Strange happenings

So, i have been having a difficult time, since stupid express scripts messed up again.  i’ve been without one medicine for over a week, haven’t been allowed to leave the house for days because i couldn’t risk missing the delivery.  Sir Raven’s meds were messed up too, but after the third time i called, i managed to make them too scared to not let me go pick her meds up at Walgreens.

i had to wait for her to be at work to make that call.  Definitely not a pleasant demeanor going on.  They had left her without BLOOD PRESSURE meds for a week, and i was totally over being patient anymore.  By the end of that call, they had fixed it, and i was en route to walk to get her meds.

i finally got mine late afternoon.  One side effect of going off cold turkey is nightmares.  And boy have they been extra.

It’s not just nightmares, but memories, and so i fall asleep and am back in the shower when Dawn’s arm reaches in and grabs me by the throat.  My toes are desperately trying to find footing, slipping around, before i can grasp what has happened.  My brain slowly understands when her large hands and thick fingers easily hold me up against the shower wall and squeeze tight against my throat.  Of course, i never saw her grab me, and my head had been under the water trying to wash my hair.

She looked at me, her eyes shone like the glint of a knife under the moonlight.  Her voice was strangely soft, but deadly serious.  “The only way you leave me is dead,” she said, waiting for it to sink in, watching my eyes.  My chin quivered, my eyes huge, breath shallow, my hands are little birds in useless half flight.  Satisfied, she lets me go, slowly, making sure that i can stand up.  She told me to finish my shower, which i am doing with urgency.  Everything must be right.  Almost gently, she dries me off, and says, “You know what has to happen now.”  The lock is in one hand, her belt in the other.

Later, we laugh about it, when i tell her Norman Bates has nothing on her and that she is lucky i didn’t pee.

Night terrors leave me exhausted, weak, needy.  i spend a lot of time alone, feeling little, unable to focus and scared.  Angry.  i wake up and, for the first time in five years, don’t know where i am.

When i leave the house when Sir Raven is home, men talk to me.  It is as if i have a neon sign over my head.  i hate it.  i hate almost everything about it.  Men tell me to smile, tell me i am too pretty to be stressed, call me princess and little girl.  Its like the energy from me is turned up to high vibration and i can’t make myself small or quiet enough to feel safe.

Of course, in the midst of night terrors, and doing the best i can during the day, i smoke some here and there.  i feel bad about it.  i feel angry that no one can stop me, that the weight of everything is on me.  Always.

i try hard.  i do.  i try and be good, quiet.  very quiet.

i realize i hit up against programming.  Barb would beat me for going away in my head.  i would turn toward the television, look in that direction, let myself drift away.  But she would always know.  Sometimes, she would try and be nice, pause the movie and stroke my face and remind me that i can’t go away anymore.  She would give me another chance.  But within a few minutes, i would be gone again, unable to control it.  It would always make her beat me.  i’d say most of the severe beltings i got from her were directly related to me going away in my head.  i’d be covered in bruises from my ass to nearly my knee caps, and she would have to dress me for a few weeks and check to see that it wasn’t visible.  Once i was already that bruised, she wasn’t concerned about that anymore, and i got punished a lot more for it.

i go away in my head here lots.

Strangely, when i am stomping around in my head, the Bigs know.  i get a kind, “how are you?” text, the subtext of which is known to both of us.  He may as well write, “Where are you little girl?” like he used to when i was angry inside.  Even if i was sitting there in my spot on the sofa, doing absolutely nothing wrong, he knew.  Nodding, he would calmly remind me what i need, and i’d bargain for a way out.  “What if i can be good?”

What is very hard for me to understand is where this part of me hid-especially from me-until i was 18 and away from my mother.  When i was five, i was very serious, very quiet, always helping, looking for ways to help.  i would have been far too scared then to ever push back, to ever be naughty, to ever hurl stuffed animals in rage, say bad words because i was mad.  i felt very confident that my mother would kill me if i dared.  So the actual child parts, that can feel delight, anger, boredom, sadness-just didn’t exist until adulthood.

