the dumb broad 2
just attempting to organize some of my writings on "the dumb broad show." methinks this psycho show started when some neighborhood boys beat me up with wrenches for the crime of knowing a box wrench from a crescant wrench when none of them did. for my own girlie good, of course. i guestimate i was early elementary school and pre-verbal due to my speech defect. proof unavailable.
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/triggered-5
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/the-dumb-broad
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/dumbbroaditis
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/mockery
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/balancing-the-warrior-6
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/suffering-2-1
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/integration-1
https://www.dailystrength.org/journals/anticipation-2
Replies
Hi Arfie,
Here with you with a gentle hug *
* I tried to click on the links but it wouldn’t let me, (but it could just be this old cracked iPad that’s on its last leg)
Big hug
i have to copy and paste the links to get them to work and that's okay for this particular purpose. the theoretical goal is to trace the herstory of psychosis. i have yet to get this theory to work for me because reading my journal triggers so many flashbacks that i all too quickly lose track of the current realities.
butttttttttaaaaa. . .
methinks i may have healed far enough to stretch that particular comfort zone.
testing, 1, 2, 3. . .
Arf I couldn't get it to come up in the search engine either.... It isn't the first time for that either.... Sometimes DS seems to work and other times not
It's great that you've done some healing sweetie... You have been through horrors that are unimaginable to me...... Gentle hug
try pasting the link into your browser address line.
the hardest part of the horrors i have lived is the knowledge that, as i type, other children are living those horrors and worse.
healing hopes for all. no exceptions.
the talk is getting serious of selling the toxic mom throne, aka the urban homestead. i loosely mark 2014 as the official acceptance of my toxic mom honors. perhaps i marked the day somewhere in my collection of journals, but i donae care enough to do the research. rough guestimations are close enough for psycho work. letting go of the toxic mom throne is relief and nothing but relief. i haven't lived there since ? ? ? for sure not since 2016. the last time i set foot in the place was 2019 for my youngest son's funeral. i suspect many of my youngest son's and his wife's belongings are still sitting where they left them before the fatal accident. at that time, i took note of many of the adult thing piles which had been assumed into my care were still where i refused to carry through on the assumptions in 2016. i suspect they are still there, collecting dust.
good riddance to the toxic mom throne, butnae so much the urban homestead. i still believe i had some good ideas and accomplishments in the urban homestead. should i simply throw them out with the toxic mom throne?
arfie; your healing journey has helped me on my healing path ((hug))
that is my personal favorite magic in the peer support system, mel. the healing of one truly is the healing of us all.
example is not one way to influence others. it's the only way.
there is an open house at the quasi-local veteran's administration today. i started formal psychotherapy during boot camp in august, 1973. of course i wasnae at that base for very long, but the few appointments held me steady enough to keep those 299 roomies safe during our shared boot camp experience. there were a few of those roomies --fellow throwaways-- i felt comfortable with, but well over two hundred of those roomies were milk-fed barbies playing with gi joe's things. in 1973, the new improved barbie came with gi joe and all of ken's things, doncha know. here in the 21st century, that entitled bitch does and has it all. whatever her fashion phase, i often have fantasies of decapitating barbie dolls. my 6 year old foster daughter thinks baby sis decapitated all those dolls she got for charity christmas gifts the year she lost mommy and daddy. baby sis did dismember most of them, but i joyfully carried the pieces to the trash can.
the psychotherapy i started in boot camp segwayed through my 3 year tour of duty and into the va when i was honorably discharged in 1976. various va clinics are where i received a hefty percentage of my psychotherapy. i have been remiss about keeping up with the paperwork since my last a.c.t. workshop in 2012. in 2019, i was in the process of attempting to correct that as part of the protective custody agreement surrounding my 3 orphans. then the corona yaddahs hit the maskite mandates and ? ? ? the va was as completely missing in action (mia) as indecently exposed smiles. there wasnae a single mask photo in the email series advertising the open house in today's open house. i should probably re-read those emails for fine print about dod mandates before i drive the hour to reach the open house. the department of defense (dod) was especially rigid and thorough on its lockdown mandates. i think. in actual fact, i maintained proper social distances through all of that. mask on, good buddy, mask on. keep your experimental needles to yourself.
