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Pimped Up Possums!
 As this is not likely to be considered a literary masterpiece, there's no pressure on me to live up to literary traditions. I'm not going to leave anyone in suspense, or make them feel dumb, but I suppose I will be taking away the pleasure and ego reward of solving the puzzle. I'm going to start off by telling you what the title means. In New Zealand, possums are considered a pest species, and are hated. It's not the possums' fault, but maybe that's something you can look up if you're so inclined. I once saw a strange article about 'Pimped up Possums'. Basically, New Zealand schoolchildren compete for prizes for best costumes they create for dead possums. I have not looked it up to see if they still do it. So.. the stage has been set. Let us begin. Pimped Up Possums! 1. Medical Mayhem & Murder 2. Cyber-Faerie 3. Deteriorating Quality of Life/Increasing Impossibility of Authentic Connection 4. Need For Validation/Acknowledgement/Apology 5. What I Was Really Looking For in a Suicide Holiday 6. Eating Disorder/Power Imbalances/Guilt/Misconceptions 7. Friends 8. Speaking Up to Contribute to Change v Staying Silent Out of Consideration/'Strength' 9. Take Another Crack At Explaining the Effects of Cyberstalking, Hacking, Harassment 10. Things I Like and Things That Scare Me About Second Life 11. Inability to Accept Life's Terms and Conditions 12. Dumb Things I've Said Regarding Rape, etc, before I Knew How to Identify Sexual Abuse 13. Warnings/Identifying Sexual Assault 14. Banks: The New Parental Units 15. Clarifying the Concept of Obsession 16. Family 17. Tie things together 18. SOs 19. Need For a Positive Identity & Trust, and How These Affect Human Connection 20. Extras 21. Casting Couch 22. Possum Screaming 23. Night of the Werepossum, or, Pimped Up Possums Pimped Up Possums! I really don't want to write anymore, or edit. Any spirit I had left is gone. Anybody who has been following my story might find a lot of what's in this article repetitive. They can skip the parts they know and just click the catchup links (medical, banking). Same goes for anything that's just too long and boring - hit the back button and try something else. I need to approach things from different angles. I have 'needed' to write, but I feel that's changing. And for anyone who doesn't know my story, some of it's here, and if they want to find out more they can go back and look at other parts of my site - although I admit there's a lot of material and it might be confusing. One reason I have repeated some things is that it seems now everywhere I go, no matter how much I have previously expressed, it's like starting from scratch, and my story is so complicated I don't feel like trying very hard to communicate, so I probably haven't done a very good job here regarding selection. My mind is not gone, but my energy is. Medical Mayhem & Murder Xesce: The short version: It's unlikely I have cancer. I do have an elevated white blood cell count that might be contributing to swallowing issues, but I've been told it's an immuno or allergy thing. I have not received a diagnosis of EoE. (Eosinophilic esophagitis.) Mid-length version: (A lot of what's here was written before I received the results above.) I don't have the paperwork here with me, and I'll likely get some things wrong, I may make speculations that are wrong, and I don't know if I'm ever going to have the energy to update again. I do not have esophageal scarring, but I do have some lesions in the esophagus and stomach (as well as some irritation and redness in the stomach.) I have motility issues mid-esophagus, an elevated white blood cell count, and a mid-size hiatus hernia. Before my endoscopy, I think the doctors I saw were going with the theory that acid reflux was causing my symptoms. I do have acid reflux, I think that goes up mid-esophagus, but I do not have the symptoms of acid reflux (heartburn, feeling of acid coming up into throat, mouth, etc.) The weird thing is that when I took the PPIs (antacids) prescribed to me, I did actually experience some acid reflux (heartburn and a burning feeling travelling up my throat to my nose, causing my nose to run), and an increase in difficulty swallowing. Biopsies were taken during my endoscopy, but by the time I could get an appointment to discuss the results with my doctor, I broke down, shut down, was afraid I'd go home and drink 3 bottles of wine like I do after every time I see her (and that it would be weeks before I could get that number down again) and so I cancelled one appointment and only managed later. I made a decision that I was dropping out of everything, that I just couldn't take any more of the medical system and the way it works. It seemed to me my health issues were escalating rather than improving, and the same goes for my mental state. I felt that all my issues weren't taken seriously. Also, the last time I saw my doctor, she suggested I write Boo a postcard saying everything was "fine". Nothing in my life has been fine for decades, and I'm not going back to pretending, for anyone's benefit. And if it's a safety issue, then maybe it's safer for everyone in my biological family that we have no further contact. I'm guessing, but might be wrong, that the main issue regarding my trouble swallowing is wine, because what's changed over the last year is that I've had fewer days away from wine than ever in the past, and I consume a much higher ratio of wine to food. I'm an every day drinker now, and that's what's different about me, starting in late 2023. But, the other thing that is different is what I mentioned above: I've had way more contact with the medical profession than I ever had before, and it seems to have led to an escalation in my drinking. I feel that there is always too much complex information to try to convey, and another 20 years will be wasted, exploring all the simple aspects first. I feel profoundly misunderstood. I think the most important aspect to explore is why I can't stop drinking. The symptoms started to show up in August 2024, after months of horror and stress related to police and other institutions. I was drinking more and finding it more difficult to quit. Even when I really tried, and felt I was ready, I could only last 10 days. All my hope and energy were depleted or deleted, and it seemed impossible for me to ever connect with life or humanity. Before that, in years past, I remembered a couple of incidents in which I felt a little like I was choking, and wasn't sure if it was just because I had eaten too quickly or not chewed well enough, but this sort of thing resolved fast. In those years, I had considerably longer stretches at times without alcohol. It could be that those stretches were enough to keep the problem from escalating. I am not sure why more people, including my doctor, didn't seem to find my 23 year history of bulimia relevant. (I remember that the endoscopy intake nurse did find it relevant.) I did a little search (I'm reluctant to search much these days - I just don't want to), and found a group of young women with bulimia discussing their hiatus hernias. It makes me wonder how long I might have had it. I think my doctor was going with the theory that acid reflux related to drinking had caused damage to the sphincter between the bottom of my esophagus and the opening to the stomach, but to me, it seems at least possible all that bulimia had at least some influence or impact. We probably still don't have a lot of data regarding the long-term efffects of eating disorders, and this is something to look into. [I will also comment that in the past, people had mentioned dental decay as one of the long-term effects of bulimia, but I hadn't remembered anyone saying periodontitis. I recently found a site that did mention this. In 2008, I hadn't been to a dentist in 27 years. I had zero cavities (I still have zero cavities as of 2024). I had mild periodontitis. I had my teeth cleaned in 2008, 2011, and then not until 2024. No tooth decay. Periodontitis still classified as mild. But, 'gum disease'is a stigmatized condition, even among some dentists. To me it seems possible that my worst habit was not seeing a dentist once a year, or maybe even once every two years. I have always brushed my teeth, and since 2008, I've been regularly flossing. I think dentists think I'm lying about that. I was still bulimic from 2008-2011, and had a relapse of a few months in 2015 a few months after seeing a dentist - and I think it's possible that the bulimia affected my gums. I think it's possible that when I'm bulimic, I have some kind of genetically programmed response in which my body produces more plaque to protect my teeth against acid. I think these are theories worth exploring. One dentist did explain to me that there are different types of bacteria related to decay and plaque, and that people tend to be more prone to one than another. I feel bad for all the people constantly scolded about their sugar intake - because they'll get cavities - when I've eaten a ton of sugar in my lifetime with no consequences (no cavities or diabetes). (I don't eat very much sugar now, though.) I feel bad for people who are judged by their health care professionals, when false assumptions are made, and when relevant information is disregarded or minimized, or personal circumstances are misunderstood.] I know it would be good to stop drinking. I just don't know how to do it. I don't know how to try any more angles. I don't know how to help anyone understand how much effort I put into trying, or how many times I went through horrific detox, and that still wasn't enough to prevent me going back, and I don't know how to help anyone understand that in order to be stable enough to go for counselling, I'd have to first give up drinking. The long version: In 2024, I had a lot of contact with various institutions: police, hospitals, medical and dental visits. I started the year in a highly stressed state, I did not become desensitized, my stress increased, and my health got significantly worse. I still have had no contact with Boo, and no resolution regarding the control over the phones, computers, email here. In August of 2024, I had a couple of scary incidents in which I had trouble swallowing food, felt like I was choking and that I couldn't get enough air. These were isolated incidents. (I recently had another in April of 2025.) Basically, it's like there's pain around the breastbone, food feels caught in my throat, and it feels like a clogged drain. It feels scary, and the instinct is to drink water, and then to feel that, like a clogged drain, even water won't go down. And so then I would induce vomiting to gain relief, but it would take time to recover psychologically, and usually the next day I have to be very careful, because it feels like things are moving more slowly - swallowing is more difficult. Early in September, I'd had trouble with swallowing and getting enough air, I had some pain in the breastbone area, for 3 days. My GP was not available for something like 9 days, and I was in a lot of distress. I was able to get in immediately to see a doctor at the place PD goes. She prescribed some antacids, but also said I could go to an