It can be hard.

i need a Little Vacation.  Seriously.  Just a few weeks of not having to get big at all, not having to worry about being hurt when the angry feelings come out, not having to stress about anything, treats, and more treats, and feeling happy to have happy good girl energy that i don’t have to endlessly monitor and make and fake-it-til-i-make-it.

Maybe its just the meds.




Feeling a bit raw, physically and in my heart.

My meds are still not here.  i finally managed, four calls in, to get Sir Raven’s meds worked out and picked up.  Just hot mess.

i’ve also been inside all week, and alone a lot, even more than usual.

Lots of nightmares, since i finally admitted that i saw the conversation between my mother and kidnapper on facebook, with alarming lovingness, always a danger sign between them.  While i had not spoken to Dawn for years, she always kept contact with my mother, in large part to know where i was and what i was doing.  When i came to Florida to take care of my grandmother, my mother had already been paid thousands and given many expensive gifts by dawn.  In return, dawn knew even which plane i was on.  There was never going to be an out for me.

My mother didn’t expect Dawn to move me every three months to different apartments.  She expected to continue to live in the apartment dawn provided for free, with her loser boyfriend staying on the weekends.  She expected to continue to lounge about and do nothing, while i made sure everything was immaculate at all times.

Looking back at it, its apparent that Dawn would alway soften when i was a little girl, when my chin would quiver and my eyes fill with years, and i would snuggle my pooh.  It’s not that i could manipulate her.  For one thing, i can’t make myself cry or turn little at my will.  i can’t really control those things.

It’s not that she wouldn’t beat me like that.  She did.  It was different though.  She beat into me the idea that i can fight against the belt, and i will never ever win.  i will never be able to mentally get away from it.  i can’t escape in my head from it.

i tried it-to go away in my head-and it was always very bad.

i tried to go away in my head once with Sir Raven with the strap, and that is how i got myself hit in the head with it.  Because i went away in my head.

There are still things that were put there that i will react to-labels being not forward in the frig still gets me very upset.  There are certain smells too.  Tonight, running an errand in the cool early eventing, there was the scent in the crowd waiting to cross.  i tried to hold my breath.  i wanted to smoke. Badly. i still do.  Ugh.

i ate a bunch of candy.  lots and lots of twizzlers.  caramels.

The person who knows the  very most about my life before isn’t Sir Raven, or even me.  It’s Ira.  He wanted to know every single detail about life with Dawn.  The person who knows the most about life with my mother is probably Barb.  She said it was like watching a play, where the servant always knew what line they were to say, what they were to do, endless fussing over the Queen.

i think that Sir Raven dislikes what was put there before her.  Sometimes, she watches me get upset, my hands shaking or going to cover my ears.  She is always leaving things with the labels turned side ways.

i don’t know.  Service is all i have ever known.  i never knew there was a little girl inside of me until i was away from my mother, in my first (and M/s) relationship.  If nothing had been put there before, i guess i would have just disappeared here.  Because there is nothing holding me together sometimes.

How many years have i acknowledged consistently needing belt beating?  Lots.  And its a hard thing to say about myself.  It is something i hate the sound and feeling of, something i can’t escape from.  i can’t get away from the need.  i can’t get even further away from me.



It’s 2am. Again.

I’m exhausted, and cannot sleep.

My hair hurts.

My eyes hurt badly.  We are checking into new glasses and an eye exam for me.  i’m hopeful Sir Raven lets me just go to lenscrafters and be done.

Which reminds me-whilst i was online at Family Dollar, some perfect Asshole decided that he would comment about what he thought of my eye conditions (Can you see perfect?  Can you see me?).  This whole interaction came after me nearly walking into a car which was in the crosswalk, and a similar enough color to the street that i couldn’t see it.  Then, in a dash for the bus, i ran into what Sir Raven told me was some suitcases or something sitting in the path that i also never saw.  Then this-in the same day.

