tearonthefire: (me)
Why do I always ruin my 'super hero archetype' characters with deeply complex flaws that usually end up with me writing them into a nervous breakdown that would make any normal person stop trusting them with their lives.

I want to make my characters believable, yes but I think there's another reason, a deeply woven psychological condition I hold. I think that it must cost someone to do the right thing and the more righteous that things is, the more painful it should be. Like having to choose between the love of your life and a bus full of innocent children.

New aged fairytales, and the retelling of old aged ones, try to tell us that doing the right thing always feels good. That telling the truth feels better than living with a lie. But in practice that's never the case. When you tell the truth, you're usually punished. When you do something noble like fight for your friends 'in the fox hole next to you', you're left to fend for yourself by your government. If you remove an abused child from their situation, you're charged with custodial interference. Even thirteen years after the world trade centre attack, those that were injured and/or got sick while risking their lives to help others still aren’t getting any real medical support.

Hell, I've heard of cases where someone's been sued for saving someone else's life. But something persists in humans, something deeply programed into our genes that force us to sacrifice our own comfort and well being for others. Most people would not sacrifice their own three year old child to save two or three other three year olds from drowning but there are some who would weigh the situation in their heads and take that split second decision to hate themselves for the rest of their lives and let the many out weigh their one. But again it's rare and no one can really blame someone for valuing their own kin over someone else's.

I really don't want to get into a self debate about this whole thing, especially when I thought this brain belch would be a couple of lines at most but I think it's not much of a leap to consider someone who is completely self sacrificing for others to have some kind of metal disorder that would manifest itself in other ways. And of course I think life is utterly unfair, so those people would have to be perpetually punished for their sacrifices.

I feel an unexplainable need to make my super characters sad, to hurt in place of everyone that they save. My new character is the epitome of this, she's a military officer who's also a Jainist. Jains are basically Buddhists on cerebral overload. They take the philosophy of non-violence to an unbelievable extreme, they wear masks over their mouths to stop themselves from accidentally swallowing a bug and they morn the regrettable need of harming mico-life while pulling a carrot out of the ground.

My character justifies her need to kill another being by comforting herself with the thought that she's saving hundreds of others by doing so. But as she's in a war where the casualties are high and the defining line of innocents and guilt is blurred, she starts to develop an intense psychosis. Although she has no inclination to believe in anything supernatural, she develops a duality whereby she believes that she is the avatar of Kali, the Hindi goddess of death, and that her actions to take a life are forced and not by her own choosing.

This culminates when she's faces with the decision to kill someone who is at that moment innocent but may become a violent serial killer in the near future because of a genetic metal disorder. Further more she has to either spare the person's mother from killing that person, by killing them herself, let the mother commit suicide because she's unwilling to kill her child, or let the mother kill them. My character of course can't bring herself to let any of those things happen because at heart she's still a Jain and does what she does to protect the greater good but it also breaks her thin veneer of transferring her responsibility to a construct. While she's been fairly miserable throughout the storylines, at that point she feels the complete weight of her guilt and snaps, tumbling into a psychotic breakdown. Not one where she kills everyone, which is the common trope, but where she protects everyone and has to be talked down from holding everyone hostage so that they wont hurt themselves.

Sigh, maybe I should write less and get a better sex life. And shut up! The sub-title's funny.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
Ms FellowWriter,

Thank you very much for answering my e-mail and I deeply appreciate your advice.

I do realize that you're just a mere mortal but you're able to do something that very few others can and so few of those do well. Perhaps writers have been devalued by culture and by proxy have devalued themselves because so many can technically write. But the ability to translate one's flapping mouth into a barely coherently readable sentence is not particularly impressive. You however have a gift that is uniquely human; it allows you to set yourself aside and create whole universes, populated with unique peoples and fully realized events. You give this crafted part of yourself to the written word for others to explore and enjoy, whilst the rest of us naked apes trek mindlessly through our concrete jungles whiling away our time reading articles written by alphabet regurgitating hacks whom copy and rewrite one another endlessly.

If it was another time, I'm sure you would have tormented yourself into learning the very rare gift of written language, then you may have joined the likes of Sappho. We wouldn't even need to reach that far into the past to see your works shelved with the likes of Emily Dickinson. But today it seems beyond unfair that your name might sit beside some frequently consumed unapologetic garbage like Fifty Shades of Grey.

Again, thank you for responding to my e-mail and thank you for your writings. I also apologist for giving into my desire to incessantly compliment you.

tearonthefire: (Taarna)
Ms FellowWriter,

I hope I'm not intruding but I respect you as a writer, your story was unlike any of the others I have read, and I've read over 1500 of them. And although I would like to give into my urge to be a ceaseless suckup and carry on endlessly with my impressions of the piece and of your style in general, I think I should just ask what I wish to ask.

I was wondering if you have any advice for a writer with terrible writing anxiety. I'm a good story teller but because of my writing disabilities and high anxiety, I can't seem to get more than a paragraph out. There are rare times, and for no reason that I can cognitively imagine, I'm able to work for several weeks, or even just an evening but no matter how hard I try, I can't seem to maintain or put myself back into that mindset.

When I feel inspiration or a need to write down the stories swirling in my head, I just can't seem to. I've tried every trick every website has suggested with almost no output. In most cases the harder I try to write the worse my anxiety becomes, until I'm crippled and crying in despaired agony.

I've even tried just giving up on my desire to write and anaesthetize myself with TV or drown myself in work but ignoring the need I feel and the drive it creates just twists at my emotions almost as badly as the utter failure to produce. Almost. And that almost has trapped me in this cycle of avoidance and barely contained disrepair.

I don't expect that you'd have a magic answer but I hope that you may have some advice or piece of wisdom that could help even a little.

tearonthefire: (me)
For a very brief moment, I thought I would get everything I wanted, with a woman that I'll call Tara. Everyone who knows me will know who I'm referencing. Tara was a lonely suppressed, oppressed, and sexually abused housewife. It's sometimes said joking and then dismissed vehemently that gay woman like to steal lonely housewives away from their husbands. Well we do. Realistically how can anyone assume someone will stay with them if they don't give them attention and stimulation. It's not a gay thing, it's a human thing. On top of that I firmly believe that all women are bisexual shading into homosexual and that the term, 'straight woman', is a contradiction.

Tara was sweat and smart and playful and she had a child, everything I'd dreamt about since I was 3. But she was also heavily conditioned and seriously damaged. She told me some of the terrible stuff that was inflicted upon her, one of which was that her father had sold her to someone as a gift for his son. I'm not sure if this was true but the fact that she would say it, is very telling. She spoke of endless abuse, all of which was being continued by her husband. And I found out latter that she was reaching out to men on the internet for comfort and support, which she traded for cybersex.

Then I came along and I wanted nothing in exchange for my support and caring. It sometimes baffles me how little women support one another in the real world. Not only did Tara speak of not just a lack of support from women but a complete absence of them altogether, something my step sister has also made some comments about as well. It doesn't however surprise me that men would take any opportunity to get any kind of sex for any kind of gesture. Tara tragically was programed to feel that she needed men for validation, support, and self worth. She had no idea how to deal with someone like me, which in the end was part of the reason we failed.

We just began as two anonymous people on IRC, sharing stuff around and facilitating for others. I'm not sure how we went from that, to talking about serious issues but when she revealed her pain, all I wanted to do was take it away. The level of of hurt and suffering she seemed to be enduring would be artistic if it wasn't being inflicted on a person. I offered her everything, to move to were she lived, to give her money, facilitate support, anything. In an attempt to keep her away from me, her husband moved them to the middle of no where but just before he did we hadn't actually became romantic toward one another, it was just support and caring. But I was giving Tara things her husband recognized as a threat to his dominance over her. It also didn't help that their son bonded to me in a very big way.

It's ironic that it was the husband's behaviour that pushed us closer together, his obstinance and disgusting behaviour made Tara a real person to me and made me ever more attractive to her. Their was a night just before she moved away that we kissed and it felt wonderful to both of us. That stayed in Tara's mind when he moved them into isolation and in isolation the only resent good memory was of our kiss. She began writing me love letters, the only love letters I've ever received, telling me of her isolation and loneliness and all the evil things her husband was doing to her. I felt ever increasingly terrible with each contact and more and more desperate to help her. Eventually I came to the point were I decided Tara needed me more then I needed anything in my life and I left my job, my apartment, and I left Natalie as she was back with me from one of her many 'breaks'.

I pushed her husband out of the picture and completely took over, and I was having very pleasant evil thought about the whole thing. I actually sang 'Move it on Over' on the way to her. It took only hours for Tara to begin acting like a real person with a real future. Her health improved, she lost weight, she was going out shopping and dinning with me. I took her back to Ottawa to visit all the people she had spoken to on the internet. And the best thing of all, the greatest thing that I loved shoving in her idiotic abusive husband's face at every chance I got; I shoed her how to enjoy sex. Orgasm for men is simplistic, it's a point and shoot interface. For some women they have to learn how to climax or maybe they need to unblock themselves to allow it to happen. Either way Tara's sexual self awakened.

And ironically it was a minor contention between us. It seems that I use the word ironic far to often when speaking of my life but my life seems to be filled with irony. My sex drive had been tanked by antidepressants forcibly shoved down my throat as a developing teenager by my mother, my repeated failures with Natalie, and the abuse I suffered from a woman who doesn't even deserve a pseudonym. Tara thought she'd be getting a sexually vibrant lover but it was my first failure to her. With her I developed my pension for one sided love making, which unfortunately wasn't as satiating for her as it was for unnamed woman. Tara needed me to be as engaged as she was but I had difficulty matching her level even though I truly wanted to. Everything seemed to start fall apart from there.

When I brought her back to Ottawa we took a lot of midnight walks, we were both insomniacs, and she revealed more and more of her life to me. Including a somewhat sudo-sexual long term relationship with her female best friend. I thought the relationship was important, she didn't. On one of these walks she told me that she was almost certain that she was going to hell. I didn't even need to think of my response.

I'd stopped giving into the bullshit of religion when I was 11, by 13 I was poking fun at the 'Jesus of Nazerus' movie in religion class and telling the teacher that I didn't think I had a bone named blasphemer. Hell however became an embodied if not real place when I saw a certain scene in 'Event Horizon' and in my early 20s I taught hell could possibly be a self perpetuating place that the energy of ones mind would go when you died. By the time Tara and I were together the only thing that was left, was years of judeo-catholic fear priming. I may not have really believed that hell existed but I really did fear it.

I needed to frame my instinctual response to her because it was a real genuine desire and not just an empty statement. I told her 'if I have any place, in any kind of heaven and it's possible for me to, I want you to have it'. When she asked me why I would ever want to do such and thing, I told her it was because I thought she had suffered enough during her life and that I would take on any more misery that she was going to endure. And I well and truly wanted it to be true.

Then the husband filed for custody and I feel certain that Tara then began sabotaging herself. The judge didn't exactly rule against her but he ordered them both to reconciliation or face having their son taken from both their custodies. Despite the lawyer offering pro bono on any further curt work, Tara gave into everything her husband demanded. She told me that she feared he would take him to the US and that she'd never see her son again. She was again shoved into isolation and she forbade me to go out to see her or to help her in any way. Her letters continued but they were full of longing and descriptions of the renewed and redoubled abuse she was suffering. Her letters were as close to anti-love letters as one could imagine, not that they were making me unlove her but they were as miserable as the others were joyous.