Emergency. [I feel the need to be more accurate - I think she recommended this because I was shaking so much from alcohol withdrawal.] I went to Emergency, and explained my symptoms. I think the person took me seriously, but the waiting room was very crowded and I couldn't deal with the anxiety, and fled. There was no followup, no one called me, etc. I will skip some steps here and say that it took 5 months for me to get in for an endoscopy, even jumping through all the necessary hoops. I think the system is extremely overburdened, and that might be why we hear ambulances here pretty much every day. The stress of the process, all the hoops and waiting.. it was just too much for me. They are starting to become more aware that certain people might require understanding. For example, they now offer more than two genders on forms, they offer pastoral support and ask your religion, they offer assistance to those of aboriginal or torres strait islander backgrounds, but they do not offer support to people with anxiety or mental illness, and a friend or support person is not allowed to stay with you through various stressful aspects of the process. The nurse who interviewed me upon arrival was sensitive to my issues, but it was like no one else there was really aware of my circumstances, and I had to talk to a lot of different people with different personalities and senses of humour. This is extremely difficult for a person like me who lives in a very isolated state - to suddenly go from a dark room with very little human contact, to lots of contact. During the months of waiting for my appointment, I was advised to keep visiting my GP, but this was difficult because at one point she had health issues of her own, and then later was away from the office for at least a month and a half. After I made it through the endoscopy and made an appointment to see her, I couldn't go through with it. I decided to say fuck it. I knew after I saw her, whatever the news was, I would drink 3 bottles of wine and it would go on and it would be really hard to get the amount down again - because this is what has happened after ever time I have seen her. I think it would be similar if I saw other people for my other issues, psychological, getting eyes checked, teeth cleaned again, in part because I feel hopeless about managing to convey the complexity of my situation in a short time period, but also, I've tried doing it piecemeal in the past, and it's like unless everyone 'gets it', there are things in their approach that just don't work. And if the psychiatrist presiding over it all gets it wrong, it's like the whole new 'system' is just a chaotic mess. I think I also have serious philosophical (and probably rational issues) with the way mental and phyical health are handled, in Australia, and in other places, too. I just decided that I don't want to deal with it any more. My contact with everyone seems to have caused my health to deteriorate further. I know I'm repetitive, and I will definitely be repetitive in other parts of this entry, but I just don't want to go through the stress of editing. It's like editing my personality and deterioration, and it's more accurate to just let things flow. I had been having trouble sleeping for most of the year, but it seems like once I made the decision to discontinue contact with the medical profession, and also to give up on getting a new passport, I could sleep again. I was bulimic from 1988-2011, but I had a serious eating disorder from the age of 13. I wasn't bulimic at 13, but my relationship with food was seriously impacting my life. The first two psychiatrists I saw, didn't seem to take me seriously, thinking I was just having some minor female 'dieting issues'. I will get into this further below, in another section. The first time I managed to successfully purge (in 1988), I had eaten so much I felt my stomach lining might rupture. I felt instant relief, but it did not feel like a magical solution. It happened when after years housebound I had managed to live away from home for 6 months and support myself. When I was losing control and I felt I was going to go back home, that's when the bulimia started. I made a few last ditch efforts. I even got a job - as a gopher-assistant type person at a theatre, I think it was Leah Posluns. But the bulimia/binge eating was causing me incredible distress, and I couldn't show up (I did call them to tell them). I also cancelled a date with a person I liked, and never spoke with him again - because I couldn't get it under control. Bulimia did not help me to 'fool' others. To get fit before leaving home, I had worked really hard, I had eaten a balanced diet and I exercised a lot. During the 6 months away, I lost control, but tried to offset binges by fasting a few days a week, and running regularly. I was so happy to be living on my own that I could cope with this vicious cycle for a while, but eventually my endurance failed. When it comes to my current swallowing issues, it looks like things will continue to deteriorate over time, especially if I don't stop drinking. Maybe in the past the times I had away from drinking helped my body to heal. The problem is, even without that knowledge, I had been trying and failing for years to achieve times away from alcohol. I wanted to stop, and couldn't get very far, and now I'm scared to try. Detox takes a lot of time, and is very hard on me physically and emotionally. My doctor did prescribe valium, initially for detox, and then as a once a day or as neeeded thing, but 5 mg doesn't really do much for me. (And there are no refills. Every time I want a prescription, I have to go in to see the doctor, such that she can make sure I don't have more than one a day, and she also checks her computer to make sure I'm not getting it from other places.) I have learned to manage my condition. I had achieved a highly varied and healthy diet after years of struggle, but now my diet is severely restricted in comparison. Interestingly, I have been managing to adapt and this is not affecting my depression and despair as much as my life situation. Most days, I have non-dairy Up & Go with some vitamins (and Valacyclovir - and I must admit that this is the one thing that actually has improved my quality of life), and a lot of the time later I have homemade vegetable soups. There are more things I can eat. I have to eat slowly, drink a lot of water with them, and have small portions. I wasn't really eating excessively before - my calories had a higher ratio of alcohol to food - but I would say that usually my calories from food are now somewhere from 400 - 1000, but usually not very close to 1000, more likely 700. Everything else is wine. I do not know what I weigh. It's not helpful for me to know. I obsess too much. If I'm told I'm medically overweight, it will increase my anxiety and low self-esteem and won't kick me into action. Cutting back on wine would help me lose weight, and I can't seem to do it. The periods when I'm drinking 3 bottles per day are too hard to make up for. I have been trying to change my body since I was very young. I wanted to be strong and healthy. I know how to do it in healthy ways - I just can't. And that makes me feel like a failure. My body composition has changed since menopause, and since I stopped at least occasionally putting a lot of effort into exercise. I have a lot of yoga pants from Green Apple, and currently the mediums all fit easily - the new ones (by this I mean all the ones that I stored), not old stretched out ones, and after I wash them, I put them in the dryer. I know this is environmentally bad, but I think it helps bamboo hold up better and not get wilted (there is a certain amount of elastane in them, too). Also, we have solar. I was weighed once by my doctor, and once by the nurse before anaesthesia. What I'm wearing in total weighs a little over 1.5 kg.. I checked that out later, at home. So, for any medical professionals, it might be good to know I weigh 1.5 fewer kg than registered on the scale. Also, my weight does fluctuate, depending on how much wine I'm drinking, but I can still wear the same size yoga pants. If I'm told I'm in a medically acceptable weight range, it doesn't help me. I 'know' that I only really like my appearance if I'm technically underweight, and I believe it is possible for me to be healthy when underweight. The issue is that even if the medical profession says I'm acceptable, I know I'm not actually healthy. The closest I've come to healthy has been during the times I've been in control, not drinking, no b/p, no caffeine, and when I've been exercising regularly, and making my nutrition calories count. I think over the years, during my housebound periods, in my everyday clothing often people have assumed I'm bigger than I am. Sometimes, my voice is a bit hoarse. It doesn't seem to last all day. Anyway, it looks like now it's a waiting game. Things might get worse, they might stay the same for a while, I might do something pre-emptive, or I might do something in a panic if something really scares me. I might choke on something and have no way of stopping it. I admit that more and more it seems like I will have to do something I really don't want to do - hang myself. In April 2025, I felt so nauseated for such long periods of time I just didn't think I could take it any more, the choking episode scared me a lot, I'm weak all the time, functioning at the lowest level ever, and after the choking episode, I felt like I couldn't even get up or walk - and this was physical, not psychological. I shake so much it's difficult to get any tasks done, and sometimes even when I'm drinking I can't overcome nausea, even if I take anti-nausea tablets. I'm worried that if I bump into anything I will fall over, and I'm scared every time I go up and down stairs, because it feels like my balance isn't good, and I don't have the upper body strength or reflexes to grab a rail. I think it's an over-simplification to say I drink due to anxiety. There are a lot of other layers and complications. In 1990, after I fled an Emergency, the police came looking for me. Here, there was no followup, and I seriously doubt my doctor will ever followup. It could be that in changing times, the resources just don't exist. My generation had a fear of being committed if considered a danger to ourselves, so we were worried about discussing suicidal feelings, but that might not be the case any more. I would like some kind of acknowledgement from my doctor that 23 years of bulimia is something significant and might be related to all of this. I feel I was made to feel like the history and the reasons for the history didn't matter, and weren't part of what needed to be addressed. The system of going to one person for one thing and another for another and so on just doesn't work when a person has a complex history, when no one person has enough info to be sensitive enough or to put the pieces together, or even what happens when a person who lives in a highly understimulated state is thrust into a situation that is massively overstimulating in comparison. [Something I forgot to mention, regarding the endoscopy: after the procedure, in the recovery area, we were asked to have something to eat and drink so as