Small Steps Forward

for the longest time, i’ve had the most painful waking nightmare. i called it “the screaming.” seemingly out of the blue, this unbidden sensation would overtake me. i always felt concerned about describing it, because i always thought of it as crazy.

inner scream

there is the pain of cutting yourself, for example, and then the pain when you remember. there is no blade when you remember, yet you can feel it as if there were. the screaming was similar to that. but it wasn’t just, say, a pain in my shoulder, for example. i would feel as if every cell in my body was in incredible agony and screaming. it was a fleeting feeling, yet quite intense and strong. it would come without warning and quickly leave. and each time, the thought “she tried to kill me” would be left of the feeling.

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Something Happened.

Running Scared

There was a woman at the shelter I was staying in who was telling me about some really crazy shit some of the shelter staff had done to her. She had found a level of advocacy that I had not. Even with someone strong fighting on her side, however, she was hesitant to seek full justice now that she was aware of the level of repercussions the staff would seek for even minor slights.

I recognized the look of fear on her face. I had not even received the strong support she had and I had felt that same fear and uncertainty.

I think it was at that point I decided to get the hell out of there.

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i am an extreme people pleaser. and i am at a loss as to why the hell this would be. few people who know me would think i ever have a problem saying no. ever.

but something weird is happening. i am running into people at the places i go to get online. and with a stack of uncomplete (yes, uncomplete. incomplete is when you’re not overly concerned about getting things done; uncomplete is when you’re so anxiety-ridden that you’re drawing blood when you bite your nails) tasks and projects way overdue, i am not telling people to go fuck off.

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every sunday, i sit here and i fish. i put a worm on a hook, and i put the hook into the ocean of my thoughts and i wait for a nibble. and it comes. it comes.

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i’m ever so leery of advocates. “representatives” frighten me. it is my firm belief that something is lost in the translation when someone else is speaking for you.

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sometimes i think of the things that weren’t supposed to happen to me and i get upset all over again. i don’t want to, i don’t want to live there, but i do. i find myself rifling through those memories, reviewing those stories for the umpteenth time… it’s like traveling some well-worn road, the earth under my feet hard-packed from the many times i’ve traveled down it.

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i’ve been in a phenomenal career development program. these past few weeks i have been hard at work, defining my career goals and refining them, and the work has paid off. i find myself no longer desperately searching for any work i can get. now i have a plan for what i want to do and how i plan to do it. and it makes all the difference in the world.

and then i did something. i pinched someone. and they complained.

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every time i sit down to write, i find myself clearing first. the first few paragraphs that i write (sometimes more than a few paragraphs) are for clearing a way through the thought thicket, looking for signs of a path to follow, seeking footsteps in the brush, hunting tracks of a train of thought to follow or create.

i seek the word.

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there is a woman at the shelter where i’m staying who is working on building her business. and she’s a complete dyke. a butch. one of those lesbians who never wear dresses. and if her shoe has a heel, it also has a steel toe. anyway. i was thoroughly enjoying talking with her. in the shelters, there are lots of people simply rusting on the vine. it can take a lot to build and maintain an “i can” philosophy in the midst of legions of people chanting “i can’t because…”. the nice thing about talking with her was that she had that get-up-and-go attitude. the negative thing about talking with her was her lack of respect.

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I’ve escaped. I read this interesting book sometime ago — “Kindred” by Octavia Butler — in which this woman travels, involuntarily, back and forth through time. For some reason, she keeps dropping in on this plantation family, suddenly appearing and disappearing from their lives. A family already dysfunctional, her last visit is a culmination, a harvesting of seeds already planted. And on her trip back, she leaves part of herself behind. Literally.

I give myself congratulations on escaping that hellish roommate situation, but something was lost in the struggle.

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