For a while we continued to speak but it would just dissolved into bickering, then into arguing. But my heart was well and truly crushed when our mutual friend who was also my ex boyfriend went out to see her. Tara told me almost immediately afterwards that they had, had sex. I questioned another one of our friends about things and found out she had started doing cybersex again but this time with the friends I had introduced her to. She accused me of being immature for telling our friend, who I found out she was engaged in intense, almost cybersex, flirting with, that she had sex with another one of the group. I just left the internet group that I had help start and had spent 10 years of my life with. Friends I had grown up with since intermediate school became solely hers.

And for not being able to support her, for not being able to save her, for not being what she needed, I stayed miserable. I'd remind myself of everything that had happened and of ever opportunity I could have taken to help us. I thought of all her beautiful words and how they meant nothing in the after math. I refused to forgive myself for not saving her.

I got back together with Natalie as I really didn't have the strength to stay away from her and either she had planned from the beginning to do the following or it was just a sick twist of fate, that she left me for a man and a very unattractive and uninteresting man at that. I spent the following years just being miserable and punishing myself for what had happened and it took me years to even move the littlest bit past total self recrimination.

I had thought that Tara was the only person I had ever really loved or had ever really loved me but that belief began to fade over the years and now that I realize how misshapen my heart actually is, I wonder if I ever really loved her at all or if I'm just trapped in a Harley Quinn complex.
tearonthefire: (me)
It seems that I'm still a little too close to the revelations I made last Monday, cause I said practically nothing in my last post. I was staring at the symptom and not the cause. The cause, is that my parents have fucked me right up. My mother's done most of the damage but my father's done his fair share as well.

They supposedly divorced when I was 4 but were practically separated from around the time of my first memory, about 2 and a half. From that time forward I looked toward my dad as being better then my mother. He and his side of the family were all brutally honest and came off as pretty rude, in all likelihood it's where my aspergers comes from or at least some general autism. It was completely unlike my mother and her side of the family, for them everything was secretive. They would be the family why'd say someone was at a spa or retreat when they were really in the loony bin.

My idealism of my father was the worst thing for my psyche. He was, in short, a sociopath and terribly narcissistic. Everything revolved around him. If he wanted something from his kids, it had to be at that moment. He took to waking my sister at 6 o'clock for whatever reason he had on his mind. Since I was technical, he'd want me to do things like; go through all the cellular companies for him, or fix their VCRs, or whatever else he wanted. And if either of us didn't do what we were asked at the moment we were asked, he'd ignore us for some length of time.

The punishments for non-capitulation were a lot worse for me. It was probably due to the fact that I'd kept coming back to him more quickly then my sister or that I'd try even harder to make him happy. My sister had our mother's father as a father figure and that was likely why she didn't give into my dad's games as quickly. One of my father's favourite punishments was to have my sister beat me up. I've been passive aggressive since birth and the fact that I wouldn't try very hard to defend myself was in all likelihood a major sign of weakness to him. But it also lead to atomic explosions of anger when someone put me under stress for long periods of time although I could probably more easily contribute that to my mother's upbrining.

Over time my dad got worse and I kept trying harder. Eventually every free moment I had was devoted to my father. If he needed cigarettes, I got them. If he needed a phone card, I got it. I even lent him money for which he repeatedly wrote rubber checks for. My mother had been absolute poisons with issues like these, because of her long list of serious defects she'd repeated say that you had to look past peoples issues and look for who they really were inside. Partially as a result of this twisted wisdom my sister, who was sheltered by my exceptionally judgemental grandfather, disconnected from my dad in high school, long before I. I was 25.

My dad also treated women like uncared for toys. For the most part his lovers consisted of worn out hookers he'd manage to get to move in with him, I'd also have to do whatever they needed to. I guess the prospect of staying on the street was worse then living with my dad. While I'd be his errand girl, they'd be his sex toys, well dumping ground for sexual tension would be a lot my appropriate.

Actually my mother and father had one very important thing in common, neither could stand being the least bit uncomfortable. One of the manifestations of this for my dad, was the constant intake of marijuana and I do mean constant. He'd have a bowel at least every hours and in most cases more often then that. He'd wake up from sleepping in the middle of the night to have his self proscribed meds. But they both dumped their stresses on my sister and I, and because I was older I got the brunt of it.

Whenever either of them had stress in their lives, they'd turn to yelling or demanding something from us. Again my mother was far more damaging in this regard but my father shaped my instinctual reactions to romantic love. I actually find it an irony that my emotional reactions to men are similar to my reactions to my mother, mostly dismissive but my reactions to women are my reactions to my father. The crossover seems strange to me.

The tireless advice of looking past someones faults and the selfless martyrdom culminated in my first real female relationship. I had, had several relationships before this point, one with a man and one very minor 'teeny' one with a girl. Actually my relationship with the girlfriend I spent the most amount of time with started shortly before my first sexual one and the sexual one was as a direct result of her.

Natalie, at this point I didn't even know her name, initiated our relationship by kissing me as everyone was leaving school. It was my first real kiss from a girl, the other was just childish lip pressing, actually it was mostly my first real kiss from anyone, for some reason I've never wanted or liked kissing my boyfriends. It also marked the end of my sanity for the next 10 years. She screwed with me every single day, I wont get into details but bipolar would be an apt description of her treatment of us.

So to make her jealous I went out with someone else. I hadn't expected to fall into a long term relationship nor did I expect her to be my first but she was damaged. It might be all the issues I have with my mother that makes me want to help people or it could be part of the conditioning from my father, either way seeing her stress out and breakdown made me want to reach out to her. But it was the conditioning of my dad that made me believe that the only way I could truly show my love, was to be everything for her and actually her behaviour was identical to my father. I'd pick her up from school by bus, I'd be home to entertain her, I'd listen while she complained about everyone in her life, and I was always there when she wanted to talk about her past.

Her thanks for my support was; to demand more, accuse me of being abusive and neglectful, vilify me to everyone, and hit me. To say she beat me wouldn't be accurate, she'd lash out with a single act and once sent me to hospital with one of those out lashings. She did everything my father did, for example I had dropped out of school and we were sudo living together, if I was even a minute late arriving at her school to pick her up, by bus remember, she'd go to her mother's and stay there, refusing to really talk to me or come back home until I went and got her. Another example is that I'd wake up to oral sex, for some the opposite of an issue but if I wasn't in the mood or I refused, she'd throw a fit. She was actually treating me exactly as my father treated his hooker girlfriends.

I turned myself into her whore just so she'd feel comfortable. I think the relationship even ruined my sex drive, before I think I might have had a somewhat healthy outlook and apatite for sex but with her I hated it. It was a chore. Now I see it as only and ends to make someone feel good or to heal them in some way, I'm basically Florence Nightingale or rather the condition named after her. I started to get really necrotic near the end to, I'd do things like secretly masturbate just so I wouldn't climax for her.

But above all, everything was my fault. Not only was I convinced of it, she even managed to somewhat convince my mother. And I practically begged my mother for help but either her advice made things worse, was lacking, or she just badgered me for involving her. I think I really wanted her to tell me to leave the girl but my mother would never say such a thing and I'm not sure why, I've never heard her tell anyone to leave an abusive relationship. I stopped seeing my friends so I could give her more attention, I stopped playing games, stopped listening to my music. Everything I'd do when I was with my dad. And the worse she got, the more I'd try to accommodate her, just like dad.

It's the height of ironic that my dad put a stop to that relationship or maybe it really isn't. He might have thought that she was detracting my duties to him, which was true. I had stopped running his errands, especially those for his hookers. His saving me from her also reaffirmed my childhood need for him. He'd saved me from my mother every time I was with him and not at home. The never ending mid-level stress that came with the heavy and oppressive air of my mother's home didn't exist at my dad's. Even my sister says that the small of his brand of cigarettes is comforting. In retrospect it was the choice of the lesser of two evils.

I'm not really sure I know how to say what I next want to say but;

Despite some very minor sexual stuff, and I say stuff cause it wasn't molestation nor do I think it was sexual abuse even though it was abusive, my dad never affected my 'sexual self'. Even knowing that his girlfriends were prostitutes and even the very misogynistic and inappropriate comments that came out of his mouth, I never felt sexually scared by my dad. He would insult and belittle; my intelligence, my attitude, my behaviour, everything except my looks. His contribution to my psyche was purely my expectations of what my love would expect from me.

My dad did something to me that in and of itself doesn't necessarily generate something negative but leads me to seek out those with problems and make myself vulnerable to them, which then leads to me being hurt by them. If I were to get my wish, I'd find someone I could forever help but whom would also cherish my support and care for and love me.

This statement seems like an ending but there's still something else and this is part of what's hard to word. I still want a relationship with my dad, one might call that desire 'Stockholm Syndrome' but I always enjoyed our time together. We went fishing, we fixed cars, we work on and in the garage, we did everything one would do with a dad and it was great. It was unfortunately coloured with his disgusting behaviour and comments and his never ending demands on me. Eventually I cut all contact with him because of his psychopathy and his grossness but ultimately it was my sister's embargo and a life change in me that really triggered it. I wish for things to be different even though I know they will never be.
tearonthefire: (me)
It been a week since I came to a realization and it's taken me that long to develop enough emotional distance to write more then a 3am tear filled block poem. I realized that I will never truly love another person.

This is actually a two fold failure on my part. If I were to take my heart's impulsion towards love; that is to martyr myself for my lover, to abandon my whole identity and become everything for them so that they may fully heal, and embrace it fully, I'd find myself unable to completely subvert my psyche nor be able to fully heal them and therefore I wouldn't be able to prove my love fully. I would forever be disappointed in myself and frustrated in the lack of recovery.

But so to, if I accept my revelation and accept the fact that after 5 years I still fall into the same traps I did when I was young. And if I accept my realization that my heart will never settle for anything less then total surrender, a search for love even if I bare in mind my own deficiency will never fulfil my emotional desires.

One might say that a comfortable relationship, with realistic expectations could even partially fulfil my need for companions. They would of course be right but with a critical point of failure. Even if I was happy and content, my heart would still drift to the injured and I would betray my lover for the slim hope that could save some from their misery.

It's hard to decide what to do next. Knowing that if I open myself up to emotional codepedence, which is the epitome of love, I also open myself up to the vulnerability of mertyrdom. But then if I protect myself from becoming to involved, what does that leave me? Some moderately deep friendships with the occasional interlude of sex? Would I be happy with that? Would I be able to get what I physically need from my friends with also making commitments? Would I destroy those friendships by have the occasional sexual fling with them? And if not, would I be satisfied with one night stands or shallow, disposable, sexually based relationships.

I really don't know if I can. I need more then a physical connection with a sex partner and I need more then just emotion connections with people. Although my sex drive would be considered low, physical intimacy is a necessity for my well being. After 5 years, I feel utterly disconnected from that special part of myself that even bad relationships touched. I feel barren, devoid of light, inadequate, and even helpless.

How can I move forward? Not just from my new found emotional inadequacies but from my self imposed celibacy too. I don't know that I can. Nor do I think I can continue with this disconnected lifestyle.

I feel doomed to slowly erroded the already thinning barries of my sanity. I'm noticing the rising waters of my emotional stability and I'm not sure how long I'll have before I drown.
tearonthefire: (me)
Where the music stinks, and they water the drinks, at the nudie bar.
Where the girlies dance in their underpants, at the nudie bar.
Where you see their butt, and their trap stays shut, at the nudie bar.