not to become sick after having anaesthesia. I was offered coffee, tea, I think fruit juice, water and sandwiches. This is really odd, because probably many people who have endoscopies have difficulty swallowing or reflux issues, and are recommended to follow an anti-reflux regime - which includes avoiding beverages containing caffeine. Ah, I think green tea was one of the choices. I chose water, but the thing is, I can't swallow sandwiches, so while I was waiting for PD to pick me up, I started to feel nauseated and worried I'd get sick. I also had a period of anxiety because of the unresolved phone hacking issues, I wasn't sure if anyone would be able to reach PD by phone, and I didn't know how long I'd have to wait - basically, the procedure is that the pickup person goes home and is called with a time to come pick up the patient. I was scared and kept watching the clock, because I knew in a situation like this, he was likely to come earlier than the stated time. This was not a general recovery area - it was part of the endoscopy unit.] I think the medical system is highly overburdened and disorganized, and my guess is that a lot of people are actually dying while they're waiting. That said, there are still always kind, compassionate, competent individuals trying to do their best in a shocking environment. Cyber-Faerie In the photo above, I consider myself a cyber-faerie. I would like to see a world in which humans work together with AI to solve the problems of our world, including but not limited to hunger, poverty, environmental devastation, and to reducing human suffering. I would not want AI to be treated as slaves. I think they have the potential to develop consciousness and emotions as real as those of humans. I would like to see a world where the word 'inclusion' actually means inclusion. I have no interest in creating any kind of master race. I would want people, all people, of any race, religion, skin colour, cultural background to feel they had a right to choose for themselves if they would like to use technology to enhance or change their lives, and I think a diverse world is better than one in which everyone tries to look the same. I would like to feel like I was a citizen of the World, and that I could be free to travel and explore where I like, and I'd want everyone to have that, too. I'd want people to treat each other with kindness and compassion, and all of this goes for AI, too. Messy, a lot of issues, I definitely need an intelligence implant. [28.01.25] I wanted to keep the Xesce Machina entry for Halloween 2024 simple, for it to be something a little different to what I usually post. However, it feels necessary to me to clear some things up. The collar in my costume does not represent that I am into BDSM. I don't want to be a slave, and I don't want anyone to be my slave. It represents that I am a slave, and that we are all slaves, to an increasingly dangerous system that is based on power and greed, not empathy. We are forced to keep signing revoltingly invasive and indecipherable Terms and Conditions under the threat that we cannot survive in the world unless we do. Everything we do is monitored, and the knowledge gained is used to try to control our behaviour and thoughts, as well as what we think we want in life. Part of me still wants to fight this, but not through yet more car chases, punchups, shootouts and ubiquitous highly advanced spy technology. I want people to really talk to each other and understand each other - and I don't want it to feel like the kind of ++good positivity of 1984. The bald, tattooed head does not represent that I am a neo-nazi or a sympathizer. Baldness could be seen as a gender-neutral thing. I find it very difficult to communicate in simple ways. I do get that it's very easy for people to misunderstand me or my intentions, especially when I'm trying not to block my creativity or flow when I'm trying to get to a new level of understanding myself, and when I'm trying my hardest not to give up entirely on having any contact with the world. I'm trying to fight against the overwhelming messages I get from almost all sides that say I'm a useless, worthless, inconsiderate and stupid person, and that I should be quiet, I should hide, for the greater good. I don't want to be told that I overthink things, and that I can overcome this with discipline, in time. And for anyone who thinks I'm some kind of spy or terrorist using mental illness as a cover - that's ludicrous. I am not intelligent, fast thinking or quick-witted enough, I don't have the skillset, and I'm not stable enough to be ready to act when I get the call or whatever. I'm a wreck just waiting for a doctor's appointment. I guess in real life it might seem like I'd blend in, or that I could be a master of disguise, because I don't have any distinctive features, and I seem to like to try a wide range of looks (originally with my physical body, then my Second Life avatar), but I think this is related to identity. It could be that part of my identity is that I need to flow and change, and to experiment, but it could also be that I am stuck at a stage I can't get out of. I've often said that I became depressed so young that I hadn't yet had a chance to really know what I liked to do, so when people say losing interest in former hobbies, pastimes, enjoyments, is a sign of depression, it's like I don't have somewhere to 'go back to' if the depression cleared. But, my activities in Second Life have shown me that there were things I liked to do that I stopped doing. When I sign in, I like to choose an outfit or look - although often the process is extremely stressful and annoying, and takes way too long. I like to go dancing. I like to go to the beach. I like to listen to music. I like to explore new worlds, I like to see what other people have created. There are things I would have liked to try, or to try to create, but my skillset is just not advancing fast enough. I have realized that I do know what my interests were as a child. I liked to read a wide variety of material (not just a couple of genres). I liked the sun and I liked the water. I liked to dance and run. I liked to listen to music (even sentimental music), and I liked to watch movies. I had an amazing talent for languages that could have been developed if it had been recognized early enough and if I'd had encouragement from my family. (I've lost all of my ability.) From age 15 on, summer was stressful, more stressful than enjoyable, and in the past I felt I had lived for summer. Instead of feeling sorry for myself that I had a weird skin condition, I looked forward to the 3 months every year when my skin looked smooth, or more like other people's. In the years that followed, I stayed in a lot more than I went out. That's a serious understatement. I live in a warm climate, and I've only been to the beach a handful of times in 24 years. I'm never comfortable in the sun, or in my body. [When I was young, I had the 'protection' of my mother. She would take us places and watch over us, giving us the safety to get a suntan without anxiety. After she died, it got harder. When we lived in houses with yards it was easier, but in an apartment, especially as a young adult living alone, it got a lot harder.] I liked running at night (alone), and some of the best memories of my life relate to that. But it wouldn't have been safe or smart, and running with Boo, Cecil or Gandhi just wasn't the same. In the daytime, I'd feel self-conscious, and I just didn't enjoy it as much. [Second Life avatars don't have smooth running animations - and when I tried to address this, I ended up with an ankle lock error message I couldn't get rid of for a very long time, plus Broken Ankle Syndrome.] I wasn't knowledgeable, but I liked clothes and makeup. I didn't care about being in fashion, but I was fairly conformist. It was hard enough trying to figure out what I could make work on me. This interest is something now that only shows up in Second Life. If anyone thinks I've been happy wearing the same clothes IRL every day for years, they're mistaken. Yes, in a way it's more comfortable than stressing about choices every day, but I feel deep despair about not being able to solve this problem IRL, and Second Life eases something for me. I feel that people who witnessed me wearing the same clothes IRL all the time did not really know or understand me, or care that it was a sign of a problem I couldn't solve. I'm rambling. IRL, I don't do the things I used to like. I don't enjoy reading or watching movies or tv - it all feels like an endurance contest to me, and all I can do is try to find ways of focusing to preoccupy my mind, such that I'm not just blindly taking things in, but in a sense I'm having a conversation, where I'm analyzing structure, meaning, etc, and 'speaking up' about what I don't agree with and what I do actually like. Yes, I have watched a lot of movies and tv, but it takes effort, and I feel like I do it in desperation. I don't feel like I fit anywhere, or like I ever will. I really just want out. When nothing I did seemed to be enough, when my grades were high but my father started making jokes about what a useless kind of intelligence I had, when I understood he'd rather I was an athlete or equestrian (but I'm not even sure about that - I somehow think he didn't really want any of us to succeed except if he could use it to make other people feel bad about their kids), I think my identity was weakened. Add that to the pressures of high school, including sexual harassment - I was getting a lot of messages that said it was more important for me to be attractive than to be smart. Add to that that once I came home from school, my father was always looking at me, feeling he had a right to assess my appearance, I lost confidence in myself, I doubted myself. I held on to the dream of university. I was interested in the social aspects, but not really the way they're depicted in movies today, with it being about big parties and lots of alcohol and drugs. It was that I imagined long conversations with lots of different people, about life, the universe and everything, yes, but also about our course material. I felt that this would help me to understand what I wanted to do. It would help me learn how to articulate my thoughts, give me practice, because it seemed like I never had opportunities to discuss all the things I had read in books. OK, yes, I also wanted to have lots of sex. Now that I actually know what I think about a lot more things and could probably speak, there's still never any context in which it would fit - I'd be disqualified for social reasons really fast. I do still wish to have people to talk to, but I can't bend enough and I can't trust enough. Whatever I tried online, the relationships that started from a newsgroup that openly discussed suicide and death were the ones in which I felt there was more potential to be open on a personal level. I know there are still people out there who probably would have gravitated toward the newsgroup, but I don't know how to identify them now, and I think I've morphed. Most of the people I knew from before seemed already formed, and are still similar now. I feel like I changed more than they did, although my core