Opposition, and abuse

Actually I don’t wake up in the morning hoping for overwhelming abuse and opposition. Just to let everyone know. It is simply that if I folded or gave up every time someone bullied, and in this world there are a great many bullies, ones almost every day, then I would be part of the problem. Then it would not be long until I would be standing by watching injustice being done in front of my eyes, being done in my name and doing nothing because….well, I don’t want to be bullied.

I did have to hold off a couple comments because I did state that the Mr. Anon in the previous piece was an archtype and it became easier to attack him than it did to share of ourselves. Also that Mr. Anon was going to be an advocate one day, he just didn’t know it yet, because age, if nothing else introduces us to pain, to chronic conditions and to our limitations. So while I put my name out on this blog and continue to stand up as the whipping child, I was giving Mr. Anon a pass, he spoke his piece and I spoke mine. So if your comment didn’t appear and you want to repost it without the attacks on Mr. Anon I will be happy to publish them. I don’t want the comments section to be an “in club” or a place where there is ugly attacks at length. And if you do like that, I can recommend you to several feminist blogs where the many dozens to hundreds of comments on the post are often viscous attacks of individuals.

For me, it seemed today was a lot about learning who I was, and who I wasn’t and what I was good for and what my value is (less than $500 in case you are wondering). I have been emotionally attacked several times today and physically a couple too. Some of those were by proxy. Turns that, for me at least, there is a difference between emotional pleasure and emotional pain, and between physical pleasure and pain.

Yesterday, while trying to come up with the #10 reason of why to live, I quickly ran through my mind and came up with 10 reasons why I should die. Pretty high up there is because a great many people would be pretty darn happy with that outcome; it would resolve all sorts of conflict from relatives unable to tell anyone about us as a couple to people who still don’t “accept” my being sick. Darn it, another one of those ‘lifestyle choices.’

I did a blog today for the Postcard Project. I also ended up working out the average cost per postcard. But the number is so ludicrous that I have no intention of telling anyone. I have managed to get past my fear barrier and put some things on ebay, a couple of which have sold. Ironically, I have spent 1/3 of the money already on a set of 12 postcards. And I have a few more orders for stickers and postcards in. Yes, I will never learn. But on the other hand, if I did cocaine or heroin, it would be of no good to anyone but myself, while with this, I presumably help others, or at least give myself the illusion that such is so.

I had some prolonged contact with some family members today so there was some talk about sexual abuse (mine), and how sort of unmemorable it was for everyone else. Oh well. I guess it is like the news, got to keep the abuse current to keep it interesting or have memorable conversations. So I am in the mood for a good rape if anyone wants to drop on by.

Also, was going to make a joke about if anyone wanted to do a snuff film but then realized I wasn’t joking. You know, that kind of nice head space.

The problem about having a blog by your name, filled with pictures of you, and the like is that if people WANT to hurt you, in email or otherwise, sometimes not even intentionally, it is really quite easy. There is literally no place to hide. It took I believe about 26 hours from me revealing the disability I was most ashamed of and one which I am quite capable of hiding, brought back to me held in the air as a reason I was a lesser person.

So it would be easy to not do something like that again. Except then there is no point to this blog in the first place. There are no awards listed on the sides of this blog because I don’t display them. This blog is about either the writing, the story or both. And when either bores you, please feel free to depart, to find someone with a disability who is more interesting.

I am not, it seems, a disability activist, because I only write about ONE person generally who has a disability. Nor am I a feminist, because I write about being disabled (which I guess comes under Hobby?), dunno. Not engaged in the feminist blog wars of today, which doesn’t seem to include whether all women can ride city buses or be able to apply for jobs; able bodied or otherwise, but about more ‘important issues.’ In fact if there is one thing I can almost assure every reader is that this blog is not going to be considered about ‘important issues.’ I don’t blog about politics (intentionally), or lesbian gossip or films (intentionally), it has pretty much been limited now to what is it like from a single point of view to face pain, to face indifference in a medical system, to face loss, grief, degeneration, and death. And it covers both the physical and emotional ways in which a single individual tries to deal and cope with that. And that’s it. A conversation today about my funeral, how I want a small wake, and who is not to be allowed.

Lyrica is great and Lyrica helps me have a time when I can do things and plan things and get things done before it stops working, because when it does, the shit is really going to hit the fan. I was going to post several days ago that if you WANT a postcard that you had better ask very, very soon, because the quality of my writing, the effort it takes me to hold a pen and the times at which I am simply illegible are increasing. But then I had a good day and so I put it off. That is what life is like right now. I am taken to the brink over and over again and then I manage to have a good day and I put it off. I don’t kill myself today. I don’t stay in bed today. I don’t give up on going outside four times a week today. I don’t give in to the pain today.

Except today I did. Today I beat my face until it was raw. And my body. I did it for some of you. Since you weren’t here to do it in person, or drag me behind your pickup truck. It is my demon and today it came out to play. Linda grabbed me, she hurt me. She shoved me, she body slammed me. After that anything was fair game. She had told me that my body was something to be used, and so I used it and used it until there was no more left. Until I hit the walls with the force.

You know, I don’t really like to face abuse and overwhelming opposition and bullying. But it is, in some ways, all I know, all I know about people and all I know about myself.

I will be back and I will continue to post the things I hide, the things I am ashamed of becuase this is my record and I don't know how else to do it. I'm not allowed a cat you see, management says no.