Where a buck's enough to see their stuff, at the nudie bar.
Where the breasts may be fake but man do they shake, at the nudie bar.
Where you swear like a sailor, and wish you could nail her, at the nudie bar.
Where the cops are at the door, and there's a Kennedy on the floor, at the nudie bar.

Yes the miserable ageing dyke went to a straight guys tittie bar, actually I went to two and almost nothing turned my interest at either. It seems almost a cliche that a gay girl's libido wont be lite up by a male targeted display of flesh, and it was painfully male. But there was one wonderful exception, a girl whom I could genuinely thank for just existing. A wonderfully, buttery, curvy baby that mommy wanted to finger paint with until we ran out of supplies.

What does buttery mean I hear some ask. Imagine if you will, movie theatre popcorn with it's oily, salty, sweet topping. That wonder little experience of sucking the slimy little treat from your fingers, it's the only real reason you'd order popcorn. And not the 'new' crap they try to peddle, I'm talking; coconut oil popped corn with unsubstituted, unmodified, straight from the cow's utter, salted, sweetened butter. That's what buttery is good reader. The delicious little treat that melts in your mouth, and in you hands.

But my appreciation of this lucky little specimen of homosapien, whom I might add didn't have to try very hard to turn me into homoerectus, was repeatedly interrupted. And yes that evolution joke works on so many levels and I'm very proud or if. It was interrupted by one of my male companions, lets call him Kenny. While that wonderful, jiggly reason to smile, ineffectually drifted across the stage with no rhythm or talent but who could be forgiven for it or even forgiven for crimes against humanity with a little pirouette, Kenny. Kenny! Wouldn't stop talking. 'Oh my god they killed Kenny.' GOOD! Die, Kenny Die!

Why, oh why Kenny would you turn poor Torri's attention from a girl who she'd give her best wordless oral presentation to. The gay girl, ME, was on a very pleasant slow simmer, a state I might add I've been deprived of for more then I'd like to admit and Kenny talks through the whole thing. Don't invite a homosexual women to a man's wiggle room and TALK during the only act she sits up straight to. I could beat YOU!

Anyway, so for the most part the hooter shack was a neutral in my wet and wonderful things to do. I'm not really attracted to the type of woman who'd take off their strip of sting and hanky while flossing their cleavage with a pole. Actually Stephen Fry has a great quote about 'beautiful' people; 'Attractive people who are very fit and very beautiful and instantly therefore look quite staggeringly ugly as a result. It is one of the great jokes that nature plays on the beautiful.'

Mr Fry is absolutely correct in this regard. While I had a very strong desire to be as comfortable with my own nudity as these women were, I didn't feel inadequate or ugly in comparison to the women mosquito-ing money from the men's wallets. I had zero attraction to almost all of them and even a slight revulsion to some. Kenny. Kenny! Tried to insist that I clap for every 'dancer' who came on and insisted that these girls were displaying talent.

They weren't. Not one had a good or interesting routine, even the girl with the creamy buttery goodness brought nothing but her genes to the room. Don't think I'm trying to denigrate them or take away their ability to exploit someone else's needs for their own gains, I'm not. But butter could have gotten me to buy her drinks, food, or just pay for the pleasure of sitting next to her with her kissable skin and cuddleable frame. Mommy's IQ would have dropped in proportion to her proximity and that's perfectly alright.

While someone with a lot less self confidence then I might suggest that these women shouldn't be rewarded for an accident of nature, I completely disagree. There is a need for the attractive, the pretty. A woman, or man, perfectly proportioned with flawless skin, triggers an ancient instinct within us, the instinct to pamper and preen ourselves. And this reaction isn't necessarily restricted to one physic, it could be completely mental. In my case it was entirely mental. For about an hour I was queen bitch with the wicked and delicious thoughts floating through my head. If I had been 10 years younger and 10ishalotmore, pounds lighter or drunk I would have been on stage giving a little show with butters, for whatever price she saw fit. Being sober, flubbery, and greying I chose not to humiliate myself by being the creepy old dyke playing with the young girly.

Sexual attraction in like a drug, it fuels ones mind and opens up needs and wants that might otherwise lie dormant. For me, I got a little thrill thinking that I could play with a yummy young thing and even the though that I would have to pay to act out that fantasy, doesn't degrade it's mental effects. I'd be queen bitch with butters at my beckon call. Dance, DANCE for mommy.

I had no illusions that anything more would ever come of the moment, nor would I want their to be. That's the trade off these people must make. Although some of them are beautiful and deserving of compensation for their gifts of showing themselves off, they become like dolls. Pretty porcine things you take off your shelf and fawn over, play house with but ultimately they're just toys and you'll need to put them away.

Saying that they're toys might sound horrible but I'm not saying this in an insulting way. I've loved so many of my toys, I've loved them more then a lot of people in my life. Being a toy is only horrible if you have nothing else in your life. If butters had a partner, a kid, and was working on her dissertation of law, would being a toy for several hours every so often be horrible. It might make you jealous if you saw her paycheck or it might even make you jealous that she has the ability to be a toy and you can't. But if you say she shouldn't or can't prance around for the payments of other, are you then going to say that the intellectuality gifted have to be held back so as not to belittle the average.

The distinction between the genetic gift of beauty and any other genetic gift is an artificial one and single one of them out for criticism while praising another is a falsity. Butters showing off her physic is really no different then David Suzuki showing off his brain.

Suzuki you whore, your intelligence is hanging out. Children might be watching.
tearonthefire: (me)
I've spent the past 5 years trying to heal and discover myself, avoiding romantic relationships and hoping that I could understand why I kept choosing partners who would hurt and use me.

I thought that now, finally, I might have come to some realization and grown beyond the girl I was. I thought I might have matured and was ready to find a best friend to spend the rest of my life with.

But nothing has changed. I still seek to comfort the hurt. To love the injured. To heal the wounds inflicted by others.

I've discovered the horrible truth about my inner being. A wave of miserable epiphany washing over me in the darkened silence of my car's headlights.

I want to martyr myself. Not in some worthless religious way but to the life and happiness of another. I want to prove the full depth and breath of my love for someone by sacrificing everything to them.

By giving up to them every piece myself, casting off and forsaking my desires, my hopes, my wants. I want to become everything they've ever wanted, give to them everything they've never received.

I have little to offer and no means to bring about my promises. I'm trapped withing an unfulfillable fairytale that I've created out of the ashes of my father's expectations.

I fear I will never escape, that I will never heal, that my wounds will forever sting. That I will hold another's precious something so carefully in my hands, protecting it from the horrible memories. All the while leaving my heart to lay naked in the jagged edges of my soul.
tearonthefire: (me)
A recent news article has appeared in papers and on programs recently, 'Walmart worker alleged fired for calling police about dog left in car'. First of all this title is a complete farce, though thankfully most news outlets are titling their stories more accurately.

What actually happened in the instance the woman sites, is that while off duty she confronted a guy who left a dog in his truck. Latter that day, when she was called into the management’s office, her boss told her to report any such indecent to management she told her boss that she would not and said that she would do what she thought was right. She was then fired and rightly so as this was not the first time she was warned about confronting customers.

As one would expect, the case exploded. As I mentioned, many outlets are using misleading titles and a face book page has been made to support the woman with comments ranging from the benign to those threatening to burn down the Walmart store.

The problem is, is that most of these people eat chicken grown in a Broiler that has the animals standing ankle deep in their own urine and feces with so little room to move that employees must shuffle their feet so not to step on the animals. Dead animals are removed daily, dehydrated to death because they have been bread to be so large that they can't support their own weight.

These people also eat eggs, produced in large multistoried structures that keep chicken's caged in enclosures not much bigger then the animal itself. These animals have nothing to do but eat, excrete, and lay eggs. Their was a time that producers would cut the end of the beak off to stop them from pecking themselves and others. Now it's preferred to immobilize the animal with restreints.

There's also the treatment of cows, pigs, and dozens of other production animals. It's the height of hypocrisy for these people to violently condemn some perceived harm committed to a pet but shrug their shoulders and say, 'what are you going to do' at the treatment of factory farm animals.

Personal I don't really care what the guy did to his dog or what the other people this woman confronted did. But then again if soylent green was sold in stores I'd buy it.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I wanted to write something on mother's day but I'm not really sure what I would like to say. Maybe I really don't have anything to say. Holidays, of any kind, hold no meaning for me and that includes my birthday. They just don't make any scenes and their only purpose seems to be to serve the retail sector.

I mean, if you'd like to do something special for someone, why would you wait for a designated day to do it. If it really meant something, wouldn't you want to do it right away. For instance, I was cursed with the perpetually received socks or underwear. Sure it's the thought that counts, sure someone might need undies but I literally had enough socks and underwear to fill a 70 letter storage container that would constantly pop open from being over filled. Now if I needed socks or underwear, which I do consider essential because I hate wearing shoes sans socks and commando style is just uncomfortable, I would want them as soon as possible, not in a couple of weeks or months when a special occasion came around.

I would love to bitch unending about the whole socks or underwear thing but I don't think that's what is important right now. What I'm centred on right now is the whole one day to thank someone or show appreciation to someone. And another thing that's often missed in posts like this, is the exception from those someones to receive that thanks or appreciation. Mother's day is a perfect example of this. If you really cared about your mother, wouldn't you show it all year long? Wouldn't you take her shopping or fix her plumbing or do some other thing that you wouldn't be obliged to do? And if you were the year round recipient of such displays of caring, why would you then demand or guilt trip someone into marking off one day to do just a little bit more, or in some cases a whole lot more.

People should be grateful for what they receive all year long and becoming upset or angry when Christmas rolls around and the person who has done so much for you the rest of the time doesn't give you the spectacular gift you want, just shows how gluttonous and ungrateful you are. The perfect example of this behaviour IS mother's day, how many mother's have said, 'if you don't care enough to even get a card'. Well if this is truly the case and you have a child you never see or talk to for the entire year and you don't 'even get a card' then you have something to worry about. But, if last week your son or daughter took you shopping and the week before bought you lunch, then you as a parent need to grow up.

And this goes for all 'special days'. If you don't get flowers on your anniversary but you've never had to put gas in your car or your wife makes great dinners every night, then you really need to shut up. Birthdays, Christmases, valentines, everything. If 'something more' needs to be done on these days, that outdoes the regular days, then something is missing in your life.

Okay, so I am going to rant about my 20 years worth of socks or underwear. And it was literally 20 years worth. This shows the opposite end of this spectrum, those who do nothing for you the entire year but feel the need to do or give some token to commemorate the day. For me, every single holiday where gifts were given, a handful of my relatives gave me either socks or underwear. And not fancy socks or underwear, or special socks or underwear, or well made socks or underwear, just plain, cheapest in the bin, socks or underwear. I'm using the phrase 'socks or underwear' monotonously to try to convey the nature of this kind of gift given. These people, and I'll admit that this doesn't apply to everyone, usually don't think about you any other time of the year. Most of the time you never even get a phone call from them but they need to arrive with a package marked with your name.