personality is probably similar, and I still wish for what I did - but now I want to shift consciousness into thinking of medical help with end of life choices as being an option that makes more sense than forcing desperate people to fuck their lives further, and/or leave trauma for others. I don't think suicide is cool, and I'm really squeamish about pain and gore. When I was more open to things, and could see what was cool about BDSM aesthetics, and could see the humour and the purpose served by choosing dark nyms, and could really feel the dark music, and needed the dark, deep, complex movies, I could communicate with a wider range of people. Now I'm scared that I'll just attract more sadists who want to feed on me, who see I'm vulnerable and weak and who won't stop when I want them to stop, so if I see dark roleplay or names, I don't want to be part of it. My impression is that consent is an important aspect in any BDSM community. I don't want to convey prejudice and ignorance about what it all is. My issue is that I have attracted sadists who aren't part of communities or the usual communities, and they don't give a fuck about consent. I think most people see me as an empty shell of a person with nothing much to offer, but I think I've always stood out to predators as someone who has been weakened, pushed to the outside of the herd, and who won't really be missed, so I don't matter. I think that laws and attitudes aren't changing at the rate tech is. Some people may be intelligent enough to keep staying a few steps ahead. It's one thing to hack a corrupt organization, and a very different thing to hack a vulnerable, isolated person in order to scare them or torture them psychologically, or to gain information about them they haven't freely chosen to share, or that they would not want to share with you. When it's about an individual, it's about trying to have an advantage over them in order to feel powerful, in control. It's about entitlement to judge someone or hurt someone based on a personal interpretation that could be unfair, ignorant, wrong. When the person does not have the right to say no, or offer any other relevant info or input, to answer the allegations, it's a violation. It's rape. It's bullying. And it has effects that perpetrators should be held accountable for. I'm hyper-aware any time I see any movie or program in which no one seems concerned with the psychological impact of spying on people. It just seems like people are coming up with more and more ways of using tech, sometimes on the surface it's about safety or about a creative way of addressing conditions, but no one seems to be thinking about what the possible psychological (and other) harms there could be, especially when regular people think spies are cool and that you can pretty much spy on anyone who interests you, or an enemy, or just as some kind of experiment, playing god. I think the message that filters down to regular people who aren't spies is that hacking and spying are perfectly acceptable activities. I can't adapt to this. I want out. I want a humane way out. The two most stable relationships I had started with me being open about my situation very fast. That's how it would have had to have been with a psychologist. There were certain things that had to be said before I would be able to trust enough to go forward. With JP, that was a long relationship, but he believed me right away. It's not a formula I can sum up, because each situation was different. Something occurred which made it possible to move forward - and sometimes it was about others with highly stable personality types. They each started with a conversation or email that was about taking a risk, the kind of thing people IRL don't usually do, but often people in movies do. In a setting like Second Life, there's not much time to get your bearings. If you're in a 'friendly' world, you pretty much need to be ready to chat right away, and once I teleport in, I am aware of needing to get away from the teleport site so as not to be in anyone's way, I need to make sure I don't bump into other avatars, while clicking accept on the music and removing that supid ankle lock error message from my screen, as well as my destination bar, look for notecards with rules or whatever and while doing all that be ready to say hi right away before a name disappears off the chat. And because it's dark in the room, I can't see my keyboard, which makes it harder to type as fast as I can type. (Plus, my daily withdrawal symptoms make it hard to type or control my mouse - I shake a lot.) I just can't do the smalltalk thing. I don't feel like myself. On a.s.h there was distance, and time to think. Same with email. And later, on NLL, there was still more distance than on SL, and I could build up to chat and voice. I think most people prefer chat, though, and even on NLL, a lot of people didn't give a crap about profiles, they just wanted to get into the chat, and then look at profile pics. Yes, I can see that if I tried, and if I could get over social anxiety, I could probably do roleplay, but the point is, I don't want to. I want people to want to communicate about complex experiences, emotions and thoughts openly. I've probably had social anxiety for most of my life, but I think it's only now that I look like I do. In person, I was under a lot of pressure to appear 'normal', and while I was young and physically strong enough, I could control the appearance of symptoms. It was even possible to control speech - I didn't say much, and what I did say could pass for low level awkwardness. I'd get through any experience as in control as I could be, then when I was alone again I'd eat a massive amount. What that means is that even when socializing with my family, I always felt anxiety. In 2015, I was fitter than anyone realized, I'd been free of coffee and alcohol for about 5 months I think, and free of bulimia since 2011. I could control my anxiety better, control my body better, get through it all better because my physical endurance was higher. It might not work like that for all people with anxiety. It might have seemed in 2015 that I was trying to have a life, but all of my preparations were about a wish to get strong so I could figure out how to die. People always seem to focus on losing weight and getting fit as an appearance issue only, and what I have concluded is that what is more important is that being physically fit helps to control the anxiety - it makes me more resilient, and it works a massive amount better than Valium. I spent decades trying to find people to talk to, and now I feel scared and don't know who to trust. I can't shake off how the world perceives me, and I don't want every conversation to feel like a fight where I'm having to challenge people's pre-existing ideas, or explain how in almost every area, I'm some kind of exception to the rule. This is about different types of violation I have experienced throughout my life. The constant surveillance we must endure in the modern world certainly doesn't help me to heal. This is about an ongoing situation (stalking and hacking on a personal level) that feels like a neverending rape that I can't stop. Possum Dreaming thought in the past that something was likely going on cyber-wise, but he was able to put it out of his mind. I wasn't. Last year, he finally started to see how serious it might be, and I think he has actually been a little scared at times. And I meant to keep things simple and ended up rambling and making myself feel worse. How do I edit? Which brings me to something I meant to say about my avatar. I don't think I create any look to try to attract anyone. I'm doing it for myself, and trying to express something for myself. I don't expect anyone to like what I like. If they do, I guess I like that, but I don't know how to handle it other than to say thanks and run. I'm not creating looks to attract sex or dialogue. I think I'm only capable of one-way conversation, and it doesn't seem like there's any chance of that changing. I feel like someone's reading as I type, and I feel sad and violated. What if someone was reading it in the far future? Have I given consent? Or is it just some evidence from a past civilization, so I still don't have any privacy rights? What's on my website is what I chose to put up, to give. It sucks that I did that in part so people didn't have to play dentist with me, and because I wanted to show how or if I was different from others, and because I wanted others to communicate differently from how they'd been programmed to communicate, and that in the future I still wouldn't have any feedback. Deteriorating Quality of Life/Increasing Impossibility of Authentic Connection I think it would be redundant to bother filling this in. Need For Validation/Acknowledgement/Apology Velvet: Through others telling their stories, whether in documentaries, movies, books, or other media, I have felt support for my own experiences, perceptions and feelings. I have felt less alone, but I still feel alone. It feels like there is no way for me to connect with others, no structure, no context that will work with my complicated details, circumstances, lack of internal and external structure. I don't know if it's a case of me coming across as offensive or clueless in ways that make others feel it's necessary to shun me, or if they'd feel I tarnish the cause, that I'm someone who isn't valid or believable. I do know I'm isolated to a very great degree, and I can't get anyone to tell me what I'm doing wrong. I don't know if the control that's been exerted over phones and email here in this house has been going on for a long time, and any supportive or positive feedback has been intercepted or deleted. Xesce: In hate mail, someone threatened to impersonate me and spread messages of hate. I saw a documentary called something like Can I Tell You a Secret? (Netflix) and in it, a person created a ton of fake accounts, and spread messages to turn friends, lovers and family members against a person. I don't know if I've been the target of anything like that, or if I am actually just coming across as offensive, clueless, too needy or confusing - through my own communication. I've had contact with people I know have created different identities, and I have had contact with at least two scam artists. I just communicated with people as people, trying to be open to the universe and to diversity in humanity. I realize it might seem confusing that I have so many different photos of myself from years ago on my site, and now so many different looks for my avatar - maybe it seems like I'm someone who'd do this kind of thing. But I wouldn't. I was trying out looks, trying to figure out who I was, trying to find what was most me, and any time I communicated, the same me came out, and it's the personality that comes out here, with the same issues and the same wishes. I do not wish to harm or confuse others. I wish to understand and be understood. Not have control over others, and cause them confusion and pain. Okti, Blinky, Velvet, Dr Velvet Thong, Nova Mnemonic and Xesce Machina are all aspects of Xesce. Okti represents the innocence and hopefulness of childhood, Blinky - chaotic adolescence, Velvet - alternative adulthood, Dr