“Spoonie Gift Guide”

“Spoonie Gift Guide” @IrreverentGal https://medium.com/@IrreverentGal/spoonie-gift-guide-9fbfe59e5fbf

So…

 The lumps might be an infection. The Dr gave me antibiotics and a boost in pain medication. I’m to report back in a week. Apparently I am far more lumpy than even I knew as she found several more I had missed. Here’s hoping it’s nothing big. 

I think I would make an awesome sister wife if…

I never had to have sex or make babies. Basically I think I would be the best live in nanny ever. I’m great with kids, love to craft and cook. I would be thrilled to split housework plus as a disabled person I’m always on call if the kids need anything. I’m totally not the fun outdoorsy type, but I can read the same children’s books thousands of times and it never bothers me a moment.

 
That said, I would totally want dental and vision. I should probably also be allowed to see other people… You know, since I wouldn’t be married and would really just be a nanny.

I at least hope I am able to foster someday. Though amazing nanny would be so cool!

Rest In Peace Wes Craven 

The loss of horror movie Writer/Director Wes Craven has left many of us speechless and heartbroken. As a lover of the genera and also having a thing for thrillers, the massive void left in his absence is almost tangible. Don’t look into it too long or get too close to the edge least it swallow you whole. A sacrifice to alleviate the suffering of the many. 

I keep hoping it’s a mean joke or the biggest fright he’s ever pulled off. Maybe we’re all stuck in a nightmare only we don’t die, the brilliant writer does and we’re left to fend for ourselves. *Pictures thousands of horror fans trying to write their way out of this.* 

I wish I could have met him. Though there’s a decent chance I would have asked about birds and we never would have gotten to movies. 

I hope he’s at peace. If anyone should get to enjoy an easy going afterlife it’s the man that gave my generation plenty of nightmare fuel. 

The case of the lost adult child.

In May of 2011 my parents, then boyfriend, and I survived the Joplin tornado. I guess I’m using the word survived rather loosely here as since then my life has changed beyond what I ever could have imagined. My then boyfriend soon became my seriously abusive husband, my parents are still out of their minds between mom having a heart attack the day after the storm and the loss of everything they owned. I’m disabled, I’ve been so since my lungs became too unpredictable for me to hold employment at the age of 20. 

I was 32 when the storm hit. By 33 I was saying “I do” to a man that had changed since the storm, which was also the day he proposed. I had an awful feeling about going through with the wedding but I was told to stop being stupid and that I just had cold feet. My mom watched the wedding via Skype from her bed in the rehabilitation unit of the nursing home. My dad, almost as though he had been replaced by a robot, walked me to what can only be described as the moment when a deep wound in our lives became both gangrenous and cancerous.

With both parents now living in the house I was renting from them, I was not only back in my childhood home with the toxic people I had tried so hard to escape as both a child and young adult but they cared even less now than ever before.

My dad witnessed the first time my husband hit me and he did nothing. It was 2 weeks in and I immediately declared I wanted a divorce. My dad told me I was over reacting. The year that followed brought countless beatings, silkwood showers, endless reminders that Marital Consent is still a very real thing in my state, choke holds, being suffocated with his hand on my mouth while the other plugged my nose, death threats, threats to turn his attention to my mom if I made a “mistake” whatever that meant as there were no correct answers with him, and lastly I watched him steal $20,000 from my parents.

Now maybe if there had never been a witness, maybe if I hadn’t been telling my parents everything I could, maybe if I had said “Yes” every time the hospital asked me if I felt safe at home, and maybe, just maybe, if I hadn’t thrown him out 3 times without his house keys only to have dad let him back in, then maybe I wouldn’t feel this gargantuan hole inside of me, but I do. It eats your soul and takes away your ability to trust anyone. It appears to also have made a home inside both of my parents.

I’m not sure why I was ever born. I don’t know if it was some narcissistic thing on their part or they honestly had good intentions. Either way, my biggest goal as a child was to be as invisible as possible. This didn’t always work out though. Kids need help with things and I had no one else to turn to.

They took me to therapy with a pedophile therapist that worked out of his basement office in his home. I would beg to not have to go back. Too ashamed to admit why, too worried they wouldn’t care anyway. They finally sent me to someone else when they walked into his office and had to find us in this tiny cinder block room, the only light coming from a computer screen, and me on his lap. I don’t remember what computer task I was supposed to be doing. I don’t remember what was on the screen. I just remember that wasn’t the first time and I was completely numb. When my parents showed up I burst into tears and ran to them. He made some excuse for this scene and I remember them trying to question me in the car. The only problem was they weren’t questions about what was going on, they were accusations that I was to blame. That my 8 year old self had put the moves on my shrink. They sent me to another therapist and now a psychiatrist. By the time I was 9 years old I was on a steady stream of psych meds.