This isn't 'the thought that counts', this is clearly embarrassment or compulsion on their part. These people feel that if they are the only ones arriving without a gift for you, it will single them out. They truly believe that any gift, no matter how poorly chosen, is better than no gift and elevates them above those who give nothing, or give just a card. To worsen the experience, they and others feel that you should be grateful for their thoughtful gift of socks or underwear. This would be like being grateful to someone for giving you a cold or flu. It's an utterly mindless, and I mean mindless as in it takes no thought at all, gift. It's a gift chosen as they passed by the socks or underwear section on their way to buy themselves something. Or worse, to buy another party goer a better thought out gift.

The truly valuable token to commemorate some special day by a seldom seen socks or underwear giver should be, just being there. If you don't see them often and you truly appreciate getting together on those rare special occasions, then the present is their presents. See how those words are identical, the case I'm trying to make is probably why the same word was used.

These two sides of the same coin, that is the demand for a special day and the obligation to give some anything, shows an ugliness. This coin is a truly tarnished and dirty penny that's cast by these people into the path of all humanity, marring the tapestry of life and drawing attention to their own menial value, as if it were some jewel to be picked up and cherished.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
To the women reading this article; I'd like you to think back to your teenage years, back to high school and your friends or friend's of friends. Can you recall fighting with them, perhaps even physically. Being pushed or slapped with the phrase, 'I heard what you told so-and-so about me', or 'stay away from my boyfriend bitch'.

It's statistically evident that the most likely perpetrator of violence against teenage women are other teenage women. This is also true for men by the way. Being a teenager is a horrific period in someone's life that some look back on wistfully but very few would like to repeat it. The social dynamic is awkward, growth spurts are awkward, hormones are awkward; really, lets face it, the while thing is just awkward which naturally leads to anger and frustration. This is where the majority of violence during these times in our lives stem from. These kinds of incidents have become such a social norm that one couldn't point to a single television show that didn't address these issues in some way. Even Star Trek had an episode about it.

But why is the examination of teenage issues important to any discussion, don't teenagers grow out of the twilight zone of being teenagers. Well it's important to point out that women are as capable of being violent as men. The conversation is frequently obscured by how 'likely' a woman is to commit a violent act, even when the conversation is centered around capability. No one would disagree that a mother would be capable of murder to protect her children but when the conversation is specific to angry or reactionary behavior, many are likely to deny that a woman is at all able to react to such an extreme. I would counter such a statement with the names; Lisa Nowak, Karla Homolka, Amy Bishop, and many more.

This again doesn't mean that women are as likely to commit such crimes but highlights that we are just as capable of them. The chivalristic, and I would dare say misogynistic, ideal that women are virtuous and passive is not only wrong but damaging to women as a whole. It's an unrealistic idea for any person to live under and adds to the strain of being a woman in modern society. Getting pissed at a waiter and wanting to stuff his order pad down his throat is a normal reaction to an overly frustrating event but the thought that this would be a venial sin for men while at the same time being a cardinal sin for women, only diminishes the self worth of the women feeling this type of anger.

The world is awash with little landmines of anti-selfesteem for women and while it might seem counter intuitive to think that viewing women as less capable of violence is one of those land minds, it does set up an unreasonable expectation. I'm not advocating that anyone go out and prove that they're capable of being violent, I'm saying that both genders need stop portraying women as more and as less then what they we are, people. If we as a society can do that, then the case of three teenage girls selling other teenage girls into sex slavery will be less a discussion of how shocking that a woman can do this and more a discussion of how shocking it is that anyone could do it.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
On the Thursday before persistence Thursday, so the day before schmuck Friday, I began to feel a strange sensation in my chest and an intermediate sensation of my heart beating in my throat, which also corresponded with a swelling of my throat. I still can't really describe what my chest continues to feel like. I've been describing it as a negative pressure, as if my lungs were being sucked to collapse but this description doesn't seem entirely accurate.

I think this was probably why I felt as if Friday was still Thursday. The sensations began the Thursday, interrupted my sleep through that night and Friday morning, and continued without much respite through the day. It wasn't painful, nor was it particularly bothersome but it was strange, and it was something that I'd never felt before. By about ten o'clock I decided that I wanted to know what was going on and headed to my local municipal hospital. This was my first error in this adventure, I should've just called my GP to get an appointment to set up some tests on my own volition but I didn't.

I arrived shortly before eleven and explained my condition to the triage nurse as best as I could. My temperature, blood pressure, and heart rate were taken and I listed my medications and allergies. I'd decided before leaving for the hospital that if it was overly crowded I'd forget about it and go home, the hospital was empty when I entered except for one other person so I stayed. By noon I was fidgety, by one I was annoyed, two o'clock a movie came on the TV that distract me, by three'ish the waiting room had swelled to more than ten plus with their moral support along for the ride, at four the movie proved to be much more moronic than I had previously thought, four thirty-ish I was escorted to an exam room, five fifteen I was given a Ventolin dose, an EKG, blood was drawn, and I was sent to x-ray. Despite stating my allergy to adhesives, my blood drawing hole was tapped up with the standard tape, I began to itch. At five thirty I was suddenly moved to a 'quiet room' on the other side of the ER.

To recap; between the hours of eleven to five thirty-ish, I was a low priority nuisance who was sitting quietly wherever they told me to. So that's over five hours where no-one was paying any attention to me. Between five thirty and six I saw the ER attending about as much as the guy in observation who was on the verge of crashing, I could hear his monitors going in and out of primary alarm.

The prognosis; 'you may have had a mild heart attack'. Yippy, I'm so lucky. The second or third idiocy of the day was that while the attending ordered my triponin levels she did not order CK levels. I ask why but received no answer. My meds list and allergies were again given. At this point I also began anticipating her questions and answered her before she even asked them, this lead to her repeatedly asking me if I had any medical training. Of course I didn't, I'm an obsessive compulsive, crippled, high function autistic with the internet. This completely changed the dynamic of the situation, before I was just a patient with a heart problem, now I was a patient with a heart problem who wanted very specific and pertinent information. In short, a problem and the fight between the medical staff and myself started, and I do think I can call it a fight no matter how passive aggressive it was.

My request for a CK was order along with a few others and I was placed on a heart monitor. While on the monitor I saw, as I felt, a premature ventricular contraction. About one to two a minute. When the doctor came back I pointed it out to her. At first she was unconcerned until I told her that I could feel them. PVCs are perfectly normal for anyone to have, for the most part they're described as 'skipping a beat' but actually feeling them and having about thirty in a short conversation, is not normal.

At this point I decided that I wanted to be treated as an out-patient and not to be admitted to the hospital. From what I gathered during my previous discussions with my attending, my risk level was rather low and whatever had happened, 'had' happened and would either need long term-ish treatment or wouldn't repeat with anything close to predictability. My desire suddenly changed my risk factors and the fear tactics perpetrated by the attending ramped up, to went from 'you shouldn't be too concerned' to 'you might have a seizure and die, which would be very painful'. It also went from 'you'll probably be fine' to 'you could die in a very painful way'. The frequent references to pain were made because I asked, in a joking way, if v fib would be painful.

She never outright refused to answer my questions but censored them in a way to imply the worst case scenarios and avoided giving me the actual numeric values of my tests, an example of this is; that my CK level was between 215 and 220, which means it was barely above upper normal, at least by Ontario's standards.

As I was being pretty badly emotionally beaten up by this woman I eventually caved but with the stipulation that I go home to pick up my laptop and some cloths. This was immediately accepted by the attending and I speed walked home to gather my precious insanity inhibitor. When I got back to the hospital I was in tachycardia, something that I've been complaining about since I was a teen. The tachycardia persisted for hours, from about six to about ten or so. More blood test were taken but I wasn't scheduled for any diagnostic test because in this rural area even the hospital is closed on the weekends. I'm not kidding, they had to take the blood tests early because the lab would be closed during the night. This is how bad it is.

I again gave my meds list and allergies before being transferred to the in-patient wing. In preparation to make the cardiac patient comfortable, they took away all my meds except for stomach meds and stuck me in a room with an old woman who thought she was entitled to everything. She also had her TV tuned to CTV Moncton at a volume which could be heard from the Europe.

Now that I was settled in my room with a gloom, I was asked for my meds list and allergies. Once that and some other questions were answered I asked for a DNR, this lead to a ten minute discussion as to why a person my age would not want to be resuscitated. The long answer is that I do want some life giving measures taken but I do not want to have my ribs broken with excessive chest compressions nor do I want my body pumped full of volatile drugs. The short answer is that DNR's are not all that customizable and it's just easier to say 'just let me die in peace you life worshipping pushers'. Again while I was never refused my right to a DNR, the paperwork never appeared.

Let's recap again, just cause I want to. I went from endlessly waiting as priority three or four to being hovered over at priority two. The ER attending went from 'don't be too worried' to 'you may die a painful death'. My test results went from 'of some concern' to 'you absolutely need to be monitored, you could die'. It's funny how the same results can be explained in two extremely different ways with the only difference being how the patient wants to be treated.

Now that the obsessive compulsive had her laptop, I began reading up on my new and exciting condition. From six to eight, I learned more by reading articles and testimonials then I ever did from the staff. As my knowledge of the probable facts of my condition increased, I say probably because medicine is mostly hit and miss, the staff began to be unable to answer my questions. A breakdown of communication began to occur between myself and the staff as I began to ask every increasingly sophisticated questions. The inability of the staff to answer in what my opinion was simple questions, eroded my confidence in their abilities. My requests for further testing was not outright refused but were deflected. I was admitted at this point and they might have assumed that I would now stay as I seemed to be committed to a course of action.

They would never have guessed that a reasonably polite, well read, thirty two year old would much rather suffer and possibly die then be manipulated. Though my research I quickly discovered that the attending censored some of the possible causes of my condition. Two of the possible reasons for PVCs are; exhaustion and anxiety, and I experience those in spades. She also censored the fact that while my triponin levels were elevated the lack of significantly elevated CK levels and the lack of other heart attack markers meant that whatever happened had long since passed. Statistically speaking, I was at a higher risk of 'something' but I was not at a greatly higher risk of a heart attack in the immediate future.

Other test results were also counter indicative of elevated risk factors, in all the categories. Despite the persistent tachycardia it was slowly decreasing, this would indicate that my heart was not under persistent stress. The elevated CK was also easily explained by my fibromyalgia and increased activity in the previous days. On top of that my EKG lines were normative, while not excluding a resent cardiac event and not completely excluding a future one, it did indicate a low probability of an event occurring in the near future. I wasn't told any of this by the staff, I had to research it all on my own. I got the distinct impression that if I had not been so persistent in my questioning I wouldn't have gotten any of the information that I did.

I have discussed this situation with others and the predominate opinion is that the ER attending was only concerned with my health. Will I agree that this was the case but it was unethical for her to bully me into the treatment plan she wanted. By law and by the ethical standards doctors are supposed to operate by, it's the patient who decides what their medical treatment will consist of. A doctor cannot legally or ethically override a patient's wishes by any means without first showing that their decision making processes are impaired. Stating or restating the risk factor involved are perfectly reasonable things to do, even indicating a worst case scenario could be argued as reasonable. But when a patient, namely me, clearly states their intentions for medical treatment several times, this has crossed the line from simple concern to unethical manipulation.

But the last straw happened shortly after I awoke from my nap at two am. I called the nurse to complain of chest congestion and ask for Ventolin. I was offered O2, when I asked what my O2 states were she told me that they were one hundred percent. This wasn't the last straw but was definitely a 'you are an idiot moment'. She told me that Ventolin was not on my meds list and I gave up on any argument as I was feeling pretty defeated by the place. I then asked for my stats, which by the way were not being observed by my nurse fifteen meters away but by the ER staff on a different level and on the other side of the building. I was told that they were fine for the last ten minutes.

