Today I need a laugh

So enjoy this cute little video of a dog confused by an egg.  Made me smile… just what I needed right now.

Have a good nite!

Hey Jupiter

Small step… write about one thing…


I’ve been listening to Tori’s “Boys for Pele” a lot lately.  It’s kinda always been a special one for me, though not easy to put into words why.  But it’s a cd I got shortly after the rape.  I wasn’t feeling a whole lot of anything then and what I was wasn’t great.  Something about this music though hit me in an emotional way most music hadn’t, and in a way that not much at that time really was.  I don’t understand about half the lyrics, but there is so much emotion that comes through in the music, it doesn’t even matter.

Kind of funny then, to read the wiki on this album (the whole page is rather interesting…):

“Two underlying currents run through Boys for Pele: exploring the role of women in both patriarchal religion and relationships. Amos had previously written songs in a religious and/or theological context (“Crucify” from Little Earthquakes (1992), “God” from Under the Pink), but her viewpoint takes a particularly feminist slant on this album. “The feminine part of God has been circumcised out of all religions… God (is) a patriarchal force, a very masculine energy, with the feminine having been subservient, either being the mother, the lover, the virgin, but never the equal, never to have the whole.”[15] “Muhammad My Friend”, the eighth track on the album, best represents this aspect of the album’s theme with the line, “It’s time to tell the world/We both know it was a girl back in Bethlehem…

…The album’s cover is a photo of Amos holding a large rifle, sitting in a rocking chair on the porch of an old wooden building. One of her legs is out of her pants and flung over the side of the chair. A snake coils around the chair and a large rooster hangs from the roof of the porch. The image is a nod to her song “Me and a Gun,” which appears on the album Little Earthquakes and recounts a rape she sustained. “Well, it’s [the cover of the album] a reference to Me and a Gun, a song I wrote that was on Little Earthquakes. And the idea that there’s a dead cock on my right and a live snake on my left. And the idea is that death and life… creation… what it’s taken me to get here with men, and I don’t want to be angry anymore. And you turn it over and you put the gun down, but I’m not pretending what it’s taken to get me here. But no more resentment.” [Live105 San Francisco (radio) – February 7, 1996] It was taken by Cindy Palmano in October 1995 in New Orleans.[21]

The first song from the album I ever heard and still a favorite:


“Hey Jupiter”

No one’s picking up the phone
Guess it’s me and me
And this little masochist
She’s ready to confess
All the things that I never thought
That she could feel

Hey Jupiter
Nothing’s been the same
So are you gay?
Are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend
To run to
And I thought I wouldn’t have to be with you
Something new

Sometimes I breathe you in
And I know that you know
And sometimes you take a swim
Found your writing on my wall
You left my heart soaking wet
Boy your boots can leave a mess

Hey Jupiter
Nothing’s been the same
So are you gay?
Are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend
To run to
And I thought you wouldn’t have to keep
With me

Thought I knew myself so well
All the dolls I had
Took my leather off the shelf
Your apocalypse was fab
For a girl who couldn’t choose between
The shower or the bath

And I thought I wouldn’t have to be
With you
A magazine

No one’s picking up the phone
Guess it’s clear he’s gone
And this little masochist
Is lifting up her dress
Guess I thought I could never feel
The things I feel

Hey Jupiter
Nothing’s been the same
So are you gay?
Are you blue?
Thought we both could use a friend
To run to

Hey Jupiter
Nothing’s been the same
So are you safe?
Now we’re through?
Thought we both could use a friend
To run to
Hey Jupiter

Cutting my hands up

How do you still break my heart after so many damn years?  I get it now… I keep asking you for something you just don’t know how to give me.  Or maybe you don’t have it to give at all.  Can I fault you for that?  I know I keep faulting myself.  WHY CAN’T YOU JUST SEE ME?  love me?  Does anybody really ever see anybody else?  I’m sorry it makes you feel so conflicted.  I only want to understand… and… perhaps see.  Don’t you get that all these years, I have only wanted to see you too?