I lost my Medicaid during the separation from my soon to be ex husband. I also lost the ability to afford any mental health care. I panicked at first. I had been told since the age of 9 that I HAD to have these medications and now at 34 I would have to suddenly stop all of them.

I was terrified. I couldn’t remember a single day that I didn’t pray to die nearly my whole life! It was my first thought every single morning, every quite moment of the day, and the last thing I thought about before falling asleep. I would pray for what seemed like hours every night, but was probably around 30-60 minutes. I wasn’t actively suicidal mind you, I never wanted to end my life. I just felt dead inside. Beyond hope. It was as though everything I experienced was from the inside of a glass box, and the glass was 12ft thick.

I felt love, pain, and even sympathy for others, but I don’t really recall ever feeling happy or joyful. What little I could feel barely registered and I hated myself and my life. If this was the best way I could be with all of those meds, I didn’t want to be anything anymore. Then came the detox.

About 4 weeks after I had to stop the medications, I laughed. I was watching a standup comedy special and for the first time since I was 9 years old, I laughed for real. The sound of my own laugh even startled me, I was that caught off guard. It was then I noticed I hadn’t been praying to die for weeks. Not once that I could recall and in fact, if I really thought about it, I felt hopeful. I’d never felt this way before! I wanted to fix the mess left by the storm and my ex. I wanted to start my new life and finish my degree. I wanted to say I was sorry to everyone for being so checked out and most of all I wanted to tell my parents how much I loved them and beg for forgiveness for every fight, moment of apathy, and tell them that I promise we will survive this because for the first time we really can all work together. I didn’t know then that no matter how much you hope for something to work out, if you haven’t seen a clear view of whom you have to work with, you need to adjust your hopes to match their capabilities.

What do you get when you attempt this with 2 unmedicaited, checked out bi-polars, chocked full of tornado PTSD, that still couldn’t care less if I lived or died? You are told you’re a liar, a worthless selfish c**t, they never want to see your face or hear your voice again, and then they lie to you. I was told to stay out of their lives for and they would help me get out of here. I couldn’t make a sound. If I left my room all Hell broke loose, and any chance they had to be hurtful in anyway they took it. This resulted in me doing all I could to stay asleep or doing something on my phone. I to this day spend all but 30 minutes a day in bed because there is no place else to go.

After a year had passed and my health had deteriorated due to inactivity. I checked the progress of getting me out of here. They hadn’t done anything. I cried. That was new. I was never one to cry before, but I cried. Deep, heavy sobs with raging rivers of tears. They told me to “Shut the f**k up and stop blubbering!” It was the first two years off the meds that I had to learn how to process feeling everything. I was now 35 and to what most people my age would be extremely disappointing or things that could be nice came at me like debris in a wind tunnel. This didn’t hurt like a normal disappointment should, it was like someone fired a cannon full of nails and razor blades at me. I tried to explain to them and to even my poor friends who had to watch me cry over commercials or find the littlest things far too funny, that I’d spent almost 30 years without feeling anything and now I’m adjusting to feeling everything.

My parents didn’t care. Instead they dubbed me a liar and only when it suits them to twist a knife, do they remember the first shrink, the first grade teacher, the countless times one or the other decided I couldn’t win on any particular day. Otherwise, I’m just a “Selfish, lying, whore.”

I’m going to be 37 soon. I don’t hyper feel things anymore and somehow, as I sit in my locked room, I still have hope for a future someday. I’m disabled, and my health is failing. My friends for the majority have long since taken off. My parents still promise help but both can’t and won’t while at the same time my mom spreads lies to the family about me. Dad destroys the house and mom texts pictures of the mess saying that I did it. He’s covered her bedroom wall with blue acrylic paint twice and his clothes were covered in it but somehow it’s my fault.

I’ve been told to stop lying about my ex husband too. Apparently even though he did steal $20,000 he was a saint and I’m too ugly and fat for anyone to ever bother with beating or raping. (Whomever said that a mothers love knows no bounds, clearly needed to get out more.)

Oh update: My father is in the hospital. He has an infected tush and needs cysts removed. I’ve tried to get him into anyone for weeks. He wouldn’t go because he hadn’t had a bath in months. Still, somehow this is my fault.