Now comes the last straw. I couldn't sleep and I was pissed, I need to take a walk, which I was told not to do, I did anyways. I discovered that during my nap I had pulled off two of the three heart monitor lines, one of the diaphragm lines, and the second diaphragm line was flipped upside down. I had only one EKG line attached.

Excuse me but I must profanely and loudly express the sentiment I thought at that moment. WHO THE FUCK'S GOD DAMN EKG LINES WERE THESE FUCKING HALFWITS MONITORING. That was it, I had enough and I melted down. As my atomic anger burned it's way through my head, setting off some PVCs and some low range tachycardia in my chest, it made it's way into my extremities. I went for a walk to try to calm down. I sat staring out a window and weighed the options of my predicament. If I stayed, I would have gotten all my tests within a week, or at least most of the test, but also if I stayed I would continue to melt down until I went into an anger thermal shock. The incompetence of the nurses and the manipulation by the doctor, and the threats of discontinuing treatment if I left, all churned and surged in my head. I only ask one thing of anyone whom I trust to do anything for me or to me, be more knowledgeable about it then I. And it's not hard to do that, I'm an idiot, you must be more capable than an idiot. These people failed, and they broke the most important tenant of modern medicine, informed consent. I did not have fully informed consent.

It took only a matter of minutes for me to make up my mind, I'd rather suffer and die then deal with these people another microsecond. I asked to speak to a doctor and was denied. I told them I was leaving, their threats of discontinued service came back. I made it clear that I didn't care. Now the doctor was called and more negotiation was attempted but I had, had enough and was fully committed to possibly dieing in excruciating pain in my own goddamn bed. I was enraged, a controlled little nuclear event spewing the radiation of absolute annoyance. The nurse followed me like a complete idiot, wanting me to sign a document stating my refusal of treatment, far more important than my right to a DNR. I signed it and left.

Since then I have retaken control of my medical treatment but I'm also being punished for my decision to do so. If you don't think making decisions on your own about your health lead to punishment, I invite you to try it. The medical community is a hierarchy and is elitist. They, doctors especially, believe they are the gatekeepers or worst masters of health but they get it wrong far to often to deserve such reverence. Everything from taking ten years to diagnose lyme disease because they refuse to believe it's as prevalent as it is and refusing to see those who seek third party treatment for it, to misdiagnosing cancer in a child who has an autoimmune disease instead. The medical community subjects patients to humiliating tests and procedures while making them wait hours in a state of undress for those tests. They make the critically and terminally sick suffer unduly because of a perverse life worship.

It makes me physically ill to think of what they have put myself and others through, just because they didn't like the prognosis or simply refuse to accept the data on some condition. I have nothing good to say about the medical community as a whole.

My current condition is exactly as I had suspected and predicted it to be. I'm somewhat fragile in that I can easily cause myself PVCs and likely tachycardia but if I'm careful, I can control my symptoms without the need for medication. If I'm very careful in the planing of my day I can lead as normal of a life as I did before all this happened, without being unduly bothered by chest problems. At this point I've controlled my health successfully enough that I only occasionally feel unplanned or random discomfort and I simply deal with the discomfort I know will be associated with activity. I still want to gain further knowledge of what's going on and I will happily wait for my deprioritize test dates to discover more.

I am the master of my own body and no one will force me to capitulate to their will, I will happily suffer in agony and die in abject horror before I forfeit my own sovereignty.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I realize I haven't written in a few weeks, nor have I said one word regarding a recent cardiac episode but a response today from a friend of a friend is prompting me to speak out. I say 'speak out' deliberately and not 'speak of' because of the utter pretension present in all the levels of the conversation I had with this person.

First off, let me give a very brief description of, 'the cardiac event'. I began to feel a strange sensation in my chest that others would call 'skipping a beat' but these skips were occurring more than once a minute. I'd never felt something like that before, pause, and was concerned, pause, so I went to my local hospital. Please note the inserted drama as it punctuates the fact that I never go to the hospital for anything, unless I think it might lead to significant long term pain. Now I'd like you to also note that this moment, the moment of not knowing what was going on and not knowing what to do about it, was about the most optimistic moment of the entire experience. Everything else just highlighted the failures in the medical establishment.

You might be curious at this point as to what the whole story was, well you're going to be disappointed and you're going to have to wait until I finish writing about the experience, which may not be over as I haven't decided whether or not I'm going to file an ethics complaint. I will spoil part of the upcoming article by telling you that it involves my asking to be treated as an out patient and while not exactly being denied such action, I did state my wishes more than seven times. I asked for a DNR, which under the circumstances would have never needed to be observed, and again while I was never denied, the paperwork was also never presented. I asked for an asthma treated and the previous two circumstances were repeated. I asked to speak to a doctor, again repeat. And so on. Ending in me leaving the hospital.

Back to my rant at hand. I have shamelessly used the situation and my unknown condition to make several Andy Kaufman-esque type jokes, ie their only really funny to me. The best example I could give would be, 'why would you say/do that with a heart penitent around'. See, pure hilarity. It's kinda tied into the whole notion that people, average people, don't really want to be reminded of other's conditions or limitations, as that would mean they might offend them or need to treat them with special consideration. At heart everyone wishes to see everyone else as a kind of reflection of themselves and to be confronted with something non-normative is, uncomfortable.

Perhaps this is why the friend of a friend said that they had no sympathy for me because I wasn't taking care of myself. Well first of all this statement is full of moronacy, a combination of moron and lunacy. If I had not left the hospital on my own volition and was treated, released and followed-up on but still needed long term medical intervention for my health, how would that have affected the situation. Would they then have sympathy for startling me with their hand slap to the table and would they then feel bad if I want into a cardiac infarction because of it. More importantly would they have not felt bad, given everything that did happen and I had gone into arrest because of their hand slap.

Doesn't that stop your mind dead for a minute, as you contemplate everyone that has ever said that they have no sympathy for something that is happening to you because of something you have done. Doesn’t that make you think, 'what if it was a whole lot worse, would they still have no sympathy. What if I died?' Well it shouldn't stop your mind dead, these people are self righteous brats and if you have ever said it to someone, maybe you should think of why you would say such a thing. I myself have no idea why this person would think I deserve my condition or am undeserving of sympathy just because I would not play an instituted game with a hospital or hospital staff.

And it is a game but I will also admit they do genuinely wish to help and/or cure people. It's just that we as a society aren't very good at it. Let me throw some statistics at you. The National Patient Safety Foundation did a survey in 1997 to obtain a patient's opinion, whatever the reason, as to whether or not a 'misdiagnosis or treatment error' occurred. Forty-two percent reported that some error occurred without giving much detail. You might just chalk that up to them 'feeling' some error occurred but if nearly half are reporting just feeling 'something' was wrong then there is still a systemic problem. Furthermore eight percent gave details of whatever error they felt had occurred. Another troubling statistic as reported by the New York Times, I will admit however that I could not find the original study stating this; autopsies performed on fatally ill patients show that around twenty percent of them have been misdiagnosed and mistreated. One more statistic and this one is slightly chilling; in a study done by Steven J Rothrock, MD published in 2000, it sighted an error rate in over diagnosing appendicitises in child of less than twelve of between twenty-eight and fifty-seven percent peeking at nearly one-hundred percent for children under two. This basically means that three to six out of ten children under twelve and nearly all children under two are needlessly being cut open and having a part of themselves removed, for no good reason.

So what does all this fact spitting really mean? Well it means that this friend of a friend's 'faith', I use the word faith in quotations deliberately, is unfounded. I could sit here and just copy and past study after study showing the shortcomings of modern medicine. I could also sit here and regale you, albeit boring, with my endless misadventures regarding the medical community. But again it still has no bearing on this person's reaction or statement. Why would I be less worthy of sympathy and by extension consideration, because it seems difficult or impossible to give one consideration without sympathy, just because I chose to take the statistic of 'probably nothing serious will happen' over the 'let's be safe' attitude.

It might simply come down to faith in the system. And I will admit that I might be misanalysing this person but for the purposes of this article I'll just assume I'm right. The idea that I might have my own judgement on my current state of health and that my judgement might be better formed then that of a doctor's, or worse supersede that doctor's, is absurdly foreign to this person. Faith in modern medicine and in the skilla, if not infallibility, of modernly educated doctors has become a sudo-religion in itself. The idea that no one can help you or that you may be better equipped to help yourself, goes against the modern zeitgeist of medicine. Just look at Dr Oz, everything he says, include that raw coffee beans will make you loose weight without doing anything, is believed just because he is a doctor and he is a real doctor, unfortunately.

Also unfortunately, it is impossible to budge these people from their faith. Even if their doctor makes a mistake and even if that mistake is serious, they are forgiven. The statement, 'their only human', should and dose realistically apply before that mistake is made and it is up to the individual to be vigilant and not blindly hand over their bodies to another human without know what's going on. Doctor's are not sudo-gods, they are not even better read then most of their patients on the chronic conditions they have. And worse they might have biases about those conditions, even going so far as to refuse that they are in-fact real medical conditions.

So am I worthy of sympathy, even after everything I've stated. No I'm not, at least not in this person's 'belief' and they are completely entitled to that 'belief'. But it's also a completely unsubstantiated and indefensible 'belief' and as such completely without worth. Just believing in something doesn't give one entitlement to the gold metal of conciseness, it doesn't even give you entitlement to the spirit award of conciseness. A person such as this is simply a spectator, sitting in a complementary seat of the arena of life. Their only contribution, to jeering and cheering the competitors.

God damn! GOD DAMN! Sometimes I say things completely beyond my own mettle. I need a victory cupcake now.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I was so schmuckified yesterday that I don't even want to admit it. All day I thought it was Thursday. Not only did I think it was Thursday, I looked it up on two computer calendars and still thought it was Thursday.

This condition is sometimes called 'belief persistence'(bp) and you can guess by its name what aspect of human life one might want to invent a label like that. It can be akin to confirmation bias(cb) but where cb requires at least some level of corroborating data bp requires none or ignores the available.

Despite looking directly at a calendar, more than once, my certainty made me selectively blind to the display of the contradictory information. I can remember looking and seeing the indicator highlighting the second from the right date but in my mind I thought it meant Thursday and when I confronted myself later that night on the actual day, I could remember what I saw and couldn't understand why I thought it meant the day before. Some part of me must have realized my mistake because I did keep checking the date but despite that nagging suspicion I kept persisting in my belief.

I of course feel utterly foolish. It wasn't like I was out, without access to a calendar and thinking, 'it feels like a Thursday', I had no excuse. It's odd beyond words how the human mind can fulfil one's biases despite a plainly written display to the contrary. It's not like it was open to interpretation, it was as plain as circling the correct answer and I got it wrong.

I think I'm going on about this because I pride myself on having the most correct information I can find and not being susceptible to colouring the information with my own desires. I can at least comfort myself with the fact that I did eventually correct myself.

I don't know how other people can stand being wrong about something, or anything, like this. This mistake was made in my own home, in private and I feel completely stupid. I feel humiliated despite the lack of available judgers. I feel the need to be even more vigilante about what I think and what I see despite the obvious opinion of most that this was just 'one of those things' and 'nothing to get so worked up about' but even the forgiving oneself of a small inconsequential mistake such as this one may lead to ever increasing laziness and the eventual corruption of one's mind. I just wish others were even half this vigil over the contents of their minds.