Is it wrong to want so little, so much?  I don’t know.  I just know it tears me up every time I try to find that line, that thread that connects me to you.  And with every question I ask, you just think I’m trying to hurt you?  I don’t understand.  And you tell me it’s just me.  Why do I have to make it so difficult?  Why do I need to know?

Somedays I want to run so far far away… find that solitude, cut away my past.  What if its the only way I can find myself?  But the strongest sword in the world never seems to completely hack away that tie.

You say it like I have some devious plot- to throw a bomb out into the midst and see what kind of conflict I can stir up?  Don’t you understand, the bomb dropped forever ago.  Its the shrapnel in my heart I’m trying to clear out.  Pieces with your name on it… just… help me.  Please.

But you don’t know how.


This will probably make nearly zero sense.  But this is the song I’m feeling right now.  It’s about a different kind of relationship so I changed the words to my words down below.  Just seemed to fit for me.

All the world just stopped now.  So you say you don’t want to try to understand anymore

Let me take a deep breath…

if you need me, me and him’ll be hanging out with the dream king.

He says hi, by the way

It don’t believe it’s cause me and Charles Manson like the same ice cream.

I think it’s “that girl”. I know there are pieces of me you’ve never seen.  Maybe I’m just pieces of me you’ve never seen well.

All the world is all I am

The black of the blackest ocean and that tear in your hand

All the world is dangling dangling dangling for me darlin’

You don’t know the power that you have with that tear in your hand.

Maybe I ain’t used to maybes smashing in a cold room

Cutting my hands up every time I touch you

Maybe it’s time to wave goodbye now… time… to wave… goodbye

Caught a ride with the moon. 

I know you well, well better than I used to

Haze all clouded up my mind in the daze of the way it could’ve never been

so you say and I say… I know I’m full of wish

But I tell you there’re pieces of me you’ve never seen

I’m just pieces of me you’ve never seen…

All the world is all that I am

The black of the blackest ocean and that tear in your hand.

All the world is dangling dangling dangling for me darlin’

You don’t know the power that you have with that tear in your hand.

Acheivement Unlocked

Total panic attack right now.  Freaking out and want to throw up.  Sheesh.  I used to have clonazepam “as needed” for this shit.

So I saw the phsyc doc about 2 weeks ago to kind of get his view on the ECT or if he had other ideas for meds.  He was actually quite ambivalent and unhelpful about the ECT, saying he wouldn’t discourage me from checking it out further, but he wasn’t actually saying “yes lets do this” either.  He DID suggest that instead of taking clonazepam so irregularly that it would probably do me more good to take it twice a day every day.  I had been taking one most of the the time but my prescription was for up to 3 if I needed.  So now I’m taking two at night before bed, which HAS helped me sleep better and hopefully will keep me “level” rather than “up and down” as the psych put it.  BUT if I”m full of anxiety right now after taking my 2  nearly 3 hours ago, can I still take another one without messing up this trial of seeing if the dosage change help?  I DON”T FREAKING KNOW.


I started writing this an hour ago and have since been able to address one of the main reasons freaking me out.  I have to go out of town for a while and was invited to stay a couple days at one of my best friend’s house.  I REALLY wanted to say yes, (so I did!) because I SO FREAKIN” WANT TO BE NORMAL!  And I so look forward to spending time with this friend.  But it’s a newer house, one I don’t know well… she’ll have other family there… and while she totally gets where I am emotionally/mentally/physically right now… well… keeping up the facade for everyone else is tough.  And nights are so hard for me.  I started worrying about everything that could go wrong and I was just freaking out.  Nearly threw up.

BUT bonus points for me- I’m learning to recognize and respect my needs.  I called her and hardly got 3 words out and she was like “I totally understand.  No worries!”  Then we chatted for another hour and it was so great.  SHE’s so great.  True friends are few, but the ones I have are the best.