So, there was a man there and i went straight to stand online for what i needed.  He was right in front of me, apparently saw the white cane, and felt that gave him free license to say aloud that i could “see fine” and conduct his own impromptu eye exam on line by taking his white cell phone and moving it up close to my face and shaking it to decide for himself if i could see it or not.  Undeterred, he repeated the same thing many times, and i frankly thought he was going to hit me.  i could not understand what was going on.  Then i put the pieces together.  He was moving the cell phone around at different points, near my head, where if i had periphial vision i’d be able to see it.

i truly have no idea what this guy was thinking.  Somehow, if you have a visual disability people treat your body like it is some kind of public property.  They also comment about all types of things, as if blindness and deafness are one thing.  Spoiler alert-they aren’t.  Blind people can hear you.  We can also feel you.    Please avoid staring, following, touching, and other creepy behaviors.

i have had people touch me kindly.  Once, a woman noting that my top button was undone, kept moving hands toward me and stopping repeatedly.  Then, her maternal warmth took over her hands and she just did up my coat.


Sometimes, the only reason i even know what is going on is there is a high color contrast like the black man with the white phone, and figure out what happened later.  Or seeing what was likely fluttering hands that went with the woman who buttoned my coat and adjusted my scarf, like i was a young child.


Sometimes, its a well meaning person who is touching and tapping my shoulder, never realizing that this is very painful place to touch me.

Sometimes, it is just too much, and i go to bed and cry.


i’ve got a bit on my mind.  Some really good, some not.

So-the good:

i’m really thankful that i am on a break from classes.  It’s a short break, they always are, but it helps to just be able to breathe a bit.

It has been healing balm to have time to chat with friends at length.  It has been really nice that Sir Raven has asked me most days if i am resting, and she has just jumped in and helped out with extras.  She made my favorite dinner she makes yesterday.  Her chicken tenders and waffles are the best.

It was nice to meet Karida for lunch last week, and make it in to Pandora to have my bracelet cleaned.  It had gotten bad and needed a steam cleaning, which Pandora does for free.  i am really looking forward to be able to wear it again soon.

i have been able to read my text books for my new class without the pressure of needing to work at the same time.  i got one the day after my classes ended, and these chapters must be incredibly long because despite hours a day reading, i have only made it to chapter four. Sir Raven and i had a giggle, because my fire tells me a location, which sounds like a really impressive thing when the page number isn’t.  Heh.  My font is huge, so that accounts for it, but it is funny.

i work when school is out reading the last texts, and new ones, so i’m prepared.

Sir Raven has been super about reminding me to take breaks, and was really nice about it when i asked for a day with Karida and to go to the zoo Friday.  i haven’t been to the zoo since i lived in Tennessee, and i don’t know what i will be able to see.  Wait. i did go once in Florida with Sir, and scared everyone by nearly feeding the giraffe my hand on accident.

On the other side-

i have decided to rename Express Scripts the PONY EXPRESS scripts.  Guess who messed up meds again?  Yep.  This time, it’s worse, because it is Sir Raven’s meds.  Make me sick four times? Okay. Fine.  Forget her meds?  i want to start a war.  Mad mother bear alert.  Of course, Sir Raven expects pleasant and i do it through gnashed teeth.  It won’t help her for me to rant and rave because that will raise her blood pressure for sure.  Sigh.

They also messed up my meds again.  Damn them.  So i’m not feeling great.

In other news, sometimes things that really upset me take me forever to be able to talk about, if at all.  Over Christmas, i checked facebook for pictures of my boys.  What i found instead was my mother having a conversation with my kidnapper.  One where they were telling each other Merry Christmas, how they love each other, using old family names we had for each other.  Names that suggest a continued level of familial intimacy.

As a result, nightmares surface.  Sometimes, it is a physical thing that ends up doing it.  Like my foot and ankle that couldn’t handle the weight of the heavy chain, and sometimes aches from a fracture i caused when i tried hysterically to get it off.  In high humidity, rain, snow-i feel it.  Sometimes enough that it effects my walking.  i can’t do anything about it, but be glad that it never lasts in a ton of pain longer than a few days.  That can be enough, though, to start the nightmares.

As it turns out, going off meds cold turkey every time the express scripts messes up seems to cause a brief increase in nightmares too.  It’s a known side effect from withdraw from cymbalta.

Certainly, under expressed anger does it too.