Yes, I am this obsessive. This is not a satire or a parody of anything, I really do feel schmuckish over this.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
About a week ago, I was faced with an uncomfortable conclusion based upon an interesting reaction I had. I was sitting at a table in a casino buffet feeling very happy. Very, very happy. Euphoric in-fact. I was feeling better than I've had in months. Better than I've ever felt after sex. My imitate conclusion to this state of intoxicating inebriation was that I was a food addict.

Did I mention it was better than sex? I think that's important to this whole section of the rant. Much better than sex. Den of lust, better than sex. Brown mayo oozing out the side of a fried spam sandwich better.

I waxed on about this to my dining companions, one of whom was an addict. I found the addict's reaction somewhat, disturbing and I think disturbing would be an apt description. She seemed somewhat elated that I might also be an addict myself, either because I would understand their point of view or give them someone to suffer with. Either way a question I brought up seemed to convince us both that I really wasn't addicted to food. 'Can one be addicted to something without being compelled to consume/use that something?' There is a whole list of things I do that could be described as addictive behaviour.

The seemingly most blaring example would be my desire to have a bottle of vodka in my fridge at all times. I'm never without one, if I run out I restock within a few days. But, I almost never drink. Every few weeks, or even a few months, I might get on a ging and drink a few drinks for a few days but then I just stop and have no real desire to drink anymore. But again, I have that bottle in my fridge at all times.

One might also say that my desire for pot is an addiction but again I haven't had any for more than five years. That doesn't mean I don't desire it, I love pot. It's a mellowing, relaxing, warm bath without needing to get wet. It's a few hours of doing absolutely nothing and loving it to the extreme and I'm a bitch that loves nothing. Zen meditation to me is that moment just before you wake up and you're suspended in this cocoon of nothingness while still being aware of yourself and your surroundings. Pot does that on demand and without the need to be tired hours beforehand. But am I addicted to it? I can at any time go out and buy enough for a nice few days vacation but I don't, mostly because I can never be sure of its quality or what some jerk has sprayed on it.

I've never showed any signs of dependency toward anything in my life. I used to go to parties where drugs and boos flowed like any teenage party and while I did partake during most of those times I never felt the desire to continue the next morning. Even coke did very little for me. I've been told by many users before and since how addictive and enslaving it is. I didn't feel either at all. The three times I tried it, I didn't even feel the 'high' other people have described. All I did on it was sit in the middle of the room philosophizing about human/ape crossbreeds and how I'd refuse to wear school uniforms, because they violated my rights man! I've been told it makes you narcissistic, I just felt introspective. The one time I smoked crack, it did something I didn't like but I can't smoke cigarettes either so that may not be indicative of anything.

E was another drug that didn't do much for me. It didn't make me hyper and free spirited like it supposedly does everyone else. For the most part I felt like I was having a mildly severe panic attack. I've since wondered how good it'd be as a weight loss drug but I'm not sure I want to attempt that, I's gots meself enough trouble with the anxieties I gots now.

All that being said I've never tried or wanted to try the heavy shit like morphine or opium despite being offered, I can't even really take oxycodone. Oxy like E makes me anxious and uncomfortable with the added effect of an unpleasant high feeling.

I soon concluded, as did my addict dining companion, that I was not a food addict. I've been dieting for months, to lose weight for a surgery, and my reaction was likely a result of a very restricted sugar intake. I could compare it to seeing an old friend, wonderful for the first little while but their company gets old after a short time. The next day I was back on my diet and even the day of the buffet indulgence I wasn't that much over my calories for the day. I've since indulged in some sugar every now and then, I figured that if it gave me such a feeling of happiness I should grab a slice of pie or a doughnut every few days or so. I still try to incorporate it into my diet plan and lower my other carb intakes to compensate. Alas my tolerance for raw sugar is greatly lowered, so i don't really enjoy it all that much.

I'm afraid I just don't understand addiction or anything connected to it. For the most part I not so secretly think it's a matter of self control. That belief is somewhat dissipated by the fact that I seem not to have any addictive traits what so ever but then I met a whole host of social users that can take it or leave it without any ill effects. Some addicts have told me that these people are just waiting for the crash where their lives turn into the complete hell hole theirs are. It's never happened. And those social users seem to delight not indulging for long periods, just to prove a point. If I had access to high quality marijuana, I'd do the exact same thing. In fact there are those who've said it's the Adderall I'm taking that's letting me loose weight and I've done exactly what I've said I'd do, I stopped taking it to prove the point that it's not.

I admit, I'm a cynical bitch who wouldn't believe the sky was blue unless there was a stack of studies to prove such. By the way the sky isn't blue, it's black. The blue is an optical illusion caused by the light particles being slowed by the atmosphere shifting the wavelength into the 450 to 500 nanometre range. Ya, I'm that kinda bitch. As such, any and all claims made by 'the observer', in this case someone with an addiction, are immediately disregarded and I tend to gravitate toward the hard science. And before I hear any nonsense, the reactions of a heroin addict's brain as observed in an fMRI are almost identical to those observed in someone whose just hungry. And when I say almost, I mean that the differences that are observed are also found in identical case studies, meaning it's the physiological dissimilarities in individuals.

The most recent 'drug use' type thing I've experienced is consuming caffeine with Adderall. Because I'm autism spectrum Adderall, an amphetamine, has the opposite affect on me then it would on a neurologically normative, boring, person. It sedates me, except when I drink caffeine with it. The combination turns me into mighty mouse. I feel completely normal but I get back all the former hyperness I experienced when I was younger. It was wonderful, I's gots me's an enormous amount of works done but, and major but here, I realized that after three days I didn't feel like sleeping. I didn't exactly feel tired, I still felt the desire to keep going but I felt very run down. Still it was a great feeling to be able to be productive and sharper, mentally, then I've been lately and I do plan on experimenting with it now that i know more. Unfortunately I don't have a lot to say on that front right now, it was an accidental realization that brought the combination to my attention and I haven't felt up to replicating it recently but I will sooner or later.

I feel I should disclaimer a bit here. I'm not advocating drug use, although I will sign a petition to legalize marijuana, and I know there are some people who simply can not handle such things. Those same people would have others believe that the reaction is universal, it's most defiantly not. Not everyone will be hooked on one puff or snort but no one really has any advice on how to determine if you will become dependent on whatever substance you're experimenting with. For all intents and purposes I should be susceptible to addiction but I'm not, one of the reasons I'm suspicious of such claims, and I can't say why. I am just, who I am; slightly hippie-ish and open to new experiences. It could be that I have nothing to hide myself from, it could be that I'm happy with who I am, or it could be a hundred million other things.

What I can say is that when I thought my reaction in the buffet was addiction, I hated it. I didn't want to know that I was a food addict but when I realized that I was just enjoying my food, I've literally never denied myself a food I wanted before, I felt okay with the reaction. Maybe that's it, I have full control over my wants and desires. That's exactly what I hate and what I think is wrong with the anonymous programs, the requirement to admit powerlessness of something. I'll admit to being a glutton, my whole being and life is geared toward enjoyment. Until recently I've only eaten good food, only worked at 'fun' place until they became not fun, and I only ever experience unhappiness or despair when I can't get what I want. I am, I think, a glutton for good life and novel experiences.

A state of being I'd recommend to anyone. LONG LIVE HEDONISM!

P.S. To those who know me, I don't want a lot of questions about my experimentation.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I was almost involved in an accident today while driving into the city.

I do wish to quantify what I mean by 'almost accident'. It wasn't what most people refer to when they say almost accident, I wasn't five or three or even one foot away from the other vehicle. I was turning left through the oncoming traffic lane to pull into a store but I didn't notice the car coming in the opposite direction. I really have no justification for not noticing it, I simply didn't. It would have been my fault. Once I'd seen him, I stepped on the breaks and he swerved. Both of us by the way were doing about 90 before I slowed to turn.

We came so close that his back tire rubbed up against my bumper, leaving a scuff mark. This is what I mean when I say 'almost accident' and because it was my laps of concentration it was me who almost killed myself.

The funny thing is, that besides the initial adrenalin rush of reacting to a danger, I didn't feel anything at all. When he didn't stop or turn around, I went in to shop. Then jumped back into my car to go to my next destination. The only thing I can say that occurred, besides needing to buff my bumper, is that I got one more great shocking story to tell.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
This is hotly contested by the majority of the ultra-libralists and a fair number of the more sane individuals. For the ultra-liberals, there's no hope and I wont even try to discus or philosophise anything involving you people. But for the realistic, I think the best description for what every person is entitled to is the 'being left the fuck alone' rule. This rule seems quite self explanatory but for the benefit of the ULs, if you can't figure it out then you're a UL, the rule basically states that if a person is not doing something that directly effects you in a direct way, you leave them the fuck alone. The f-word is necessary as it punctuates the importance of the rule, it's an absolute not a suggestion.

For example; the two women walking from k-mart to walmart and holding one another's hand are doing nothing that effects you in any way. You might want to argue the point, you're wrong. I don't care what your point is, you're wrong. They aren't talking to you, not touching you, and not in your personal space. The rule applies, 'leave them the fuck alone'. If you take it upon yourself to run up to them in pry their hands apart, you have violated the rule, violated their space, and physically touched them. As such you have given up your right not to be punched in the face.

Another example and one I find difficult to accept; the poorly dresses wigger in untied high tops, low riding almost falling off pants, listening to beat based music that you can just barely hear, and slowly but restrictively headbanging to the music. He's in his own space, his music is not intrusive, and his clothing is not on your body. You leave him the fuck alone. I might find how he dresses so mind numbingly distasteful that it makes my brain melt but he's not doing anything directly to me and if I or anyone else taps him on the shoulder and tells him to pull up his damn pants, we've lost the right not to be told to mind our own fucking business and piss off.

And one more I also find difficult; the two obnoxiously delirious religious people talking at a reasonable level about how much they love jesus, how juses has saved their lives, and how the bible is the ultimate authority. This applies to any religion not just jesusism, it's a real word and my new favourite one. Although it pains me and turns my brain to mush, leave then the fuck alone. They're not talking to you, not trying to convert you, and speaking at a reasonable level, one you might use to discus some new fashion. If for some reason, I feel sick saying this, butt in to inform them of their falsies or to educate them on real history or science, you've given up your right not to be ridiculed for being an intolerant egotistical bitch and the antipathy of the lord their savour.

However, if the same churchy goers turn to you and start preaching to you or interrupt your conversation on the large hadron collider to make mention of gods creation, the same goes for them. The have no right to say, 'well that's just what I believe and you have to respect my beliefs'. No I don't, and no I ain’t. If you're in an indefensible position and insert yourself into a pleasant discourse or worse voice your unsubstantiated belief unprompted, you give up your 'being left the fuck alone' right and deserve the full weight of someone's knowledge and intelligence crushing down on every one of your unprovable beliefs.

I realize I'm massively bias in this circumstance, I am aware that I'm waiting for any and all opportunities to pounce on a person like this. And so what. There is absolutely no requirement for me not to respond to some idiotic statement being thrown at me that amounts to 'I'm more righter than you and you can't say nothing about it'. It is not tolerant to ignore a falsehood directed at you, it's ignoring it. Tolerant is the examples I have already given and a state of being not presented by those that theoretically violated the example's rights to be left the fuck alone. I personally have suffered the violation outlined in the first example but I unfortunately didn't smack the 60 plus year old asshole that told use that there was children in the mall.