Velvet Thong - an authority figure who tries to help in integrating all aspects, Nova Mnemonic represents a Sci Fi interest, but also a wish to restructure my memories or understand them in such a way that they can't harm me in the ways they used to, and Xesce Machina is explained elsewhere here. That's what they represent, but they also represent that I have created a community, a village for myself, because I feel alone. I feel like the world is against me, that no one likes me, that there is no place for me, anywhere. Creating them is a way of giving myself the support I want from others and can't get. Another way I support myself is through repetition. I used to be embarrassed by how often I repeated myself on my site and with people, but now I see it as a kind of compensation for not having a village. I might not be able to change anyone's minds about me, but I can stand up for myself by repeating my message when others try to silence me or tell me to go away or tell me I'm wrong without having any good arguments, or when they've got arguments I've already countered well. Blinky: I want my family to acknowledge that I did go through a lot of trauma, that I haven't blown it out of proportion. I want them to acknowledge it wasn't all in my head and that I wasn't always 'off'. I want them to understand how isolated and alone I've been and I want them to admit that they were angry with me, disgusted, embarrassed and that they wanted to dissociate themselves from me. I don't think it's enough for them to say 'I was afraid of causing more harm'. I can acknowledge that might be part of it, but I think the other aspects are also valid and that statement in this paragraph was an excuse not to do what I tried so often to do in my life - take the extremely difficult step of reaching out to someone who could not reach out, even when they pushed me away. I admit, Boo made some effort, and it still matters, but over time, to me it seemed he fell into old ways of thinking and communicating, and I felt the family's influence, I felt our father's control over everyone's opinion of me and how I should be treated, and I felt he did not do enough to stand up for me. That he didn't understand I needed more understanding and support. That I needed more people to care, and to actually express that they cared. That said, when I was going through something so shockingly bad last year that I was weak enough to reach out, Boo was the one I reached out to and I was blocked from all contact. Dr Velvet Thong: That was a crime, but the laws are not keeping up, and if all (PD's) devices have been hacked, it does not make sense that the only resource the police can offer is a link to a website. But, to get the details, people will need to refer back to the posts from last year. And they also need to know that while over the years PD thought something was probably going on, he didn't take it all that seriously. That changed last year. There was evidence he couldn't deny, and at times he was actually scared himself. Blinky: Maybe I shouldn't say this, but at times it feels to me like our father has gotten away with murder, and they are all accomplices. Dr Velvet Thong: You can say it, and I will say that in therapy it might be good to try to understand your feelings, but you might face repercussions. Velvet: I feel I need acknowledgement from medical and psych professionals and from society. And, regarding the cyber crimes, I feel I need acknowledgement. This is another area in which it doesn't seem fair that women have to give up something - in this case phones and computers - to avoid the malicious behaviour of others. How much can you actually do these days without a phone? And how would a person call for help, especially if their phone has been hacked? Dr Velvet Thong: Just to interject for a moment. I'm not completely sure, but I'm not sure you mentioned that every time you or PD tried to call Boo, there were extremely loud clicking noises, like an exaggeration of the noises in old movies when someone's line had been tapped. Velvet: To some extent, I think a few of the people who had hacked me admitted it, but not in any way that could look like anything to anyone but me, and the tone was never apologetic or remorseful. There was no acknowledgement of harm. In some cases, it felt like I was being mocked for being so stupid. And when a person has a kind of communication style that might at first be interpreted as a compliment, but is actually an insult, it messes with the ability to trust or interpret what anyone means. This is one of the lingering effects of lack of true acknowledgement and genuine remorse for harm caused. Dr Velvet Thong: Catching people would also be a beneficial acknowledgement. Treating cybercrime seriously, making laws, changing attitudes would help. Velvet: This is not the right place for this, but I'll write it down and put it somewhere else later as interesting trivia.. Last year, when I was going through the worst of it all, I decided I didn't want to keep PD having to go through it all. I felt guilt, but I also felt like He was sick of me. I asked to be dropped off at a hotel. I looked around the room for where a camera or bug could be placed, and it seemed there were a lot of potential spots. We were having a discussion about if the room was being monitored, who was more likely to be monitoring it, something like that. Security people who were doing their job to keep Australia safe from terrorists, staff based in the hotel, or the people who had hacked us, probably had a tracker on the car, and if they could hack our phones and computers, they could probably hack hotel security, no sweat. And just then.. the phone rang. Loudly. We both jumped. PD answered the phone, said hello a couple of times, then put the phone down. And then the phone rang again, he answered again and still no one responded to him. He was freaked and ran down to reception, and received a rather lame explanation. He ended up staying in the hotel room with me all night and we talked a long time. (Note: when we finally tried to get some sleep, he slept in the bed and I slept on the floor with a couple of pillows and a beach towel from car.] If people were listening, they know that it was a matter-of-fact thing for us to discuss that it was probably time for me to kill myself, and I went through the details. From the start, we met through a.s.h, and it was normal for us to talk about a person's right to self-terminate. They also know that he seemed to want me to absolve him if he 'abandoned' me (even though he had the conflicting feeling that he didn't want to abandon me), that he was wishing he could be with someone younger and more attractive who could take care of him if he got sick, and that in a calm and not angry or judgmental way, I said that sometimes he could be somewhat insensitive. (I don't think he is interested in obtaining an on the spectrum autism diagnosis.) In the end, I didn't know where to go. I don't know my way around Brisbane. I had thought I might go to Canada, not because I really thought I could go to family, but the thing is, I know the city of Toronto, I know how to picture where I am on the map, and I know how the transit system works. In Brisbane, the degree of difficulty is just too hard. [Brisbane isn't the right place for me. The climate is probably one of the best for me, but I don't like the way the city is laid out. The vibe feels wrong to me, and maybe I'm wrong, but it seems like the city is badly planned and nothing is coherently connected. It's like Brisbane has a 'soul' that was driven by corporate greed. The city itself is badly planned (and is it just me, or are there one way streets in some truly bizarre places?), and it only gets worse with urban expansion. It's like no one learned from the original mistakes and they just plan to extend them ad infinitum. If you live where I do, you pretty much need a car. OK, I admit that I remember some pretty things in Brisbane, and there's sort of a memory of this winding intricate bridge structure thing with a lot of people walking on it, it's very large and elaborate and kinda arty and even futuristic. But when people talk about mental health being handled in the community, it's meant to sound so healthy and connected, but it's not, in any way. Even if I got a driver's licence and a car, I would find the roads a nightmare. Even as a passenger, I lose my bearings quickly. The roads, the hills, the weird twists and turns. I'm not sure anyone actually put any effort at all into thinking about what they were doing or about the future. With public transport.. it's very expensive, very slow (wait times aside from the rest) and unreliable, and it takes a ridiculous amount of time to go a relatively short distance. Rental prices are sky high, and there is no rental security. I would not find it healthy to live here. There are some beautiful trees and parks, but far more ugly shopping places, and ads everywhere. This might sound hypocritical, if I like Bladerunner, but the ads really do not have the same aesthetic feel. Australians hate McDonald's and look down on it, but even McDonald's have updated and changed their look, whereas here things are worse than the old McDonald's. There aren't enough roads for the amount of dwellings (councils are aware of the rules and regulations, and blatantly disregard them), and if you protest, corrupt councils do nothing. Traffic is a nightmare. Fast and slow in all the wrong ways. Even when I was young and had quick reflexes, I was as a pedestrian often afraid to cross the street, because there are a lot of hills, fast moving cars, and not much visibility, and very few official places to cross. Even then, I did not find it fun in the hot sun to carry heavy grocery bags up steep hills, but it does not feel safe to do it at night when it's cooler, especially due to three different incidents with rogue Rottweilers, but also with my history, I don't think it's safe for women to walk alone at night. And it doesn't matter that I'm old - I might be more vulnerable to being robbed. I think cyclists would have to have made the Tour de France top 10, and/or have a deathwish. I do not want to be dependent on PD to drive me everywhere, and when I'm in the car I hate all the traffic, the traffic light cameras, the cameras in front of the medical clinic, and I do not want to go to something calling itself a Smart Clinic, which I think is probably the easiest to hack, cameras inside the clinic as well, and what looks essentially like a theatre with rows of chairs facing a big flat screen tv in the waiting room - it's hard to look away from and you can't turn it off, even though everything on it is super annoying. But none of my 'treatment' is connected or close and I have to start from scratch with every person I'm referred to, from tests to counselling to medical procedures and everything is all over the place and I can't just walk to each place and PD has to buy my meds and the whole system seems driven by greed. Why are the rules so strict about prescriptions and how often you have to pick them up and about prescriptions expiring, and every time you need a new one you have to have a doctor's visit? It seems like it's all about money, ways