Three Common Beliefs That Make Abuse Innate to Our World

I have to re blog this post. I’ve watched too many people continue to take the abuse of their families and friends because they either feel like they have to learn to “take a joke” or if they just tried harder, they could fix them.

Is there such a thing as healthy teasing? I believe so. This occurs when you are able to lovingly pick on each other about something that each of you aren’t good at.

I and one of my friends both happen to be (more than) a little on the clumsy side. Have I bought him a t’shirt that says “I do my own stunts.” as a nod to this? Heck yeah! Did he laugh and does he wear it? Double heck yeah! Has he joked I could use training wheels on my heels? Oh yeah! Is he right and should someone get on that? Yes and PLEASE YES!

However in most cases it doesn’t get better. Not in these cases. Not when you’re not laughing.

People should always be laughing with you and not at you. Don’t let anyone make you feel small.

Tiny Houses 

I came across this article/blog post about tiny houses and how one can possibly survive. I will link to it at the end of this post but the answer is rather simple. You don’t need stuff and if you know how to dress you actually need little in the way of clothing.

I researched the maximum size for a tiny home (TH) and it turns out that while some people go to extremes of the TH spectrum, any home under 1,000 sqft is considered to be a TH. With this in mind I looked at the measurements of many one bedroom apartments and even some two bedroom properties. I’ve yet to find a one bedroom apartment in my city that was larger than 1,000 sqft. My parents are also Landlords and each of their three houses all qualify for the TH movement. Strangely enough, they are older than you might think.

So to answer some of the questions posed in the piece I will start by saying that if you really think about what you need to get by with and not the stuff you simply want, you can cut what you own to very little. 

Then you have the question of “alone” time and the answer is rather easy. If I really must be in the house and alone I would hope my partner would understand and GTFO for a while. If not I can always make use of the outside or go to a diner myself. 

As for guests; well if the place is large enough, such as a single bedroom house or apartment, you can always get a foldout sofa or a day bed. If it’s smaller you can build in a sleeping area for guests or enjoy the beauty of being able to honestly say, “Sorry mate, I don’t have enough room.”

Yes these people have friends and no, they won’t be hosting tons of house parties. 

Lastly, and this is a storage tip more than anything, making use of magnetic paint in conjunction with chalkboard paint for the kitchen let’s you store things easily in any container you can glue a magnet to and keep a running list of things you need. 

Check out the link to the article as she makes some good observations and it’s almost funny. 

https://medium.com/@Hipstercrite/dear-people-who-live-in-fancy-tiny-houses-21fdc639ce55

I’ve The Christian answer, for those willing to listen.

http://www.christianitytoday.com/women/2015/june/gay-marriage-abortion-and-bigger-picture.html?&visit_source=twitter​ 

I found this link on Twitter and I have beyond had it with fighting over things that to be honest, aren’t anyone’s business. 

I am not aligned with a religion but make no mistake, I have faith in God. Admittedly I’m working on how I feel about John 3:16, but that’s MY problem and no one else’s. 

So here we sit. Abortion has been legal since before I was born and I’m middle aged, marriage equality has at long last been declared just and wether or not you believe it was the moral decision to make, it was the MOST ethical one and I stand by it proudly. 

Let’s tackle your first concern right off the bat. I can tell you right now how to at least reduce the number of abortions in a few simple steps. First everybody absolutely must know exactly how babies are made and how to prevent this from happening. I’m sorry if your moral standards have you believing that teens and young adults would never have sex without being married. Sadly your incredibly wrong.

Studies have shown time and again that teaching abstinence only leads to at best a small delay in having sex. The higher the moral standard the kid is being held to shows they are less likely to plan ahead. This means no condoms or birth control. 

Second, though I am not able to have a child, had my now extinct marriage to a man that became abusive in our second week of marriage produce a child; What on Earth would I do? I’m disabled, I would never have been able to rely on hi for support, and once you discover the man you thought you knew for 3 years is a sexual sadist with the worst anger problem. Well would you want your child with him? 

If you would stop dickering about when life begins and concern yourself with it at all stages, far less women would feel like need to end their pregnancy if they knew they could diaper, dress, and feed an ever growing child. I ask you. Whatever happened to charity? Not tithing 10% to the nonprofit organization you hang out in so it can add on or what have you. I mean when was the last time you saw a single parent or poor family scraping to survive and you helped? How many times have you thought “They must have issues! They should have thought about how expensive kids are before bringing one into this world!” 

Third, let the loving gay couples adopt. I know I would be far more willing to put my child into the system knowing that it has even more chances of getting adopted than I would if I knew 10% of the population weren’t being rejected because they are in love!!! 