Anxiety is still high though.  Hoping it will just calm down soon if I can wait it out a bit longer.

The Sound of My Heart

I don’t know if anything has ever touched me so deeply,  If you could hear my heart… This is her song.  “The Heart Asks Pleasure First – The Promise” by Michael Nyman from “The Piano.”

I love this song so much that I continually play it badly on the piano every chance I get.  It would be awesome to master someday and let the song flow from my body itself.  But for now…

Mah bellydancing belly

So tomorrow I head out of town to meet with my surgeon and get my labs done and ready for surgery on wednesday.  As much as I’m looking forward to it, I’m still having moments of anxiety and feeling sorry for myself.  I just keep thinking about how my tummy will never look the same.  And it feels weird.  When Halloween was here, I’d thought about dressing up in one of my bellydance outfits and as I tried it on, I just got really bummed about that part of things.  I haven’t danced in a long time ’cause I haven’t felt well, but I miss it and always hoped to return.  There’s really nothing that says I can’t now, but I’m not sure how comfortable I’d ever be performing in front of people knowing my “poop bag” is showing.

So, because I was feeling nostalgic and stuff, I uploaded a few videos and thought I would share them.  I’ve almost got a smile in some of these videos, so you can tell I loved it.  Bellydance gave me strength, confidence, release, and sisterhood.  Things I would love to bring back into my life.


This is my very first performance, when I was just a wee baby bellydancer. I’m the one on the far right with the short red hair:

This one was my first experience coming up with any choreography.  My friend and I worked it ourselves and it was fun.  I’m the one beginning on the left.


The last troupe I danced with, we called ourselves “Inara” and it included my BFF, Teri.  We did 2 different choreographies.  The first one, I am the one in orange, starting on the left.  (I also made the hair pieces we wore, something I was pretty proud of!)


This last one was the second-to-last time I ever performed.  But this is another I got to input a lot on choreo and it was a fun one to dance to.  (I’m second one on left and I’m really still just a baby bellydancer.)



So, now you have an idea what I look like and you know one of my biggest loves in the world.  I hope I get the guts to return to it someday.  If not, then I wanted to make this post as a reminder to myself of everything bellydance was to me.  It’s one of those things I always see my “dream self” doing, so either way I think it will always be a big part of my soul.  Hope you enjoyed the videos!


Just a heads up, I probably won’t be writing much for the next week or so.  Not really sure yet what to expect from the surgery but I hear it’s a difficult recovery so it might be a while before I feel up to much sitting at the computer.  But, hopefully, I will still be reading (even if I don’t comment) and I’ll try to post an update here and there.  Love and thanks to you all for all the support you’ve been giving me lately.  Surgery is Wednesday.  Wish me luck!

High Hopes

New plan.  Post before reading.  I get so into reading what everyone else is writing and then I can’t find the words to post about my own stuff.  So here’s the dealio:  As I mentioned before, I’ve been sort of overwhelmed with some things.  My parents were here a couple of weekends ago, which was great- they came specifically to help me clean up and organize my apartment (Trust me, I needed outside help!).  But I was so sick the whole time.  I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to do anything, I couldn’t sleep, and dang it, throwing stuff away is HARD for me.  It was work, just sitting there watching my mom go through stuff asking me if I was keeping this or getting rid of that.  So I was exhausted after they left.  Slept for like 24 hours after that.  (But my apartment looks much better now, less depressing, so thanks mom!)

Anyway, I’ve just been getting sicker and sicker.  Feeling crappy more often than not.  No appetite, losing weight, not sleeping, more pain.  I finally heard back from my surgeon who had taken my biopsy slides and history to a “conference” she has with other IBD specialists in the area.  They all pretty much agreed that I had chronic pouchitis and it wasn’t going away.  I could keep trying to treat it medicinally, but she (and they) felt like it was really only worth it if I needed that peace of mind of feeling like i had exhausted every single option.  They all felt that it would probably end the same way- needing to have the pouch removed and having a permanent illeostomy.