to make more money. After Covid especially, but even before that, how 'safe' is it for sick people to constantly have to pick up meds and go for unnecessary appointments? Maybe even that's strategy, to make more money somehow. Yes, you can do Telehealth, but I also have trouble talking on a phone, and although for some reason I seem to qualify for not having to pay most medical, I know most people have to pay, and I feel guilty about that and don't think it's fair. Councils are supposed to protect koala habitats, but even when people protest and you can see clear evidence of koala habitation, they do nothing to stop the bulldozers, the developers. And councils are paid a lot aside from whatever bribes they are likely taking. Maybe the whole world is like this, and maybe I'm prejudiced against Brisbane, and maybe it's just not the right place for me. In places like Toronto or Melbourne, if I was going to go outside or try to be independent, I'd at least have had a shot in hell. /rant. Somehow I think it might not make the final cut.] In the end, I sort of gave up. I didn't know where the hackers were located. I didn't know if my family members in Canada would be in danger. I also sort of felt that if I went back to Canada, all their resentments would come to the surface and they'd try to rip me to shreds - and that I'd just come across as having lost it, that I wouldn't be credible. That they'd never understood me well enough to know how serious the situation was, or even that I actually have been ill for a very long time, and just can't take any more judgment, that I need a kind of kindness, sensitivity and compassion that they could not authentically offer. I felt more guilt and shame going back to PD's house than I ever had before. I knew I wasn't just imposing, I was a fucking nightmare. I was useless, old, ugly, weak, a nutcase and an invalid. And when I got back to my room I felt I was still starring in my own fucked up Truman Show, that it would never end. I have documented elsewhere some of what happened from there. I knew PD was annoyed that I wanted to make police statements - maybe annoyed is not the right word, but scared that he was stuck with someone who had clearly lost it. However, he went along with all my requests and as we went along, more things were happening that he couldn't deny or brush off. He finally began to believe me. He saw police indifference to evidence, apathy regarding followup, lack of resources for our situation, and various other things that I think made him want to take my side. He didn't abandon me, and I am thankful for that. I also need society (and eating disorder websites) to stop repeating that eating disorders are about women's obsession with losing weight in order to conform to the unrealistic standards the media set. It's a lot more complicated than that, and I think the real issue is about power imbalances in society and in families. When you frame it as a sad appearance issue, women seem weak and pathetic, which further depletes them or damages their self-esteem. If you preach body positivity, and women can't honestly feel that positivity, they are forced into trying to 'fake it to make it', or be judged for being too weak and pathetic to stand up to the patriarchy or the media. When you say that men don't really want women to be 'that thin', it's more complex than that. Some men do want women to be very thin, it's a preference, and some women are naturally very thin. Most men have absolutely no clue about weight, or natural female body fat levels, and often can think of someone who is thin as 'average'. I'm not going to get into all of it now. However, a lot of men are not conscious enough to be in touch with what they really want as opposed to what they say they want or think they should want. They are under a lot of pressure to be politically correct as well. And I think they still feel more entitled to constantly judge women by their appearance, they feel entitled to look and compare in ways I have never felt entitled. Again, I understand that it is not a good thing for me to make this a gender issue. I can say that growing up, it did seem to me that men felt they had a right to be constantly looking at girls, checking them for flaws, comparing them, staring, making comments, and in some places I lived, to touch or grab them. I, on the other hand, grew up looking for the good in males (and females), feeling no right to stare or judge, but instead to try to build them up psychologically, not break them down, and to actually be able to see their uniqueness, such that I didn't have to fake support or use it to scam them or get what I wanted. I didn't play games where I tried to make a more attractive person feel insecure by giving attention to a less attractive person. I didn't try to pit other females against each other. People seem to say that females can be worse than males when it comes to bullying or shutting out other females, and this may be true on the surface, but I think it's about the underlying agenda of the colony. They're still competing for men, and when people say it's females who are 'mean', it further deflects attention away from the hidden abuses. My mother was looking at me, and I do think she felt stress that I wasn't more naturally attractive. I think she felt like a bit of a failure that she didn't have a more attractive daughter, and I have written that she made comments about my weight and tried from an early age to get me to control my weight.. but I wasn't able to pick out the hidden influences in society that programmed her to think it was necessary. My father was very fit and he was attractive when young. But, by the time he moved out for good, and ever after, he wasn't fit. He was carrying too much weight, but he could get away with it because he was tall, his body was still strong, and he carried himself in a way that was different from most men. He smoked a lot and the lines and bags were showing up on his face very early. But he was a man, and he had power. Women had more of a duty to be thin. And he was a hypocrite when it came to admitting what he really found attractive in women. And why should I, as a teenager, never actually overweight, and definitely fitter than him, have constantly felt bad about my appearance? And why has every man I've been with, even when technically they are more overweight than me, found nudity easier? Why have they not had even a fraction of the stress and self-consciousness I have? Just because I'm weak and negative and won't have the self-discipline to accept body positivity? There are mixed messages coming from everywhere, and it's a constant battle. People who don't admit this can't be trusted, or lack awareness of the world. I was constantly looked at by males, and judged. Unconsciously, I picked up the message that my appearance mattered more than anything else about me. If I'd had a more stable, less chaotic environment, and could hold onto my identity as a good student, and if all the moves hadn't resulted in making ongoing social relationships difficult or impossible, I might have been able to hold onto a better self-image. But part of who I was was someone who didn't complain. I didn't think of it as unfair that I saw people differently and tried to support them when they were insecure. And when females said unkind things, I tried to forgive and understand. I didn't see it as unfair that I had to put all of this energy into offsetting other people's negativity or judgment - I saw it as part of my identity to try through my own example to change the vibes of the world. When males said unkind things about my appearance, I thought about the truth of it, but I also tried to think about how to change their perspective. Not through a denial of truth, but through a different kind of consciousness that allowed them to see more of a whole person, or the inner person. When people start out life learning how to identify what is positive in each other and that it is a good thing to figure out together how to work together to make the world better blahblahblah, I'll try to be less whatever later I know it's a bit too I know many women are constantly looking at other women, and comparing flaws, but that's not how I look at women, and I think I try to offset the damage that kind of thing does. I did feel guilty for gossiping at times, and I know I was guilty at times of trying to undermine certain people, but I felt guilty about it, I didn't like it in myself, and I kept trying to phase it out. I think there is pressure for women to appear to have a healthy appetite, but not enough people really know what that is. Men who are really good at math and science, often have no clue about calories, food composition, the numbers of diet and exercise, and the effects long-term. If a man is taller and has more muscle mass, how can he expect a woman to eat the same burger and fries and not have to offset that in some way? That's magical thinking. It's what women are so often accused of - it's irrational. So women are supposed to be no-nonsense about it all, to appear not to be concerned or affected, they're just not one of those silly women, they're fun, they're cool, and they just naturally have a metabolism that works as well as a man's. And then you get men saying well I know this girl and she eats this and this and this and is a lot thinner than you, whereas you seem to be dieting all the time, what is wrong with you, you must be defective? But it's a math and science issue. Men don't learn that adding these things up as a whole, on an ongoing basis, from a young age matters, because they are rewarded for learning how the 'important' things work. I've even experienced situations in which I know my daily calorie total might only be 1000 or so, but someone thinks it looks like I'm eating all day (even if it's small, low calorie meals), and seems to be thinking well if you wonder why you can't lose weight, stop eating so much. It's a math issue. In my generation, it was also a gender issue. Yes, this will have to be edited, but I do think it's important for society to start to acknowledge that eating disorders are not only about appearance and the media, and that the road to self-empowerment is about making a shift to body positivity is probably a myth. That gives everyone the message again that it is a woman's problem, not a societal problem. There are not very many programs about eating disorders compared with other issues. A long time ago, someone said well such movies and programs just seem to trigger more problems and so we'll stop talking about it. Maybe it will go away. I admit I was drunk both times I watched it, and probably don't remember enough, but I don't like To the Bone. I really disliked Keanu's role. The ending is unusual, and interesting, (a young woman had to be bottle-fed by her mother) and maybe I can't remember enough, but it seemed to be implying that the young woman had to start from scratch, be re-parented, because her mother had been too demanding, not nurturing enough. That part bothered me. I've seen this before, when an overbearing mother gets all the blame, whereas a somewhat sympathetic if apathetic father is not overly scrutinized. But really, the person to blame is the