Oh and to quiet your fears about children being sexually assaulted by these couples, I remind you of this. MOST pedophiles are adult white males who are married to partners of the opposite sex and they identify as heterosexual. 

  1. Now as for equal opportunity marriage, the devastating effect that your waiting to hear about? I don’t see it happening. How does this do a thing to your marriage as man and wife? It doesn’t. Gods law and mans law are on the best of days, too sides of the same coin. No matter what the Bible says about marriage we aren’t talking about Gods law, we are talking about the right to see your loved one is the hospital. The right to the same tax breaks. The right to raise a child in a two parent family and for both parents to be able to sign off on medical care if need be. That’s all.

Worry about your own family more, practice charity more often, and just stop thinking that fighting solves anything. Have real faith. If God wanted all of this to stop, He has that power and it doesn’t seem He was ever shy about putting it to use. 

Our system of help for women in bad living situations is broken.

Now that the divorce is over I can spill the details and believe me when I say Lifetime or the Stepfather movies have nothing on my marriage.

I dated my now ex for two years, we were engaged for one year, and then the “I do” bit went down, as did any love or respect he was pretending to have for me over the last three years.

Two weeks in he spanked me as though I were a child because he didn’t like that I disagreed with him. He did so in front of my father who chose to ignore it and would later let the monster back into the house three times after I had thrown him out. (Dad would later continue to site that he “Didn’t want to get involved.”) My ex progressed to controlling every aspect of my life. I wasn’t allowed out of the bedroom. I wasn’t allowed to use the bathroom unless he watched me do so. I had to watch his choice of tv viewing. I was not allowed to read. I was not allowed to bathe myself. I was not allowed to say no to sex, and the more I said no the worse it was. If he was in a really good mood and I had dodged most of the land mines that day and the stars were in perfect alignment, he would let me crochet. That was about the only “break” I ever got. He had our home phone disconnected so I couldn’t call for help and the only time I ever had use of my cell was under close watch. A few times I had been away with it but knew that since my parents couldn’t wrap their heads around what was going on and mom being so ill, I had no place to run to. I knew it was going to have to get MUCH worse before it would get better.

One day, a few weeks after his father had died, his mother called his to help her fix something. By some miracle I was allowed to stay in Springfield and I knew that ready or not, this was my chance.

The very second his car vanished from view I set about making police reports both in Springfield and Joplin, then I drove to the station and filed for a restraining order or RO for short. Well it was a long process and I had a lot to report, the whole time I’m doing this my parents are leaving angry messages about how they want dinner and dad NEEDS cigs NOW!!!!! Calling me everything but a nice person. Once complete I pick up smokes for dad and head home only to get chewed out as to where I might have been… When I told them where I was and what I had done they lost their minds. I was the bad person. How dare I drag him through the mud?!?! You get the idea. Well then they send me to Wendy’s to nab drive thru…. It was then I received the call from the state. My request for a RO had been denied. I was sacred and pissed but then my phone rang again. It was my husband. “What the Hell? You filed for a restraining order?!?” My heart felt like it was going to explode! I know there is no way the state contacted him several counties away at 10pm so I knew one or both parents had to have ratted me out.

I told him it was over and I was not talking to him anymore and hung up. When I got home I told my parents what happened. They both played dumb rather poorly and dad added “Well good. Maybe this whole thing will just blow over.” I freaked. I screamed. Then I packed.

I was able to reach a shelter in Bolivar that had a bed and I took off there. I turned off the GPS on my phone and in the middle of the night made a mad break for shelter. I was there just over two weeks. At the two week point my parents clued in and began to believe me. At the last day of my stay my full bottle of OxyContin was stollen from my locked locker and the only spare key is kept in the office and can only be accessed by a staff member.

My second stay at a DV shelter was here in Springfield. I was just about to go to court for the divorce when I had spotted my soon-to-be ex’s car in my neighborhood several times. Dad had also since gone downhill and while both parents have always been verbally abusive, he had taken to shoving me around as well. I had decided it would be safer to hide out for a bit. It was a great plan too until I caught a cold and had an asthma flair that landed me in the hospital for a week. Once released, I was deemed “To big of a liability to have around.” and set back into the Hell that I had just left. The same Hell I sit in today.

I am typing this behind a locked bedroom door on my phone, hoping, praying, trying, and dreaming that maybe the next day will be better than the last.

I am the woman the system has failed. I am the woman who was failed by her family along with it. I am a heartbeat away from being homeless or dead because I wouldn’t have a place to store insulin. I am anyone of us, at any given moment, should one tiny thing so much as shift.