The whole thing just makes me feel bad.  Sir Raven works hard to provide some of the best insurance anyone can have.  So this dumb change to being forced to get meds mailed is the one bad thing.  i know it makes her feel super bad, and so i try really hard to not let her know i’m suffering.  It’s damn sure not her fault.

The nightmares, additional pain, and being afraid to leave the house because i can’t miss our meds being delivered isn’t ideal.  i get so mad that it seems like i just can’t ever have a break that doesn’t contain some bs.

The other thing that is making nightmares kick up is the sort of small bit of depression that feels familiar.  This one time, when i really understood that i was going to have no way to try and run from Dawn, i sort of sank into something like this.  i spent three days crying.  i just couldn’t stop.  Something felt….broken inside.

It was like i felt a strange sense of relief then, and i settled into just trying to not give her any possible reason to ever get upset.  i stopped thinking of the ocean some fifty steps away.  i stopped thinking about wanting anything.  i stopped thinking about my boys, my dog, and anything else that i wasn’t going to have, anything else about a life where i knew love, warmth, freedom, or hope.  It helped.  i quit crying, quit fighting it inside, and sort of let myself sink in to what was.  All of those thoughts of outside life were hurting me.

And i don’t know exactly why, but i moved back into an acceptance.  It feels like letting yourself sink into the deep end of the pool, when it is warm and silent, without any urge to surface.

It doesn’t feel bad.

i think it started when SR took my hands into hers, and told me this move was happening, and there wasn’t going to be another option.

i had just found out that the Address Confidentiality Program was threatening to ban me from using their program, because i got mail that wasn’t responded to.  My safety felt threatened.

There are also the fears about school, as i’m reaching the point where i expected to feel different, better able to handle things around interning.  Everything is a massive catch 22 with it.  If i quit school, i have thrown away the last six years of work, and loose fully half of my income (derived from student loans).  If i keep going, i potentially risk loosing the small benefit i have.  So anything extra on top of that is daunting to think about.  i don’t have a picture in my head of what comes next, how i can make everything work.  i don’t have the safety net i had expected to have at this point.  i don’t even have my identity problems solved, in terms of getting the legal name change and other things done.  i’m too afraid to put out any information online about that i would need for a resume for internship.  i don’t know.  It is a lot, and good to know that some of it is really normal Grad student stuff.  Others are not.  The mix is exhausting.  It seems that all i know how to do is sink in and keep working as hard as i can in every direction.

Sir Raven. School. Health.  Keeping my head up, smile on, values intact.



Sir Raven turned on Super Soul Sunday last weekend.  We started watching it together before i ever came here and kept the tradition up for the first couple of years together.

The speaker said that we won’t have dreams that we cannot fulfill.

He said we may need to gain extra skills, experience, and so on but the basic innate ability is already in us if we have the desire and the dreams.

i keep turning this idea around, slowly, examining it from multiple angles.

My whole life, i wanted to surrender entirely:

i wanted to be a nun and a mother,

a teacher and an artist,

a helper.

i’ve done all of these things, in many ways, but disabilities have robbed me of a lot of opportunities.  My dream of teaching children didn’t die.  It can’t change form, either, realistically.  If i could still see print, i’d tutor for free again.  Certainly, i cannot imagine being able to open my own preschool anymore.  i wanted to have a place just for the kids of LGBT parents to explore life together.  It just isn’t in the cards.

Motherhood came, in the blessings of my Brandon, my Gabe, and my Jacob.  i don’t hurt anymore for my Brandon, he reached manhood, there was nothing more i could have done for him.  i miss my boys all of the time.  Part of my soul is with them and a part of them is with me.  We were just meant to be.  i have never begged God for anything more than to have a chance to save them.  By a very narrow margin, i may have.  Only time will tell how much damage it did for them to have the only warmth they knew taken away.

My dream of motherhood didn’t go anywhere.  i just can’t have my own children in this lifetime.  Sir Raven and i have talked of fostering, but talk is all we have done.  We don’t have the space to accommodate children now, and not in the foreseeable future, while i am still young enough to keep up with kids.

Who knows if they would just resent me anyhow, for being sick, for being unable to do things that sight requires.