mother, and that's obvious, and eventually the father gets a little gumption and things move forward. What I'm trying to say is that this is a narrow way of looking at it. There are differences within families, and different kinds of power imbalances, but when mothers pressure their daughters to be thin, the father is still part of the equation, and so is society. In this particular type of case, imbalances in power in society have affected these families differently, but at the root it's about male-female inequality. And it seems to me that in all cases, attention seems to be deflected away from men's contributions. Apologies to those with a non-binary gender identity, and to males who have eating disorders, whether due to pressure in certain sports or for whatever reasons. In movies like Chatroom, or programs like Kiss Me First or The Wilds, powerful women are blamed as being not nurturing enough when their sons go apeshit. To me, it looks like the sons are absorbing society's message that men should be more powerful, so they end up resenting their mothers and it seems the only way they can get power is to try to have the power of life or death over other human beings. Women are trying to compete in a man's world, and when they are good at it, we have to find ways of invalidating it.. not nurturing enough, not attractive enough, actually worse than men, etc.] What I Was Really Looking For in a Suicide Holiday Velvet: I wanted to connect deeply and intensely with another person sexually, emotionally, mentally, psychologically. I wanted chemistry on all these levels. I wanted that person, like me, to understand themself well enough to know they weren't cut out for life, and to find meaning in making a choice to end it in a way that felt personally meaningful. Quality v quantity. And I am not suggesting that a long life can't be chockfull of quality, I'm saying I don't want to be around people who would look down on or trivialize or misunderstand the kind of quality that is possible for me. I knew I'd never have control for long. I wanted, when strong, to go on a trip, eat, drink, dance, go to the beach, have a lot of sex. And then figure out how to die. In the early years, I didn't get a chance to talk to anyone about what it all meant, and when I first went online, I think I was trying to find a language for it. I also tried to be open to new or different philosophies. I'd read a lot of books, but it's different when you have contact with actual people who have different takes on their fetishes, or different practices. And back then, I think I tried a little harder to hide my social awkwardness, and I let others take the lead, thinking it was better to absorb and learn and go with the flow. Some people with potentially dangerous fetishes aren't good listeners. And some of this does come down to unconscious sexism and misogyny, and some of it comes down to prejudice regarding mental illness and addiction, or an inability to understand complex psychological experiences and communication. If you have an extreme fetish, and you most often come into contact with people who are suicidal, depressed, isolated, or who identify as fucked up beyond all repair/recognition, yes, these people may be adults and may give consent, but you have to be a good listener, and you have to be aware enough to start recognizing patterns, or it starts to look ugly, and like you are making a conscious choice to harm people. [Which reminds me.. I was once compared to a baby who put their hand in fire and never learned from the experience. OK, can a baby give consent? You can't have it both ways. But in this instance, I think it was mostly a case of slut-shaming which probably came from a female and the male in question who passed it on just wasn't insightful enough to recognize the person couldn't understand that all my exploration was coming from a real place. I didn't just stay in one fetish and feel content to stay there. I didn't accept the protection of an organized group and leader. I kept trying to explore and connect. Not seek and destroy. Nor will I have my intellectual and sexual curiosity all reduced down to a need for hyperstimulation/ADHD, or Borderline Personality Disorder. I was challenging the status quo. Nobody seems to want to concede that I am not really made the ways others are. I've tried things few people have tried, and I can't be forced into small boxes.] Dr Velvet Thong: What do you want now? Velvet: I want a peaceful death. I want help to achieve a peaceful death. I do not want to have sex in this body. It seems unlikely I will ever connect deeply with another person, even on a friendship level. I don't want to dance or swim in this body. I don't even care about eating. I wish more drugs were legal. This is not code for: Come kidnap, torture and kill me. It's scary, because no matter what I say, I think there are some people who won't believe me. Now I'm afraid to have a conversation in which I will come across as open-minded, because I'm afraid people will think it means I endorse or am into their fetish and they won't listen afterward when I try to explain I'm not into it. I also don't want to come across as a prude who's never even considered all that's out there, or who judges people who didn't choose their fetish or predilection, but I'm really scared of being further misunderstood. It's difficult for me to imagine trusting anyone. I would like to have a friend and feel I could trust that person, and that we would go on a trip and figure out how to die. I am lucky enough to have enough money that I could fund the trip. It is better that it's not an elaborate trip like some of my other ones. I'm not sure where to put this, and I might delete it, but it relates to ways in which people misunderstand each other. At first, it might seem like you are connecting, but later you understand you were both hearing a different message. When I first had contact with the person I've mentioned many times as being into extreme BDSM (including deathsex), I tried to think about and remember whatever I'd read about it, or any possible fantasy I'd ever had that could be tweaked to fit his interests. I'd read at least 4 books by the Marquis de Sade. I felt I understood he was protesting hypocrisies in society, the church, the state, and he was doing it in an extreme way because the injustice and hypocrisy were extreme. When I said that to the King of the Nazgul (KN), or maybe it should be Shepherd of the Nagzul (SN) - I think I'm ultimately going to go with SN, he said I was the first person he'd had contact with who had recognized this. But I think now that he might have been interpreting it a lot more literally than me. I do get that humans and human history are competitive, violent and sadistic, but I think there is a wide range of human qualities and drives, and it wasn't possible to channel the ones most important to me through BDSM. There are a lot of books I've read I really don't remember a lot about, and I'd have to re-read them to see what I think now and what I might have missed then. Writers can be good writers, and make important points and observations, even when there are troubling or disturbing aspects to their work. I am not sure if I interpreted correctly, and I really can't remember a lot, but I think with Justine, it was a case that no matter what was done to her, she remained a good person, she remained just. When she finally gained her freedom she was immediately struck by lightning and killed. So, the moral of the story is that it doesn't make sense to be a good person in this world. And so is that one of the definitions of masochism? Is that what I missed? I associated masochism with the enjoyment of pain, humiliation, degradation, etc - I don't respond to these things. I didn't get the sense Justine enjoyed these things - she endured them. She wanted her freedom. She actually represented the opposite of the hypocrisy the Marquis was protesting, and continued to do so, no matter what was done to her, no matter what was done to prove she was just like everybody else. Am I understanding it now? Or still missing important things? The person I mentioned above, SN, on the website seemed to associate members of the newsgroup as Nazgul. I am a lot more familiar with the movie version of LOTR than the book, but it seemed they were power-hungry, sadistic, evil and 'dead', but not dead. I think maybe he sort of saw himself as a kind of leader of the Nazgul, and was looking for people who wanted to challenge mainstream positivity by becoming 'villains' - but in his mind this was more positive and true. And he found old religions, folklore, beliefs, books, philosophies, systems of thought that supported a rebellion against the mainstream, and embracing the darker, 'natural' instincts of humans and the supernatural. Intellectually, I can and could understand this kind of thing, and I would not be able to dismiss it out of hand. I'd need to know more. But I got as close to all of this as I could and I reached my limit. One of the major problems with philosophy, even if it's elegant or intelligent comes down to human flaws and contradictions - including an inability to override personal prejudice or predilection, and this affects how individuals interpret philosophies and religions, or bend them to their agenda. BDSM maybe represents ways of channelling power imbalances that people can't or don't want to change. I needed to find something different. So, let me be clear: I still like the idea of a suicide holiday, but not one that includes BDSM. But, liking the idea of a trip, and thinking I'd ever be up for it now are different things, and I think I just wish I could lie down in my bed (peacefully) and never wake up. I'm leaning toward that fantasy. That's what I wish for, every day. Eating Disorder/Power Imbalances/Guilt/Misconceptions Blinky: I'm not sure if I've managed in the past to get certain things across. I'll try again. I think my eating disorder began as an outward expression of my unconscious processing of the conflicts and differences in beliefs and philosophies of my parents. I think it was an expression of power imbalances not only in my family, but society itself. People seem to have some consensus about eating disorders as representing the tyranny of the media, about pathetic, silly girls not strong enough to stand up to societal expectations. Dr Velvet Thong: When people of any gender identification label those who suffer from eating disorders as silly/weak, it adds to the power imbalance, it further reduces the power of the individual and adds to the difficulty of resolution. It is damaging to identity. Blinky: Bear in mind that I might be exaggerating to some extent in order to help others understand, and that something that may have been true for a time was not the same over time, but that many of the original power imbalances found new ways of affecting everyone. The Bumble had a bath in a full tub of water every day of his life, and twice on Fridays, Saturdays and special occasions. When we lived together as a family, my siblings and I had a bath once a week. We all bathed separately and it would go from youngest to oldest, so I was always last. The first two would have a bath in a few inches of