I had already decided after the miserable weekend with my folks, I was having surgery of some sort.  I am just too exhausted to keep going like this and to not be able to enjoy spending time with loved ones.  We moved to this town a year ago and I literally don’t know anyone here because I rarely leave the house.  No friends.  No family.  Just the hubster- who is wonderful and all, but ya know we need more than that.  So I’d been doing the research.  I spent a lot of time over at and I did a lot of research on k-pouches and the BCIR.  These are basically similar in that they still use an internal pouch like I have with my j-pouch, but instead of wearing an ostomy bag, you plug a catheter into it to empty a few times a day.  But no outside appliance to wear.  So it sounds pretty good.  But I can still get pouchitis with it and likely would since I’ve had it already.  The pouchitis might cause symptoms like cramping, stomach pain, and fatigue but I wouldn’t have to worry about urgency and continence anymore.  The other drawback is that there are only a few places that do k-pouches or BCIR.  And if I have a problem then I have to fly to wherever I had the surgery done intially to get it fixed.  So it could end up being costly and still not resolve some of my main issues, namely the fatigue.

So I had a lot of decision making to do there.  But I’ve decided the traditional illeostomy has the best chance to make me feel better so that’s what I’m doing.  (It’s possible I may be able to try a k-pouch later down the road, but that depends on different things.)  So Nov 7 I am having the surgery done.  When I come out of it, I’ll have a hole in my stomach with my gut sticking out and what they call a “barbie butt”.  Yeah.  They’re gonna totally sew up my back end.  Which, I think right now, is bothering me more than anything.  And it’s really hard to put words to it, but I think that when you’ve survived bodily trauma, you become extra protective of your physical identity.  And now, once again, I feel like life is just laughing at me right in the face.  Growing up LDS, you’re told “your body is a temple; that’s why you don’t get tattoos and piercings, etc”  But I feel like “God/life/chance/universe/whatever” has done more damage to my body than anything I have ever chosen to do.  At least when I get a tattoo or pierce my nose, or color my hair blue and green, it’s my choice and it comes from a place of honoring my body and the person who lives in it.

*sigh* I’m delving into a new topic there… anyway, bottom line.  Big life changes goin’ on, and I HATE CHANGE.  Do NOT WANT.  But such is life… mine anyway.

=-=-= For the record, I do know that some people out there have it far worse or have had similar experiences.  It’s not the end of the world for me.  It’s just tough going through and I need to talk about it somewhere!

I’m going to add this video.  The song has been in my head all day… it makes me grieve for lost innocence and lost dreams… and… just makes me feel so many things.

The first time and the last time… self harm

Someone else wrote about the topic of self harm the other day and I thought I would share my own experience as it is part of the road I have traveled in learning to cope with trauma.  You can read the original post at


9207e756b2b8db7d3438541448c4626f(picture was found on pinterest, don’t know who to credit)


I remember the first time… I supposed anyone would.  It was… 15 years ago?  I was trying to deal with the never ending anxiety and constant state of alertness I was in.  I had a little corner in my bedroom, I lit some candles and some incense and tried to meditate.  I hadn’t ever really tried this before, unless you count prayer growing up… and even then- I’ve always had a hard time being in the moment- connecting to it.  I can recognize that now.  But growing up, I didn’t know those words… have the language.  I don’t know why I disconnect, disassociate.  It’s just always been a coping mechanism I guess.  But in the year after the rape, I started to learn the words, and I started to recognize the ever present state.

