of that being easy. It’s a constant battle. It’s so engrained into me to be negative and to feel that nothing will work out, but I’m learning to trust. My boyfriend is the best thing to happen to me and helping me with trust. I’m experiencing reasons to trust, and then having these feelings reinforced. I’m not going to say I have this down, and I know what I’m doing. I need reminders. I need help.  But here’s the point, I’m learning and building. I have a reason to trust. Everyone else in my life has shown me that trust is something that cannot be had, now, I know differently.

Kind of nice isn’t it?

Oh… I’ve changed a bit.  There are some pink chunks to my hair, and I now have my symbol on my wrists. My sparrows are with  me where I can see them always. My strength. They’re there whenever I need a reminder. I’m here, and I’m standing stronger. Little by little.


A little pink...

A little pink…

My strength, my reminders, my symbols.

My strength, my reminders, my symbols.

My ups and downs with depression

So I’ve decided to have some guest bloggers lately. From having my stories of Mummy and Klaus on Twindaddy‘s blog, I thought it was most fitting that he be my first guest blogger.  He’s not the only one. AliceAtWonderland will be joining us too! Did you want to share anything? Just send me an email  (, and let me know.


Hello. My name is Twindaddy.  Some of you may already know me.  Some of you may not.  Some of you may wish you did.  Most of you will not.


This is me. I used to be meaner, but now I’m medicated.

Anyhow, Alice threatened to have the white rabbit stalk me  asked me to guest post here, but didn’t really give me much to work with in the way of a topic, so I decided to talk about depression since that’s the theme of her blog.  Or it originally was, at least.  I thought maybe it might help her in some way to share my story with her.  At least, that is my hope.  Some of this she already knows, some of it she may not.

Here goes… Continue reading


I needed you like oxygen. I needed you to live and feel, to keep going on. I needed a reason to exist and you were it. You were why I was still able to breathe. In and out, in and out. It was you. You were my oxygen.

You were why I failed. You sucked the life out of me. You made my misery even worse. While you made me feel alive, you imprisoned me. I thought I was alive and free, to find out I was your puppet and you were my master.

Why did you do this to me? You were suppose to be my friend, and my helper. To get me through the times where I was in my darkest hole. Why? Did you want to see me go to the edge, never feeling anything again, and wish to end my life so I could find a way out?

I’m trying to come to terms as to why you did this to me and treated me so. You were my oxygen.  You drove me to a road and a way I didn’t want to go down.  I fought against it. I tried to break free. It was the hardest thing to do. I stopped breathing. I forgot how to.

Addiction. You won. Were you happy? Are you still? You drove me where I never wanted to be. You were suppose to help me through my hardest times. The pain that came with the cutting. it was the most glorious feeling I could have. I felt, I had control. Yet they were quickly taken away from me as the feelings were gone just as quickly. I needed more. I would fight against it, yet would crawl on my knees to get the next fix. You pulled the strings and I danced your jig. Puppet master I bowed to you.

Those strings are gone now. Find someone else to dance for you.  I’m learning how to breathe without you.  How do you feel about that? Do you feel the hurt? Do you feel the agony and loss that I did? Where is your helper? Did you destroy them too?

Cutting, pain, addiction, I’m free for now. I plan to be that way. You were my escape and friend, I could lean upon you, then the roles changed and you became my master, my owner. You changed. You became evil. I’m glad I ran away.

Ramblings and Mondays

Monday Communications

Monday Communications

Looks like somebody has a case of the Monday’s.

Alas it is Monday. Never a favorite one for me. Ok, who really says that Mondays are their favorite day? It seems that Mondays bring out all of the weird ones. Why can they not wait until later in the week to call, or spread it out over the week? What do they do though? They all call as soon as they can on Mondays. To survive, that is what Mondays are for. I gave myself a high-five for surviving!

What a time of things. I think.

I’ve been having my daily ups and downs, but not as bad. It’s more every few days. Bonus!  I prefer to try and stay more level. Less irrational. Wait, that wouldn’t be me if I was less irrational. I need to stay me. I’m trying to at least. Think sarcastic thoughts! (After all, they are my happy thoughts.)

Sadly from this insanely cold freezing spell we’ve gone through here, I seem to have gotten an upper respiratory infection. I’m hoping that it might not be true though. I’m taking the precautions though. Herbal supplements for colds and flues, as well as some for supporting the upper respiratory system.  No harm no foul. Or as I taught my nephew, no blood no foul. (Ok, that one may not really apply, but I still get giggles over a 3.5 year old running around chanting no blood, no foul.)

