Mother's Day Thoughts

Mother's day is coming up. Suffice it to say, I hate fucking family holidays. Mother's Day, Father's Day, Christmas, the list goes on. Halloween is one of the few holidays I do celebrate because no one, I mean no one, took it away from me. My mom used it as an excuse to kick us kids out so she could get high. Sometimes she even got into it and made us costumes. Those were rare, but beautiful times. The few moments I was allowed to be the child I was.

Mother's day is usually the worst for me. That and her death and birthdays. This year, I let her birthday just drift past me. By the time I remembered it, the day had passed. I had better things to do then think about someone who barely cared if I lived or died.

Mother's day is harder because people point it out. They post pictures of their mothers, they share happy stories about how wonderful it was to be raised by a woman who loved them. They are truly blessed. I have no such stories. I have pictures, but I don't want to look at them. They don't reflect the reality of what living with my mother was truly like. No one could possibly understand how good she was at lying. The pictures don't capture the pain and loneliness of living with an addict and abuser.

She was a narcissist, a drug addict, and a monster. She couldn't tell the truth to save her life. The part of her that still survived and saw what she had become is probably the same part that killed her. She had so much self loathing, she could fill an ocean with her tears. She was still human under the monster, and I sometimes wonder if that was the part that ended it all.

I'm not going to dwell too much on her on Mother's day. Not anymore. I am my own mother. Always have been. I comforted myself when things were hard. I cradled my inner child as she wept for her mother, wrapping her in the safety of my embrace. I raised myself, and my little sister. I signed my own permission forms, forging my mother's signature. Which isn't easy when your mother is an artist who writes in calligraphy. I stopped expecting her at my performances. I was in the choir and in musicals and I kept doing them for me. Not for her or anyone else. I don't need an applause to do something.

I am getting a tattoo on Sunday. From my sister of the heart. I told her I wanted a monster kid tattoo. Something that reflected what that means to me. I think it's the perfect thing to have tattooed on Mother's Day.

I am the mother of monsters. So Happy Mother's day self. Hope you have a great day Big Mama.

"Not only did I survive, I learned to Blossom."

No Tears Please...That's A Waste Of Good Suffering

I believed these words all my life. Before I ever saw Hellraiser or read Hellbound Heart. It's probably why when I read Clive Barker's book, I felt it resonated with me.

But this isn't about that. This is about Tears. Those wet, droplets of humanity that roll down our faces. Everybody cries. But not everyone cries with respect for their tears.

I have spent the last few days crying off and on. From soft, quiet tears that roll down burning cheeks to heavy, deep sobs that wrack my entire being in their power. Tears that have been plugged up for weeks, maybe even months. Tears I should let out more often.

I've had a lot of good reasons to cry. Around this time last year I was put in the hospital 3 times because my mental state was "unstable." I went through a lot, and I am working through the pain. And there is a lot of pain. Pinhead wouldn't be able to even touch the levels of pain I have endured, and I would laugh at his efforts of trying to break me.

But I was raised to fear my tears. To hate them. To feel shame when they rolled down my cheeks. Sometimes I even felt betrayed by them. A sure sign of my weakness. Of my face slipping. Of my composure breaking. It was part of my abuse. And because of that, I hated them with every fiber of my being.

When I grew up, my tears were used as a weapon. From my early years where my mother used them to beat me more, "Stop your crying or I will give you a reason to cry!" My rapists used them to dehumanize me and fetishise what they did. They'd laugh at my pain and get off on it, until I stopped crying and made them face my rage. As they held me down or forced me to do things, I'd glare at them with such venom, Jennifer from I Spit On Your Grave would fear me. Later in life when my lovers would tell me I was being "Too emotional"whenever it suited them to bail out of dealing with me, I would blame myself. Because crying always made things worse. It didn't matter the reason for crying. Tears have always been used against me.

So I tend to cry alone. I can fully feel them that way. And you really, truly need to cry sometimes. Even if you feel weak for doing it after.