I had also just started massage school.  So I was learning new things, about body awareness, mindfulness… things that sounded wonderful and I KNEW they could help me.  (It sounded so easy in those days….)  So yeah, candlelight, incense, deep breathing… try to clear the mind… HA.  I kinda freaked out.  A lot.  And I remember looking at that incense stick kind of curiously.  And I wanted to feel it.  I picked the stick up and just slowly pressed it into my arm.  Just drawn to it.  And it was such a relief!  Suddenly clarity!  CONTROL!  visibility.  Things my insides did not have.  It was… peaceful.  Just what I had been looking for!  I pressed it into my arm again, feeling that connection to my pain.  And I just started repeatedly jabbing the thing all over my arm.  I don’t know how many times.  But it was almost like taking a paint brush and painting pretty little dots.  Springy… from one to the next.  It was… happy.

(It’s really weird looking at this memory and smiling… because I know how fucked up it is.)

And when I was done, my arm was a mess… but I was proud of it in a weird way.  I remember the next day, I was sitting in class… and I had pulled the sleeve up on my shirt just a little bit.  I want to say it was accidentally… but I’m not honestly sure there wasn’t some part of me that wanted someone to see it.  And I remember I caught the girl sitting next to me staring at it, and I said something crazy about grease splatter and I’m sure she didn’t buy it, but I think she was the only one who really saw it.  Eventually they healed.  I remember it kind of scared me, the power I felt when I was doing it, and the ease at which I got caught up in it… I only did that one other time, years later.  But I remember for the next few years, when summer would come and my arms would get a little color, you could see all these white spots, scars all over my arm.  And I always liked the way they looked.  I admit, even now, I wish I could still see them, but they eventually faded away.

I think it was a while before I tried anything else.  A couple of months at least.  I think I’d had some medication changes that made my anxiety skyrocket… I can remember taking my lunch break at work and going to the grocery store where I bought a steak knife.  And I can remember going back to the parking lot at work, sitting in my car and lightly running it all over my arms.  Just enough to leave scratch marks.

Here’s the thing- I’m kinda a wuss about pain… well, I used to be anyway.  I don’t know if I ever cut deep enough to draw actual blood.  So I call myself a scratcher 🙂  But yeah, the steak knives and the “scratching”- that became the method of choice for… the next 2 or 3 years?

The last time…  I had started taking ambien again to help me sleep.  The drawback was that I looked forward to that first hour after taking it, because it was the best I felt every day.  (I missed the whole drinking, partying, etc stage in life so ambien was really my first experience with anything remotely mind-altering.)  Ambien always made me feel so damn creative!  And I used to write a lot.  So I remember reading some things I had written the next day.  And it freaked me the hell out.  I can’t even remember what I wrote, but it was about cutting and blood and it was just messed up.  And I started to worry that I’d do something while on Ambien and go too far.  Control was a big part of the need to cut, so losing control just wasn’t going to work for me.  I decided I was done.

The next time I felt that urge so powerfully, I tried painting it.  I went to Walmart, got a cheap canvas and some paints.  I came home and started painting.  First the flesh, then the cutting.  And it actually worked for me.  So well, that for a long time, all I had to do was look at my painting and it brought relief.


I still get the urge.  And there have been a few times I have come pretty damn close to giving in.  But it’s been about 12 years now since I painted that picture.  Being stubborn sometimes plays into my favor… and now I’ve got the control issue working for me instead of against.

So that’s my story.  I thought the post I linked to above went into why people self- harm and explained it pretty well, so I didn’t repeat.  I also thought she listed some great alternatives… coping strategies.  I think we all have our reasons and our methods for getting through it.  And I’m not really sure why, but I really felt the urge to share my own experience here.  Read Heather’s post above, if you haven’t.  People are complicated things and we deal with things in complicated ways.  It’s so hard to know how to help or react to someone who is dealing with some of these things and one of the things I hope to accomplish in keeping this blog is normalizing what might seem like really abnormal behavior.  I’m not in any way saying that self-harm is a healthy coping strategy, but I think it helps to know that we are not alone in our experiences.  We are normal people just trying to get by.