So yes, I’m sick. Kind of. But I refuse to admit defeat. I have my narcotic cough medicine (thankfully no upcoming drug tests for a little bit) and my germ defenders! (ok, so that’s just really my sarcastic thoughts, aka, happy thoughts). There are things to make me smile though.

So I told you about how I am trying to get the birds to whistle the Emperors March. They’re not doing it yet, but we’re making progress. Whilst whispering the Emperors March, the one will now jump onto my hand. He is also bobbing his head up and down and starts talking to me. Mwahaha, another one is joining the darkside, and to think, I didn’t have to give out any of my cookies for that one.

Another smile is being brought to my face in the form of therapy! Yes, therapy. It’s more of the counseling kind.  I’ve seen a therapist/counselor on and off at the rape center, but they’re finally going to put me into the therapy treatment for the rape/PTSD.  I will be able to move on and live soon. Maybe even feel like dating again. But let’s hold on that for now. Why? Because I’m focusing on something, on putting the past where it belongs. Hello! Don’t want to be so mixed up I don’t know what to do, the next thing you turn around and find that the person is you. Can’t be having that now can we? One step at a time, after all, step by step, Oh baby, day by day… Wait, now that’s 2 different ones. SIGH.

Time heals everything. Whether it’s taking the time to slowly let my heart and mind heal from the breaking and shattering it went through, or the mending of time to move on, put things into their proper places. Here is a goal. Smile. Try to find something to smile about each and every day. Only once, that’s a goal. Once a day smile. I think I can do that. After all, i have 5 zany knuckleheads running around with either 4 paws or some wings that make me giggle in one way or another.

Time Heals

It Gets Better- FUN


I feel like singing.

It’s a new dawn, it’s a new day, it’s a new life for me, and I’m feeling good.

I was just humming that, though of course it was the Muse version because I was listening to Imagine Dragons, then the Lumineers,  to the Script, and that logically leads to Muse. But this is sort of fitting. No, it’s not a new life for me, but it is a newer start. And right on time with the new year coming shortly. In with the new out with the more depressed.

This week I started a new job. I’m away from the biggest cause (in my mind) of triggers. So fresh start there. I do have to dress differently than usual (i.e. no jeans and geekdom tshirts). I’m sporting the retro 50’s style which I mix rockabilly and pin up. It’s working thus far, but it’s only been 2 days. Though I need to add new shoes, I want my comic book pumps.

So I’m separating myself from my past, and trying to move on. I am on a steady schedule now for work. My routine is coming back. Routines keep me happy as I know what to expect. It gives me stability, as well as a comfort zone. It’s me. I need it. It works for me. I get to start on a steady visit now with my new counselor. We can work with the event and my PTSD and try to overcome everything. No, there is no try, either do or do not. (Thanks Yoda, I needed that reminder). I will get past this. (It’s my new little chant I have going on, like the little engine that could.)

Oh 2013, you could be good for me, granted that I do not have to put into plan the Anti-Zombie plan. Fingers crossed.

A one way ticket out of my life

Can’t you just go somewhere on vacation?
I could book your flight
And pack your bags
If you want
A one way ticket out of my life
Watching you fly away
I never liked you
I never wanted you
I never liked you
I never wanted you, whoa

Simple Plan – Vacation

I think is so appropriate for the last post I wrote. And yesterday had me saying it and singing it very loudly. Why, you ask? Because the.. well I have thought of a good name for him, but I will probably by the end of this post. Anywho, he decided to try and talk to me last night. Decided he needed “help” and my automatic response ( I’ve been practicing it over and over again) was no. And the texts suddenly stopped. Just like that. I didn’t get anything that said hi, just “I don’t feel good, I need your help” was how it started. It felt good to have him just stop talking.  It felt good to just say “No”.

After ranting about him the other day, I sat thinking about how I feel when he treats me this way. I feel used, disposable, worthless, and extremely unloved and unwanted. It makes it hard to look in the mirror. How can I look at myself when I know all I’ll see is a shell of someone. I’m not filled in. Just need to bust out the markers and do some coloring and shading. It’s going to be a project. But you have to start somewhere. So I sat there for awhile telling myself that he doesn’t love me, he is not a friend, I don’t feel good when he treats me the way he does. I don’t like being degraded at any moment because I will not jump at his bidding.

It’s a start. Not much, but a start. It’s better to feel alone, than to feel the way he makes me feel. If this is how people treat friends, then I’ll pass. I am better off on my own then. I would like to have others in my life, but not at the expense of constantly feeling unwanted, unloved, worthless, and disposable. I do not think anyone wants to feel that way. I’m not completely sane in my thinkings, but if someone does like feeling like that, I have the numbers of some good therapists and psychiatrists.