No one is permitted to tell you how to act or behave then have their own behaviour exempted from judgement. No one is permitted to voice their opinion without having that opinion called into question. This is an example of the 'tough shit' rule. If you want to do something, you are not insulated from that thing being done to you. And this garbage of incorporating the 'cannot be called into question' crap into your belief system is not a valid argument. Not only is it unfair and unjust to expect something you are not willing to extend to others, it's also a very apparent sign that you are undeserving of even the 'being left the fuck alone' rule.

Being as ready as I am to argue endlessly and unendingly with someone who says something untrue, ignorant, or just plain stupid, I come across every dodge attempt ever invented. For a very long time they did deter me as I believed they were valid rational. 'It's just my opinion and I'm entitled to it' was something that stopped me for quite a long time. But I got very tired of being purposely instigated only to be shut down when the other person felt themselves losing the argument. If it happened once or twice per subject per person I'd still be 'respecting' their opinions. However, when something is brought up repeatedly and insistently it's no longer an opinion or what 'you believe' it becomes an attack to force you to come into line with their beliefs and when found out that this is exactly what they are doing, they attempt to protect themselves with the age old adage.

It doesn't work that way but unfortunately these people have so many others worried about being seen as less civilized and less cultured that they get away with it. The good thing is, it's changing. The overly polite bowing out, not being tolerant, from discussion with these people is fading. When someone cries wolf too many times or cries oppression too many times they're just not listen to any longer. It's happening, it really is. More and more are speaking up and speaking out when someone makes an unsupportable statement. Few and few are ignoring, not being tolerant, of the abuse of privilege from these people. And I'm not just talking about the religious. Everyone has a family member who says something idiotic to you about you. Even these people are being made accountable.

For me, I can become irrestrainably, then add it, sarcastic and belittling to those who just don't stop with their inanity. I start out only attempting to educate someone or to give them the resources to educate themselves. If they choose to ignore my attempts, that's fine but if they continue and become incessant, I loss my patients and objectivity. I feel, and I cold be wrong, that I'm perfectly justifiable in treating someone who acts in this manner towards me as a petulant fool worthy of ridicule and weapons grade sarcasm. The point that I'm not justifiable could be made to me and it could sway my behaviour but to this date no one has made a single argument that didn't include something close to, 'just cause'.

I am well gifted in the black arts of sarcasm and I'm also incredibly knowledgeable. You might be stunned how knowledgeable I actually am but I'm not however particularly intelligent. As such I have a lot of sympathy for those that also do not posses it and if they wish to better themselves through learning or simply can't get it, I'd never mercifully admonish them. However, if you are resonably intelligent and more than likely, more intelligent than I but chose to remain dedicatedly ignorant and continue to vocalize your ignorance toward me, I will use my skillset against you and without remorse. I also encourage everyone else to do the same and to do the same to me.

I don't exempt myself, if I'm being just as moronic as any religious fundamentalist or blind faith sheep, don't let me get away with it and if it takes treating me like a shlep to shut me up and get me to admit I'm wrong, DO IT! Just make sure I have little evidence or justification for my position. I've also learned that some attempt to use those same tactics when a position in indefeasible knowing full well most will shy away from open conflict and forced humility. I am not one of them.

Leaving one of my favourite subjects, me, for a moment lets get back to idiocy and how it's undeserving of tolerance and/or respect.

I've been speaking mostly of tolerance but respect can also be interchanged in most circumstances but not all. My reaction to extreme stupidity would be the perfect example of a lack of respect, as I hinted at when I mention I could be argued with that I was justified in ridiculing someone. Respect is also not an autocratically granted condition, it still falls under the 'being left the fuck alone' rule and all the violations in the examples I have given are also examples of disrespect.

Let me give one example of not autocratically giving respect that most would qualify as deserving; the police. Many would say they deserve respect because they are the police but no one has ever been pulled over and acted nice because they thought the cop was entitled to respect, they act nice for fear of reprisals.

Even as a child, one's parents are feared not respected. A child simply has no concept of respect even if told what it means and parents are so rarely deserving of respect anyway. I do of course agree that there are those who are deserving of special consideration do to fear and if one chooses not to take any action for fear of reprisals, then don't but don't ever confuse this with respect. Fearing hell is not a respect for god, fearing rejection is not respect towards others. Respect is so commonly used in place of fear it might even become synonymous. It's so common, I'm convince the original hebrew scripture must have been written 'fear thy father and thy mother'. Fear should be rebelled against but I do understand one's wish to avoid confronting it.

In any even respect is earned and while someone is earning their respect the rules outlines here apply. Violation of these simply and arguably universal rules forfeit the expectation of those rules applying to youself. Expecting respect without doing anything to earn it, is simply moronic and worthy of ridicule itself. Further argument on the subject of respect would only be rehashing those I've already gave on tolerance but I felt I should say something on the subject since ULs would, not might, point out that it didn't apply to respect because I made little mention of it, they do stuff like that. Assuming something's apparent invites moronic hole poking from these people.

In closing I'd like to reiterate, I don't respect you and I have no tolerance for your loonisy but I'll leave you the fuck alone if you leave me the fuck alone. Otherwise, lets play...
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
At this point there are probably many who would like to argue with me or even get violent over what I have just stated. Before I get started let me make an example almost everyone can relate to. Some that know me might think that I'm about to go for the religion card. I'm not, even the religious can relate to this. Oh how you self defenders, you opinionators who like using the 'it's my opinion' card are going to love this. I'm giddy with anticipation.

First bear in mind that all of this is on record and the statements were made during public interviews, this isn't an interview faux pa, it's the company's justification.

Advertising firms for fast food chains, chip and drink companies, and toy manufacturers employ child psychologists to determine the best way to advertise to child so that they can better nag their parents into buying them something. They called this, the nag factor. Their spokesmen have said on camera, more than once, 'when the parents say that they don't like it when their children nag, well that is just a general attitude that they posses' and that through advertisements, 'you can manipulate consumers (children or their parents by proxy) into wanting and therefore buying your products', and that 'it's a game'. When asked numerous times if they though it was unethical to advertise to children in this way, their reply is that it was a matter of opinion.

It's a good thing too, that it's just someone's opinion because if it was factually unethical then you wouldn't hear 'can we go to McDonald's', 'I want to go to McDonald's', and my favourite SCREAM 'I WANT MCDONDAL'S I HATE LASAGNA!!!!!!'. If you think I'm speaking condescendingly, that just your opinion. Speaking of McDonald's hears another 'opinion'.

When McDonald's really began opening stores in France the surgeon general of France said that McDonald's is only part of a healthy diet if eaten once a month. McDonald's replayed by saying that 'it was one man's opinion'. When the surgeon general of the united states said that 'obesity is an epidemic', and indicted fast food restatements as part of the cause, the restatements said it was just an opinion.

I could go on but I bet that your kids nagging you for something and that your thinking that it was wrong for large corporations, who employ many ivy league school graduates, to teach them how to nag you better, was just an opinion has made my case. Well if everyone is entitled to their opinion, you have to respect that opinion with grace and civility and without debate, then you should load up the car cause you're going to your pediatrician.

You are of course entitled to hold any opinion of anything in all the universe. The point were the phrase, 'you are not entitled to your opinion' comes into play is when you start telling others your opinion. Being ' entitled' to an 'opinion' does not make you suddenly immune to criticism of that opinion. Let's take another example 'most' people would agree isn't an opinion someone should hold. 'I think black people are less evolved and inferior to white people and should be allowed to die out and if one was about to be hit by a bus I would do nothing to stop it from happening'. Disgusting eh?

Well I had an argument with a self sanctified opinionator who constantly stated how they were entitled to their 'opinion' but when posed the racist 'opinion', very quickly vilified it. They said 'it was completely different' and that that 'opinion' was 'racist' and shouldn't be allowed to proliferate. Unfortunately you don't get it both ways. Who decides what 'opinions' one is entitled to and that are protected from debate or ridicule. The asshole racist's 'opinion' is just as valid as yours. Yup, uhum, I'm sorry cupcake, he is. Again, if you think I'm speaking condescendingly, that just your opinion.

You see how annoying that is, me being a bitch then telling you that it's just your opinion. You see how humiliating it is when you are compared to a racist. Unfortunately that's the reality of opinions, I am being a bitch and using your shield of opinions against you while at the same time comparing you to a racist. That's what most people have to live with on a daily basis, hearing people's mind numbing opinions than being told that they are not allowed to show that person evidence that the opinion is incorrect or just plain ignorant. Go ahead, I challenge you to prove that the racist's opinions are any less valid than whatever your opinion is, without inherently invalidating your own entitlement to yours.

Here let me do it for you so that you don't have to strain yourself and remember 'if you think I'm speaking condescendingly, that just your opinion'. Damn that feels good, I should do that in real life but then I would have to disengage all sense of self respect.

Being a racist is an old and antiquated idea that we know now to be untrue. Whatever opinion you hold is an old and antiquated idea that we know now to be untrue. Being a racist devalues human beings which we know is wrong. Whatever opinion you hold devalues human knowledge which we know is wrong. Being a racist directly affects another human being. Whatever opinion you hold directly affects another human beings' intelligence. Again I could go on.

I hope I'm making my point clear, while I like this level of sarcastic discussion I don't think everyone deserves such tactics. Buy in large you will notice most intelligent people welcome discussion of their evidence based opinions and most would delight in finding a new thing to contemplate even if it directly contradicts they previously held opinions. The only people who seem bent on defending their indefensible opinions are the ones who think they will somehow be lessened or loose something if that opinion is found to be untrue.

To me that would be a terrible concept to deal with. I couldn't imagine any situation were some opinion I held was more important or possessed more value than the truth. It would be a terrifying state of limbo where everything became not real and nothing held any substance. I imagine it would feel a lot like being a religious believer.

Up until now I tried to avoid using the word believe, that's because belief holds even less defensible value then an opinion. At least with an opinion it usually comes from hearing something from someone who claims to have heard it from an expert or has heard of a study about it. Believers have a specific mandate, a creed that is built into their beliefs that basically says that the more unbelievable god(or whatever) is the more you must believe because faith without proof is the most noble, or some other completely self fulfilling statement like that. I think the quote has so little value and is so idiotic my mind refuses to remember it. I don't even think I should have to come up with an argument against these self described proofless opinionators. They go out of their way to disqualify themselves, what more do you want. They actually say that no matter how much evidence you bring them, it's their duty to continue to believe in the face of insurmountable evidence.

I don't need to come up with an argument, they're sheep and admit to such by calling their 'god' a shepard. The only problem with them, and a topic for another rant, is their pension for trying to make everyone else believe their rhetoric. The other opinionators will at least eventually stop talking and usually wont try to tell your kids they're going to hell.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I just looked up the word Frenemy, it didn't mean exactly what I thought it would. Basically it has two meanings; 1 - an enemy disguised as a friend. I strongly suspect that this definition is a modern tack-on, I've come to this conclusion because the original printed references to this word around the 1950s did not indicate this interpretation. Actually everything I've ever read that has used this word is more or less indicating the second definition. 2 - A friend who is also your rival. My interpretation of the word before looking it up was close, I thought it meant someone you have chosen as a friend but are in frequent conflict with.