It’s just another dream deferred, but the biggest dream of my heart, the one  thing that would bring me endless joy.

So i struggle to wonder at the words he said-that we wouldn’t have a dream we can’t fulfill.

Surrendering my life?  That feels like a Fail.

Sir Raven said months ago when we were talking that i was not the best slave she ever had.  And if i am not the best, then what is the point?

i suppose letting that really sink in-that i am not the best-changed me.  It is certainly a part of why i am more inclined to say my own needs aren’t being met.  If i am being neglected for a cause, i guess i can live with this.  But to be neglected for no reason?  No.  Just no.  i thought being the best slave for her meant not saying what i need from her.  To understand that i did that and am still not the best-well-it just feels like i failed.

i am a good companion for her.  We get along well in that way-extremely well.

i still try and do my best for her.  She is relaxing into some things, and i woke to a lovely handmade card today for Valentines Day.  That was a first and really sweet.  i celebrate un-Valentines Day with her-which is tomorrow.  i am excited about her gifts.  ❤

In other news, i have time to write again for awhile, because i finished my classes.  i’ve spent two days hauling laundry, restocking the house, and getting everything back to normal after the crunch of the last week.  i have been taking a damn bus to do laundry for going on two years now, and am so very sick of that.  It ends up being a three hour chore, at minimum.  On the plus side, Mc Donalds sells breakfast all day, and i got a sausage biscuit today.  Yummy.

i wonder if i fulfilled my contract in life, why do i still dream the same dreams?  i can’t really entirely stop thinking about this and weighing it.  Examining.  i live a surrendered life in many ways, and still long for a deeper connection, total interdependence.  The way i have been taught is that what i want is wrong, bad, and should be set aside.  Without the things that reach me, i feel adrift.  How in the world do you reconcile that with no one having a dream that you can’t make happen?  i work at it all of the time, but nothing feels right inside a lot.

i work my ass off in school to be a professional helper and don’t know how that will play out.  That is really scary.  i have no safety net.  i’m not worried about hurting future clients.  i’m worried about my body being able to manage the challenges of interning.  i’m worried about losing my little check and having absolutely nothing to fall back on.  i’ve been homeless before, and it haunts you.

Sir Raven is home.  i’m going to finish dinner, give some hugs, and rest after a long day.



Life of a slave

We have become so close to Sir Josh and Ro in the last couple of years that it feels strange to  me that i am deliberately holding back information from them.

i have been for over a year.

i notice its bothering me.

And i notice that when i was saying something about Sir Raven promising me something and then not doing it, how that had really negatively impacted our relationship,

Sir Josh said, mildly, “eh, the life of a slave.”


Just NO.

Without trust, what do we have?

i asked Sir Raven that just the other day, and she promptly replied, “Nothing.”

i expect to be told “no” often, to be denied treats or little joys, or whatever.  That would be along the lines of, Eh-it sucks-but its the life of a slave.

i do NOT expect to be promised something, worked for something, and then have it jerked away.

If i am saying i NEED something, then what i am saying was if i don’t get this-it is going to end up hurting me.  Eventually, that will hurt our relationship.

So, a pervasive pattern of broken promises matters.  Certainly, a lot of them were small things, which is almost worse in my mind.  Because it would have been so easy to just take care of it and me.  Or to just do something to indicate i matter.  To promise and then take it away is one of the ways my worth has been chipped away.

If i promise, i make it happen.

Yes, even as a slave, i expect that in return.

Not having it means i can’t trust in a Masters word, that i can’t have a sense of safety, that i am not worth tokens and symbols, that i am not worth the truth.

Begging for some silly treat for years, enduring being offered it and having it snatched back, lessens the joy i can experience when i finally get it.  i wish i wasn’t that way, but i am.

i don’t know how to fix these things.  It seems like i should know.   i don’t.

i think some of it is entirely my fault, because i love with a child’s fervor and dedication, with a child’s desire to believe in the face of every indicator that they should not.

i really just want to understand why it is so damn hard to just love me.