My thinking tells me that it is hard to give up on someone completely. Perhaps that is why I keep trying to keep a door open to that friendship, but maybe it’s time to finally close the door, lock it, place the key on the table, and drink the bottle that says “Drink Me.” See what adventure it takes me on. Who knows, maybe it will color some of me in. Maybe I’ll fill in some of the outline.


Why are We Silent?

It’s as if it is taboo to speak, or even think about it. If it’s mentioned, it is as if it’s an urban myth. If it happens to you, and you try to tell others about it, either you are not believed, or you’re told that it is your fault. Sometimes, you’re even told that it is your imagination, or you have misinterpreted things.

Have you figured out what I am talking about yet? Oh, you need more hints? OK, let’s try this one.  You trusted someone that you’ve known for awhile. They’re suppose to be your friend, yet when you trusted them to take care of you the most, they stole from you. They took away the thing you valued the most from you.

Did you get it? Well if not, I’m telling you because it’s something I want to talk about. Sexual assault.  Rape.

Yes, as I said, something taboo. It’s a very hush hush, don’t talk about it subject, but here’s the thing, it should be talked about. We should be shouting about it at the top of our lungs, screaming about it where ever we go. Yes, we need to discuss this.

Most people seem to have a see no, hear no, speak no evil attitude about this subject. Here is what I think though. We need to be talking about this, sharing our stories, supporting one another.  Why? Because just as there are the silent killers of cancer, this is a silent killer as well. It eats away at you, tears you down, make you feel as if you are nothing, worse than nothing.  When no one believes you, no one wants to back you up or listen to you, it makes you feel as if you are wrong, that it never happened. When you keep feeling like this, it destroys you. Eats up from the inside out until you are nothing but a shell, and then barely even that. With this going on, it makes you feel like nothing. That is where you are wrong. I know I have been wrong. I have to keep telling myself that I am someone. That even if no one else cares about me, I do. I care about me. I’m important.

What I want to do, is talk about this subject as much as I can. Rape and Sexual Assault are real. They happen.  No matter what, you are not to blame. There are others that have been there. Tell others your experiences. Share what has happened. The more you talk about it, the better you will feel, you know it is real, that you didn’t make this up.  And the more you share, you never know the affect that you will have on others.  While helping yourself, you can help others too. I know that this is helping me.

I want to help you while I help myself. Tell others. Please.

Stories and Scars

So today I’m in a rather cranky and irritated mood. I’m trying to make this better and I’m sitting drinking my tea hoping it will help soothe my psyche. (As well as the pounding headache that is resonating through my skull.) So I figured I need to think of positive things. One that came to mind was as a song was playing (yes I know what you’re thinking, again with the songs already. Get use to it, my life is nothing but songs…. IDEA! I’ll have to make a post with nothing but song lyrics and titles. Ok Squirrel Moment over) and it made me think of my life  from the first line of the song.

“All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am.”

So what did this make me think of? My life and scars. Each scar has a story. Not all are from self harming. Some are surgery scars, some from being a rough tomboy, others are just from me being your typical klutz. But each and every one of them tell you who I am, as well as where I have been, and in some cases where I will be going. So let’s roll out the map of my life, my body.

There are scars on my hands, they’re burns from not paying attention to what I was doing and a hot cookie tray hit them. A few are from training dogs and the puppies were a little exuberant and bit me. The legs. Oh they tell a whole story of a tomboy. I have scars up and down my legs from scrapes that turned to scabs to scars ( I have a habit from OCD of picking at anything that can be picked, including scabs, especially them.) These scars show me racing the boys and tripping over my feet, learning to ride a bike, busting open my knee and getting rocks in it, and surgery on the one knee to remove inflamed tissue (it was to check for a tear in my cartilage, happened to not be as bad as they thought so it was left alone.) You can tell I had chicken pox as a chile from the scar by my eyebrow, the pox marks on my shoulders, thighs, and chest.

There are other scars that show where I am going. These scars I can be both proud of, and also ashamed, but I prefer the proud of option myself. These are the scars that are from self harming. Yes there are burn marks from when I was younger and would burn myself with hot items. I have scars from cutting when I was assaulted, when I was dead emotionally, when I would try and cope with my life turning upside down and sideways. You may not understand them, but I do. They mean the world to me. They showed what I went through, and look, here I am now. I may revert back to them from time to time, but I’m learning. I’m trying to get past this, and those scars are my stories and my past, but also my present. They show that I never took that step that was in my mind, well not fully, it was tried, but no success, which is a good thing, because I’m learning from that.