I've had a lot of friends that would fall into that interpretation, actually I've had friends I couldn't stand. I didn't hate them, that would be the wrong interpretation of what I'm saying, they had a lot of good qualities. They were just annoying as hell. These were also NOT shallow relationship, the were close mutually beneficial relationships. We just couldn't stand each other. I admit that I was just as much of a contributor to the mutual annoyance as they were but it was also fun. Sometimes the other person would do something intentionally annoying to see how long it would take until I snapped. Other times I'd counter with an overly lengthy analysis of some flaw with them or their choices. And we'd argue, bickering really. Endless nit picking and mental poking.

But we'd also have incredible debates on an enormous number of topics. Or we'd play games together until neither us could say awake. Sometimes we'd window shop for hours, daydreaming about getting some useless item we couldn't afford at the time. We'd be there for one another in a time of crisis, even if the friend in question was not emotionally available they still sat on a silent phone or in an equally silent room. If one of use needed something we'd drop everything to go help them. We missed one another when they was missing, even if they didn't say anything about it, and we were happy to see one another.

We loved to be on each others nerves. I feel that I must make clear that were never dismissed one other, even if we threw insult jokes and we never attempted to make the other person stop being annoying. We respected one another, cared for one another. We just didn't like one another.

Some people would vehemently say that we weren't really friends. We'll I'm not friends with the people who say that so they can shut the fuck up sans the joking manner. Seriously, if you can't get it, don't push your hangups on me. We liked hanging out, going to dinner, and talking on the phone. I can not like someone and still find interesting and I can have a none parasitic relationship with someone I find annoying or unattractive. I don't have any fear of pointing out what I don't like in someone nor do I have a problem with someone doing the same to me. I have a ton and a half of faults, it'd take me an hour to write them all out. If someone references one of my faults, in a none dehumanizing way, I don't take that as a condemnation of me as a person.

In general it seems people find it hard to give or take criticism, it's a twisted taboo to tell someone that they can't spell worth crap or that they have the grace of a bull. Those are criticisms I've received and they're true. Without spell check this wouldn't be readable at all and I am oblivious to the space around me. I bump into doors, trip over perfectly straight ground, and smash my hands and thighs into everything. I don't take a comment like that as a condemnation of me as a person. I know it's funny for others to see a butchy intimidating woman bounce off the divider in the middle of double doors, I'd laugh to. I am not going to say, 'you shouldn't make fun of someones clumsiness'. It's funny, snicker at me. I'm secure with myself and I don't need constant reassurance or defending.

I think maybe that that might be the root of the problem. Most people don't seem to like themselves let alone accept themselves and when someone brings up something they don't like, they get defensive or aggressive. But really these peoples hangups are not my problem, hens I keep friends I don't like. The modern PC era dictates, it is a dictation and you are condemned if you don't join the craze, that everyone is equal and that you must accept everyone differences but then those very same people will tell you that you can't be friends with someone you don't like. My repeated question is why not. Just because I find someone unlikable doesn't mean I dismiss them as a human being nor do I believe that being such makes them irredeemable.

Some might say, 'then you really do like them'. No I don't. They're pests and I'd like to pull the wings off of them. I'd like to record them and force them to listen to their chirpy bird like voice for hours. I wish them to be cursed with children exactly like them, or worse me. Just because I think those things doesn't mean you can say we're not friends, in fact all the people who say crap like that can go die in a corner. I wouldn't give up most of the friendships I've had and more so with the friends I didn't like. I actually feel I was much close to the unliked friends than the likes ones. It might have something to do with the lack of pretence or the inhibition in they way we talk to one another, I'm not sure.

I would rather be disliked and someone tell me what they really think, then being like and someone 'overlook' my faults. Again, fuck you. I am just as much my faults as I am my virtues. If you don't accept one then you don't accept me. Someone is not just their virtues, that's how divorces are made, they are the sum of everything. The neuritic coffee stirring, the god damn sipping in my ear on the phone, the eating with their mouths open, the schizophrenic need to sit on a certain side of the bus, and who could forget the compulsive cutting and chewing of food with a refuse to talk during. I could happily kill someone for even one of those things but with my friends I accept them, NOT see past them. Most of them were/are intelligent, funny, charismatic, and bunch of other great things that aren’t diminished by their endless hand cleaning rituals.

Come to think of it, it's rather disgusting that some people would open their mouths and tell me I'm can't be friends with someone I don't like. I can be friends with whoever I damn well please, so keep your unsupported, unsubstantiated opinion to yourself or my friends and I will not like each other in front of you, making your head explode from your inability to process it.

By the way, you're worse than the Catholics *snear*.
tearonthefire: (Taarna)
I'm laying in bed suffering from a massive anxiety spell, I don't call them attacks any more, mostly due to my mother dis-empowering comments of what an anxiety attack really is. The primary reason I'm in this state is due to my medication wearing off and not being able to take another dose for about 6 or 7 hours. But there's more to it then that.

I have a lot of stuff happening and waiting to happen in my life and it's getting to me. And again that's also not it. For the first time in years I feel like my life has been jump started and I'm not where I wanted to be at this age. I haven't achieved all the things I wanted and I feel like I'm now handicapped by my age to do them. I had a whole list of goals that I need to meet by the age 30 but now 2 years later I haven't reach any of them. And on top of that, I'm directionless. Aside from a few concrete things that must absolutely happen within the next year, I don't know what to do with myself.

I just keep thinking about the hole I dug myself into and how hard it's going to be to climb out. I think about the frankly wonderful changes to come and worry that I wont be able to enjoy them. And wost of all I think about the people around me.

I am a terrible judge of character. I could be having tea with a neo-nazi and not figure it out until he says something blatant. I meet people, who to others, are obviously jerks and I don't see it. Or worse I make up justifications for them being the way they are. I'm incapable of most of the societal norms others take for granted. I don't know I'm being used until it's way past the point of embarrassment nor can I really tell when I'm being dismissed. People who take an interest in me, especially a romantic interest in me, might as well be singling a brick wall. I just don't get it. In the romance department I just wish people would be blatant with me, I've been single a lot of times when I didn't have to be. But then again I can't trust myself not to hook up with a mess and try to be all nightingale with them. It's basically been my norm since I was a teen.

I think worst of all is my relationship with my parent. I've never had a good relationship with either my mother of father but somehow my mother has always managed to convince me to come back to her. My dad at least was a disgusting, womanizing, narcissistic, idiot whom was easy to disconnect from. Every good moment with my father was always tainted by something, less than pleasant. But even that took me 24 years to figure out.

I refer to my mother as my parent because she is only my mother in the very broadest sense of the word. I'm not sure what my mother thought we were to her when we were young, we being my sister and myself. She seemed to forget that she had kids until it inconveniently came to mind. I was ignored for the most part, sent off to my room to watch TV alone because I was making too much noise for her to watch hers. She never once read to me, never told me stories, and I don't ever remember being tucked in, just sent to bed. We went days without really talking much to one another and just sat in front of our respective TVs.

Her quest for companionship was beyond disruptive as well. By age 5 I was pretty sure that all arguing involved something being thrown or broken.

There was a point were the majority of my contact with my mother was made when she threatened to punish me if I didn't rub her back. Discussions of most things never happened unless they were something that interested her, like Star Trek, which seemed to be our only commonality.

She'll be quick to point out how we went for picnics or just went to the park but they didn't happen as often as she would like to claim. It might have been more true at a very young age but by 6 or 7 that was very rare. Actually she often brings up her actions from when I was a baby and talks about how that time is supposed to be the most important but at an older age, hugs were rare.

And nothing has changed till now. Now she wants hug or says 'I love you' but that has more to do with herself then with me. I'm not sure I can accurately analyze her motivation but my guess would be that she wants some kind of conformation from me. But the truth is, I don't love her. Not even a little. She's my mother and for the most part I try to deal with that fact not calibrate it. She's utterly dismissive of everything in my life, completely incapable of nurturing, and she doesn't even seem to know what the concept of being encouraging is.

I bring up all the problems I have with our relationship and her reply is that I'm an adult now and shouldn't need my mother any more. I never had a mother, I barely had a caregiver. When I bring up that mothers are always supposed to me your mother and how everyone else I know still has a mother/child relationship with theirs, her reply is typically one of incapability to be that kind of person and why can't we just be friends. The problem with that is, I don't like my mother. If we worked in the same office I'd avoid her and when she inevitably tried to force her friendship on me, I'd dismiss her utterly. If we weren't related I'd never tolerate her.

And that's the sad realization I'm coming to. The medication I'm now on reduces my ability to deal with her effectively and reduces my ability to shield myself from her dismissive and thoughtless nature. The medication makes me defenceless against the incidental actions of others and makes me far too accommodating to survive the majority of the members of my family. Off the meds I would usually just make a snide comment at her manipulating me into fixing her computer, or my grandmothers, or give her advice on her friends comps but on it I just feel used. I feel compelled to lie and tell her that her meals are fine, which they're not, and that would be fine if she didn't know I was lying or look for praising every hour. Eventually when I do admit I didn't like it, she attacks me.

Off the meds I would just ignore her self centeredness but on them I just think about how much I give. She seems to think that giving me money should somehow equal my emotional contribution. It doesn't and she knows I'd rather starve then take money from someone I didn't like. All I have ever wanted from her since I was a child was to be treated like her child and it's the thing I have never felt. My step-father does more parent/child stuff for me then she does. My mother divorced herself from her emotional responsibilities to me in my childhood and it doesn't seem like she is intent or capable of picking them up now.

The comparisons to my sisters in that regard are another thing that harms me. They give her an amazingly long rope for her to hang herself with, except for my oldest younger sister who keeps her on a very short leash. They have never made my life easier with our mother. I spent years hearing them complain over the same things I complained about but then turn around and refute those complaints to mother, it's the biggest reason I dislike one of my sisters so much. It was, in the past, a constant comment to me. Why couldn't I just accept her like the other kids do.

The reason is, I get it worse. I have always done more for our mother, I've always been more available to her, and I've let her get away with far more. In return she feels she has the right to be less 'on her best behaviour' around me. I'm also the idiot child who has never been able to make her own decisions or is in need of constant guidance so I don't screw up my life. I am almost entirely sure my mother believes that I need her guidance, delivered through manipulation and out right lies.

She really doesn't like anything about me and is constantly trying to change who I am. I was on a drug a while ago that made me feel horrible, I hated myself on it but she wanted me on it because it made me more likeable and more tolerant of her. It did almost all the things this mediation does except it shredded my brain. For my mother it was more important that she, first of all, and others liked me more. How I felt for myself was secondary. She fights and argues with me other things she doesn't even believe in so that I'll be more agreeable to others. And it's not the typical parental rhetoric she spouts, it's endless and pervasive until I jut can't stand it any more.

At every level of my life or my personalty she grinds me down like I'm a stranger she's trying to manipulate into giving her something. She has spent weeks using fear and intimidation to get me not to do something she didn't want. She often minimalizes me in an attempt to dissuade me of or invalidate my feelings for others. She makes enormous strides to disqualify me of any kind of judgement. And she constantly attempts to disempower me of my right not to associate with those who have hurt me.

It's never about me; It's always what she wants for me, it's how something I've done effects others perception of her, it's the perfect little world she wants to exist, it's what she thinks it the right thing to do, it's about me fitting into the mold of the child she always wanted no mater the emotion cost, it's about how this post makes her feel not what I'm feeling.
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