I didn't cry until years later when my mother died. Not healthy, grieving tears. Sometimes angry tears slide down my face but they aren't the tears one needs to move through grief. They are a good opener, because my rage for many years was my shield against the shitty crap life threw at me. but angry tears feel like a betrayal. Any time I cry in public, I feel rage. These days, it's just shame, but I still get angry for feeling that shame. Because no one should feel bad for crying.

Crying is normal. Crying means you care. It's okay to care. 

In a world where we are told conflicting things like, "I am cold and rational, therefore I am better than you...", having FEELS is a joke. Feelings are boiled down to a meme and a punch line, because no one wants to deal with them. Even people who feel too much like me. And being bipolar, I feel too much. I am on drugs to regulate my feelings, because my emotions aren't normal. I have a chemical imbalance that sometimes people use to explain me away. I can flip from complete cold asshole to raging crazy person depending on if I am manic or not. But I don't let the drugs mute me. I take what I need to stabilize, and no more. So I can have some rationality back. But I am careful to not let others tell me how to feel ether. Even my doctors. And I refuse to have my feelings belittled anymore. Boiled down to sayings like, "What are you, on your rag?"

Even if I am, I have the right to cry. My periods fucking suck thanks to PCOS. There is a reason I call it my "monstrous moontime." Everyone feels, even those who claim they are above it all.

Everyone feels. We all have chemicals in our brains that cause us to feel. Ignoring this fact does a disservice to yourself.

When you've suffered as much loss and heartache as I have, you have to fight to reclaim the parts of you they took. The parts you tossed out of yourself. Sometimes you have to reclaim those parts over and over until it sticks. The ugly tears. The raging wailing. The punching of pillows. The feelings of being small and helpless. You learn to allow yourself to feel fully. The deep pains as well as the surface stuff. You learn to forgive yourself for mistreating your tears. You learn to stop being "macho" to hide your sensitive, hellbound heart.

It's not a waste of good suffering. Tears make suffering more meaningful.

Rebuilding The Beast

I know I've said it before, but I will say it again, my hubby is a rockstar.

Today was the eclipse and maybe that had something to do with it. Or maybe it was the fact we are both super sore and tired of the current way of things. Literally. My husband has back issues and so do I. Ever since I injured myself, my back has never been the same. And coming out of the hospital and looking at all the debt collectors who want money for those visits, has really crushed me emotionally. I can't live like this. My doctors say I am too fat. I am over 200 pounds and I am a tiny person. I am only 5 foot 3. This is not good for me, and not just because of the Fibro and other Chronic shit. I know some of my weight gain is the drugs they put me on, but not all of it. And I have been eating for comfort a lot. Because it is one of the few vices I gave myself excuses for.

No more.

I told my husband I wanted to hurt less. That I should change my diet like my doctors say. That I need to exercise more, but carefully, so I don't cause more injuries. He agreed, and said he should do it too because he feels like shit as well. He wants to be stronger for LARPING, and so do I. I want to be able to do fights more. I like fighting. I have always been a fighter. I don't feel defeated anymore. I feel angry. And I am going to use that rage to get healthier.

It helps that my hubby wants to do this too though. Having a workout buddy who can bitch you out when you need it and wipe your tears is essential. It's going to suck a lot to start with. We are gonna slowly phase out junk food from our house and replace it with veggies and protein. We have decided a routine we are going to try that will help build strength and muscle, then we will go into endurance. I told him my pace will be slow to start, and I am gonna get mad a lot. Especially at myself when I cant do what I think I should be able to do. I know he will support me and keep me inspired to keep going. He knows me. And I will do the same for him.

I think what made this more real was when I admitted to myself that this is just another part of my life. I won't allow all this chronic illness shit to dictate who I am. I am a fucking bad ass. And I will be a bad ass again. This was a minor setback. My entire life up till now has been a hard fucking road, so it's no different that my damn mid 30's be hard as well. This is just how it is, and like my past, I will overcome again and prove them all fucking wrong.

I am better than chronic illness. I'm a Kweenybeast. And I will go out like a fucking beast.