The rest of the song talks about how she did everything and it was worth it for the person that is in her life that means the most to her. Right now, for me, that is me. Everything I do is to make myself better. To try and make myself happy to be who I am. People will come and go, and judge me for what they see, but I have me, and that is all I need for the moment.  To be strong and make myself better. If you want a part in that, then you are more than welcome to, but if you try to pull be down, or try to keep me down…..

The Story

Brandi Carlile

All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true…I was made for you
I climbed across the mountain tops
Swam all across the ocean blue
I crossed all the lines and I broke all the rules
But baby I broke them all for you
Because even when I was flat broke
You made me feel like a million bucks
You do
I was made for you
You see the smile that’s on my mouth
It’s hiding the words that don’t come out
And all of my friends who think that I’m blessed
They don’t know my head is a mess
No, they don’t know who I really am
And they don’t know what
I’ve been through like you do
And I was made for you…
All of these lines across my face
Tell you the story of who I am
So many stories of where I’ve been
And how I got to where I am
But these stories don’t mean anything
When you’ve got no one to tell them to
It’s true…I was made for you

Self Harming


Yes, something I talked about before but again is on my mind. I guess it is on my mind since my talk with my new counselor.  She asked about coping methods.  How do I cope with things when I have flashbacks, or feel as if I need to get out of a situation that shifts to me thinking about the “event”. As we discussed this, how I love to calm myself with tea, or read, or try to be by myself, she asked if I had any addictions.  This brought up the caffeine addiction (ok, who doesn’t have that though? ).  And I said that was it. But was it? Was that really it?  I wasn’t sure if caffeine was my only addiction, so I said “No, wait, I actually have one other.  I cut. I haven’t done it lately, but they told me (they being my first few therapists and psychiatrists) that cutting and self harming is an addiction.”

She told me that self harming can be a form of coping. I never thought of it that way.  I never thought that perhaps cutting to make myself feel, was also a way of coping with that is going on in my life. Then I started to think back on it. Yes, I started to cut myself after the “event”.  But there were other times I did that as well. Most recently I did that when I had a friendship that was so hot and cold and black and white, I never knew what way was up and down.  There were so many times that I was hurt with that friendship, that I didn’t know what to feel emotionally. I just started cutting. I wanted to feel, and wanted to be in control of something in my life. So guess what? I started again.

I can remember back in high school, that I was self harming, not cutting but harming. If  I had a horrible day of being picked on, or a day that seemed nothing went right, I would literally punch myself. Or scratch my skin until I was bleeding, or burn my skin. I’m going to be honest, (like I’m not honest with you) I never even thought of that until lately, and never knew it went back that far. I want to find better ways to cope with my life. I wish I could be “normal” but I do not believe that word exists. I want to be able to feel and be emotional.  I want to be me. I want to walk away from this addiction and never look back. But how?

How can I walk away from this?


Doing It.

That’s right people, I’m going to do it. Do what you ask? I’m making a commitment. To what? Hold your horses there ladies and gents and let me tell you a story, well something that happened.

Yesterday I met with a counselor at the rape center and went through the assessment and  there were conclusions made. What conclusions? That after 8.5 almost 9 years, I am suffering from PTSD. (more than likely, I have many symptoms, and score highly on the likely charts… btw I had to take an assessment that said I have depression, I could have told you that, Howard could have too. )

So after the assessments were done, I was asked a question “What do you want to accomplish with counseling?” Would you like to know my response?  Even if you don’t, I’m going to tell you anyways. “I want to be able to move past this.  I want to be able to go to restaurants and eat, or work, and not have panic attacks. I want to be able to live my life, and not have random nightmares, to sleep better, not be paranoid, to regain my concentration.  I want to live, and get past and over this. Not forget it, but to just move on.”

Her response? “Good. We are here to help you deal with it, and move on. Not to forget, but to be able to move past.”

So I was asked if I want to go through with the 12 step CPT (Cognitive Processing Therapy) sessions (ok, sessions, not steps, but I like saying steps. Like trying to get past an addiction, well it is to help with one of my “coping” methods, the cutting.) Want to know my answer?

“Yes, I want to be able to feel as if I’m living again.” I want to live, and I want to be able to feel as if the sexual assault, and the baggage that has become me from it, are not holding me back from me being me. I don’t want these random flashbacks, nightmares, resulting panic attacks and such to keep coming back. I want to live.

That’s right, I’ve decided to live. I’ve decided to get help and move past this. I’ve wanted to, but now I’m making the commitment and taking the steps, not just in my head, but in this reality that I exist in. I need help. And I was able to ask. That’s right, my name is… well no, not saying, and I was sexually assaulted and have never dealt with it, and I’m asking for help, and seeking it.