last night, hubby looked interested when i told him that the event was an open house and families are invited. i find myself dumb broading like a beaten crazy bitch wolf over the prospect of having him or even baby sis along. navigating the schisms between my veteran self and mom/wife is tricky enough when i keep them separate. the times i have attempted to merge the two aspects have been ? ? ? colorful? traumatic? unpredictable and still not fully processed.
hubs and i havenae discussed the potential this morning. the creases in his forehead which i call, "his control lines" have looked intimidatingly deep to my psychopating senses.
dunno. . . sorting. . .
we see what grows.
the update on the va open house is that, yes, hubby went with me. i can't remember if we took baby sis or not. i suspect we did since we have no easy access babysitting. the va was still masked and socially distant. hubby was superb with just listening and letting me take ownership of the resulting psychopations.
we snapped back to our traditional egg shell waltz yesterday, though apparently i need to find a new term for that body of yaddah blahs. in yesterday's tit for tat skirmish, he informed me that i am over-using that phrase. if only i could stop the behavior as easily as i can coin new phrases for ^it^.
the catalyst for the current dumb broad paralysis is under "flock-its." i need to kill 10 surplus roosters in order to clear out the brood house for this year's brooding season. in my heart, i am still murdering feather babies and short-circuiting on the tales of ancestors of ancestors and countrymen in far off lands who make chicken harvesting look easy. most everything in life is easy once you've worked out the formula. not a one of those tales of apparent ease carried a single detail of the formula by which ancestors and countrymen make chicken processing look as easy as plucking a cellophane wrapped carcass out of a grocery display.
the dilemma is further confused by the evolving territories on the other side of the fence which encloses the family yard. both the roosters and brooding hens are on the other side of that fence. yesterday's tit for tat skirmish was sparked by hubby's critique of the mow job i did on the other side of that fence. last summer, zooming on johnny deere was soothing enough to be a grounding tool for me. this year i am too stupid to know which plants should be sacrificed to allow for easy access to buildings and kid safe spaces to play in. and that was just from hubby. dare i ask whether i am as much of an intruder as i feel working so near to fa's bedroom windows. i most certainly don't want another review of how stupid her countrymen think gringo methods are. yes, ma'am. it is far more sensible to set the mower deck at two inches rather than the maximum height i set in order to avoid the rocks and uneven terrain that keep dinging the mower blades you don't have to pay for. methinks i donae care to tackle that bilingual body of yaddah blahs, but hubby isnae ready to move forward on the plans to get the bedrooms out of the work space. my wifesense is advising i not hold my breath while i wait for him to be ready. he's only stonewalling to circumvent the need to say, "no." he does love to use a million words where a single word will do.
by whatever name, methinks i should move away from anything agricultural and focus on establishing the local therapy network. i still donae know how to ask in a hazardous-by-hearing-impaired phone conversation if the va is still masked and distant. the local va campuses are too far to make an easy drive-by visual check. ditto for the phone calls it would take to determine which of the alanon groups fell to the covidic stresses.
nudge, nudge. . . the paralysis must be broken, by whatever names and means.
over a year since i have carried this thread forward. a quality i have noted within the healing mysteries is that healing is tough to quantify and picking proverbial scabs isnae typically helpful. i am a bit surprised to find that the entry i feel inspired to relate today is an evolution of my last entry from over a year ago. the evolving territories reached the breaking point during what i am now calling, "the SB4 incident" where a state senate bill targeting illegal immigrants sent the tensions between fa and i to intolerable tensions between fa and i. details available under "linguistic snot knots." today i am simply grateful to have increased social distances between my family's cps hounds and her family's ins hounds. between my ears, cps and ins are a match made in hell. with fa's evacuation from the farm, the plight of illegal immigrants is no longer an issue in our family's cps case. continued empathy for the beleaguered souls caught in that political nightmare, but raising 3 orphans is about all the civil rights involvement this geriatric mama can handle this week.
we began work on the long behind schedule repurposing of the old farm house as soon as fa got her 4 year accumulation of junk out of the house. we are 3 months into the project and every nasty that can be uncovered in such a project has been uncovered. at least, that's my prayer and i'm sticking to it. just praying. the worst of the nasties we uncovered was the termite infestation and damage. the house has had termites for a very long time. the damage was extensive. at this stage, we have more new house than old house, but enough of the old house is still there to qualify as a restoration.
hubs and i seem to have advanced our dialogue over my non-traditional career considerably. he is still prone to the macho ball-hogging, but his awareness seems to be growing. i think. . . we see what grows.