Full Disclosure:  You know how when you share something like this you kind of get that little bit of anxiety about what people will think when they read it?  Someone in group therapy once derisively called me a “mormon drug user” when I mentioned ambien.  And it really stung.  I have anxiety that people will read this and not think my experiences are valid… (“ambien? ha… what a sheltered little girl…”) (“only a scratcher?  That doesn’t count!”)  I actually KNOW that people won’t think that, but I’m still afraid they will?  Hmmm….I’m really in a sharing mood right now.

Taking space

So… I haven’t dropped off the face of the earth 🙂  I’m still around… The last couple of weeks have been just really overwhelming to me and I’ve had trouble finding both the energy and words, so I avoid.  I am very good at that.  I avoid so well that most of the time I don’t even know what it really is that I am avoiding.  But it wears on me the longer I do it.  Tonight, I just feel a very heavy heart.

I don’t do very well with identifying my own pain.  It’s very rare that I can sit with it when I find it.  On the rare occasion in therapy that I let the tears flow, there’s a quick moment where I mentally go, “hey I’m crying, well this is good…” but then it’s gone.  And I cannot reconnect with it.  I can talk about things and share the stories of my life, but it’s like they happened to someone else.  It’s really really rare that I can share the story and the emotion in the same space.  I just don’t know how.  But I’m really good at feeling pain for others.  Hearing other stories and feeling anger, helplessness, sadness, pain for what others have experienced.  This isn’t necessarily a bad thing.  Empathy is one of the things I love about myself.  But I don’t balance it well.  And I think the more I am running from my own stuff, the more I allow it to overwhelm me.

I love this blogging space that I’ve discovered.  I started writing for me, and never really expected to connect so strongly to so many people.  And I love the interaction I have had with so many people here.  I’m grateful for it.  And I’m not going anywhere 🙂  But if it seems that I am around less or commenting less, it’s because I have to respect the part of me that is overwhelmed with so many things right now- things that are mine and things that are not mine.  I’ll still be reading though… I love all of you I have connected with.  And I love reading what you share.  I’m just working out my shit 🙂

Hopefully I’ll be able to write more soon, too.  I love being able to share here.  It’s become really important to me, this space and all of you who are reading.  Just needing some time to separate the words from the feelings, I guess.  Thanks to everyone who continues to follow and support – you mean the world!


Looking for love

Nah, not the romantic kind.  The kind that says “this is me”.  I remember years ago in group therapy, the question was something along the lines of “what are you searching for?”  And I think it was supposed to be a one word answer.  I remember “beauty” was the answer for me.  I feel sometimes like my soul is starving.  And having witnessed first hand such ugliness… I just want things that speak to my heart.  The kind of beauty that brings tears to your eyes.

This last couple of years, being sick, I’ve lost a lot of motivation to do, well, much at all.  I have “interests” in things… like, my pinterest page is chock-full of stuff I think is awesome… but if I could do or be anything in the world- no obstacles… I have NO idea what that would be.  I mean, I enjoyed massage therapy- I enjoyed the exposure to a lot of alternative ways of thinking, but I don’t LOVE it.  It’s not my calling.  I started making jewelry for a while- and there was a lot of satisfaction there.  In fact, I used to say my dream job would be to have a workshop full of crap and to just be able to make stuff out of it.  But there isn’t one particular art form that really calls to me either.  I  know I’m looking for something creative, but just, no clue anymore what that is.

Have you ever seen Steven Sharp Nelson (The Piano Guys) play the cello?  I mean… his soul is on his face when he plays, if that makes sense.  He shines.  He is so in love with what he is doing, I could watch him play all day!  And the music pretty much doesn’t suck either (in other words, it’s gorgeous).  Watch him play and tell me that doesn’t make you want to feel that:




These are just 3 of my favorites.  Truth is, I could listen to these guys all day.  They even have a couple of songs that appeal to my inner geek 🙂

But yeah, I wish I could find that kind of just pure joy in my life…

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