If you can understand how hard i have worked in this life, how hard i have tried to love beyond reason and still not care how i’m being treated…i just don’t know why that is.  But i suspect it has something to do with me not doing enough, or the ways i’m different that i can’t fix, or that i’m just not pretty enough to cause you to stop.

i’m still trying to fix me and feel like i fail more often than succeed.

winter just isn’t my season.

i’m around

i’m having hard times finding words or focus to write.

i’ve managed to not smoke this week again, so for most of a month i have done well.

i am angry.

More and more, i hear the ghostly hysteria of my mothers thoughts on this whole situation.  She would not be angry with me, but would resent what i’ve been through.  About things that i share here and things that i don’t.

i blew up the other day.  Just lost my shit totally.  It’s taken me five years-through calmly and quietly saying how behaviors make me sad, wound my sense of self, damage my self worth-none of which mattered enough to create change.

i keep thinking about that.

If someone i loved said my behavior was making them feel damaged, not worth much, unstable, suicidal-it would be my top priority to change immediately and totally.

i haven’t demanded change.

i binged. i starved. i turned the hate inward, like i always do.  Add a smile, look nice, do my part and more, keep my heart open.

None of that stuff endeared change.  Maybe seeing the tiniest glimmer of my anger will.

One thing is sure-

She would have NEVER survived my mother, who regularly reminded us during childhood that we were worthless, disgusting, damaged.  She also would go from extreme ignoring to no boundaries.  From physical abuse to main shopping sprees.  It’s not a mystery why i would cling to service, to something dependable, to not being forced to hide my feelings, or why i might resent not being able to purge them.  The only way the emotional and physical abuse was not going on constantly was that i was excellent at service, did all of the chores, all the work.  Above reproach.  Could never be called worthless or lazy or have to listen to quoted Bible Verses “He who does not work should not eat.” It did’t matter.  i wasn’t eating anyway.

i am 9/10 a stepford wife.

Something SR said she never wanted, but that is what she turned me into.  Familiar isn’t safe but it feels like it.

On the flip side, there is a ton of good stuff going on at the same time.

Her birthday, which i planned, was a total success.  We even had a small breakthrough where she managed to hear how i feel about something.  She loved the restaurant i chose, the food, the gifts.  It may have taken us five years to get to a place where she can relax and receive love, but that is a miracle of its own.  We did that.  And it was important.

We met with coworkers for dinner and drinks that next day.  Then with Sir Josh and Ro after that for our Biannual Korean Bar-b-que.  Things went off the rails, for me.  It’s one thing for us to be sitting around doing a podcast with SR bellowing at me, “Hush up! Shut up!” but different in public.  It didn’t feel good and i had my heart all open and stuff.  We had just done returns, and SR surprised me by doing something very kind, seeing and picking out two handbands.  So i was feeling like Daddy’s Pretty Little Girl and had my heart all open and got it slammed shut.

It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster ride emotionally.

Also Express Scripts pisses me off.  No meds.  Third time.  This is just the worst.

i do love Sir Raven.  i’m sad when i see glimpses of how we were in happier times because i can’t trust in them.  i don’t know how to manage my own emotions.  i am exhausted, physically and emotionally.  Thank God i’m in the last few days of school and get a break coming up.  i need it.

Also-need meds.  this time, it’s the pain pills.  Yesterday, SR looked over at me and said that she couldn’t see the look of pain on my face anymore, and helped me get into bed, tucked me in.  i think i am a far better actor than i am at covering the pain, until i can’t anymore.  It is hard to not start feeling hysterical inside when i have to face that i need help.  i always wonder if that is why things go badly.

Karida and i had a lovely tea, which made me aware of how much i need to sink into a safe little girl spot and just be.  Later, in the glittery headband store, i was sort of rocking and singing the sound song i had made up for Jacob, so we could talk to each other.  He didn’t speak or vocalize much, but i made a song that sounds like what happy sounds me made.  Otherwise, we used signs.  The only word he would say is Mama, for me.  i hadn’t realized i had gone away that far inside of myself until i was sort of rocking back and forth, quietly singing the song.  When i did realize what i was doing, i stopped and took of the princess tiara and tried to talk instead.  i can only hope that her Daddy was so mesmorized by her, that she didn’t notice me being a strange bird that cannot fly.