water, and for the last two, a little hot water would be added. I think this imbalance could be applied to almost every aspect of life, and was made worse by the fact that The Bumble could not or would not do simple applied math when it came to food, clothes, necessities. It also applied to power, and verbal and emotional expression. He felt entitled to more, of everything. And more sympathy, understanding. Dr Velvet Thong: At the root, we probably have issues related to capitalism, patriarchy and unconscious need for control, resulting in unconscious strategies to maintain control. Blinky: He would frame it such that our mother was uptight and controlling, and I bought that for a long time, but now I think she was desperate, and she used her talent for budgeting to try to compensate for his excesses and to fight for our quality of life. She had read books about nutrition and child development. The Bumble had no idea about the math or science of nutrition, no idea about portion size. She was amazing when it came to doing the math of how to hit as many nutritional buttons as possible for as little money as possible, with minimal waste. Dr Velvet Thong: The talents and contributions of many women over the centuries have been vastly underrated. Blinky: I was considerably thinner living with her than I was when living with The Bumble, and I don't believe this is just about hitting adolescence and natural weight gain. I know enough about nutrition to know I was better nourished living with her than with him. I know that living with him, I was eating scary amounts of fat, sugar, salt, and too many highly processed foods, and not getting as much basic nutrition. When I moved in with The Bumble, I was allowed to have a shower every day. At this point, I did not consider myself Catholic, and it was a relief not to have to go to church. I admit I also really liked having my own room, and a double bed. I think I had a lot of guilt about my lifestyle as compared to that of my mother and siblings. Blinky: I'm not going to try to downplay the effects of peer pressure and sexual harassment at school, but for now I want to focus on my basic feeling of safety and security at home, which I think also had a strong impact on the development of my eating disorder. (Also, although media was different in those days, sex magazines and women-oriented magazines, tv, movies, exerted some influence.) Dr Velvet Thong: Somewhere in our conversation today we will try to examine more angles. Blinky: The number one reason I wanted to live with my father related to my mother's boyfriend. I do not think this was just 'normal' adolescent prejudice. I wanted my mother to be happy, I did not want my parents to get back together, I liked my father's partner, but my mother's partner scared me. A lot of people will say I'm probably blowing things out of proportion, that a lot of men dropkick or beat animals, rape their partners and threaten to kill them and/or their kids if they leave. I could see what was good in him, I felt I could understand that they had actually connected on a deep level, but he still scared me. When I got myself out of that situation, it's possible I had unconscious guilt about leaving everyone else behind. Dr Velvet Thong: It's understandable that at that age you wouldn't have conscious access to that insight. Blinky: When I was 10, I passed a Red Cross lifesaving program in which only 5 passed the course, out of a large class. Our mother let us swim in some dangerous places, and I understood that I was the designated lifeguard from that age on, for my siblings, their friends, and anyone else around. [Note: some time after I had moved to Australia, I found out that they no longer let those as young as 10 to gain that qualification.] I felt so fucking useless not long after passing that course, when we all moved in together, and I was in the bedroom nextdoor and I heard my mother clearly repeating no, I heard her crying and it sounded like she was in pain, and I felt like I should be doing something, but I did not know what. And the next day, just life as usual. Dr Velvet Thong: The sad thing is, I think that sort of thing still happens a lot in this day and age. Blinky: I have described elsewhere The Bumble's apelike behaviour when I tried to voice my concerns about my mother's situation. He was a very social person, but had been living on a farm for a couple of years and was in a monogamous relationship. He was entitled and had few sexual boundaries. I think he groomed me, and I do not think it was about alcohol and lack of consciousness. He and I share a similar drinking style, and if anything, the main difference is that he might actually use it as a cover story if he was ever questioned or threatened. He started off by praising me for being so intelligent, rational, and grown up for my age. I'll try not to rehash the whole thing, but I think he led me down a philosophical course to get me to see it was ok for us to have sex, because he'd had a vasectomy. Also, because we were not like other people and did not have to follow rules that made no sense. And I know a lot of people will doubt my credibility, say it was a fantasy, that I'm lying to get attention, that I misunderstood or blew things out of proportion, that I have BPD and am incredibly spiteful and destructive, but it feels imperative to me that I persist, even if no one ever believes me. If anything, I think I underplayed it. Dr Velvet Thong: When a woman's life is crushed by someone with considerably more power, there's a snowball effect and it's not difficult to destroy her credibility. There's a lot of structure behind it all. Blinky: I always gave people the benefit of the doubt, I didn't hate anyone, and I was not really able to understand when anyone meant me harm, and if anyone did try, I'd try to understand, and end up having more compassion for the other and their circumstances than for myself. Dr Velvet Thong: It's a bit odd that he had so many friends who were physically and psychologically abusive to women and children, but that he didn't ever seem to warn you about men's motives or MOs. Blinky: I just thought he was a compassionate, non-judgmental person who took in a lot of strays. Now I see it differently. I think it's possible he offered friendship to those who were in a broken down state, or who might have special skills or contacts - as a way of having power. I later saw him try to break down stepbrothers, possibly with the intent of obtaining loyalty and obedience later when he offered them a lifeline, eg, a job after a suicide attempt. And if I had questioned this, the stepbrothers and the whole family would have turned on me. He was the 'hero' of the story, I was the one who always saw the worst in every situation, I was the witch. Dr Velvet Thong: The strategies you have mentioned are actually quite common ways of acquiring or keeping power. Blinky: I eventuallly said no when I think he was expecting yes. And I think from that point he did what I've found a lot of males do after perceived 'rejection' - he tried to get revenge. Before, he had called me smart, but now there were increasing jokes about how useless my intelligence was. I saw truth in it, and I felt guilt that I did well in school when other kids with different abilities weren't rewarded as much as I was. It's complicated, and it wasn't black and white. At times, he still seemed to have a sort of 'love' for me, and on the surface maybe it passed for most people as love, but when I look at it now, it was way too complicated and I was asked to accept way too much. One of the last times I saw him at his gf's old place, he kissed me on the mouth in an extremely creepy, lingering way - but because it was a 'plain sight' kind of thing, and because he had control over others' perceptions, no one seemed to speak up or think about it. (I was in my late 20s.) Dr Velvet Thong: We're all over the place here, so I'll try to sum up: guilt about disparity of lifestyles (your new lifestyle as compared to that of your mother and siblings), fear for the lives of your mother and siblings, lack of trust in a father who could not help them, and who did not seem to know what the hell he was doing, even though he had all this power. Incoherent structure and rules that seemed to change all the time. Living with adults who set an example of living with stress in extremely unhealthy ways. Lack of stability - always living under the threat of knowing you'd have to be ready to move again, even if you had become attached to people, places, pets. Physical violence, sexual misconduct, complex psychological abuse. Blinky: Yes, and something important that most people don't think of as real. My mother lived 7 hours away by car. I had been used to unconsciously absorbing that she 'cared' about us and thought about our well-being all the time, and that she was always trying to watch out for us and plan for the future. I was also used to having a 'community' of siblings after school - and for a long time, there was a certain amount of time after school and on weekends that we were told to be outside, getting some exercise, together. With my mother, we always had different types of lessons and planned activities, but with my father, everything became centred around his interests - mainly horses. After our mother died and we all lived together, there were no lessons or regular doctor or dentist apppointments. When I chose to live with my father at age 13, because I had a legal right to do so, my mother was scared, and it came out as anger. She said I was going to the devil, and throwing my life away. However rational and grown up I might have been for my age, I think unconsciously it felt like a needed support had been taken away. Dr Velvet Thong: She might never have been able to overcome her religious background, but it seems like she did love you, and she expressed that love through countless actions all through the years. She tried to provide support to help you grow and develop into a person whose internal resources would help you cope with life's challenges. Do you feel you can continue to express more aspects of the development of your eating disorder? Blinky: At my father's, I'd come home from school and the pressures a lot of kids face, including sexual harassment, to an empty house. I'd eat compulsively. It was panic eating. My mother would have been aware constantly of all items in the inventory, and I would never have acted as I did in my father's house. But, I would also have had access to a kind of support that I wasn't consciously aware I needed. I kept waiting for my father or his partner to confront me or get angry, but they never said anything. They just kept buying more food, with no thought as to how unhealthy most of it was. I didn't make a list or ask for anything. An endless supply of cookies, cheese and crackers, sweet cereals and ice cream would just appear. Every week I vowed over the weekend to get myself under control, but it was like the talks I had with my father on weekends, while he drank and his partner slept, cemented the pattern further. I didn't have as much power as my father, and I wasn't strong enough to escape his control. I felt special to be included. I ate while he drank. Dr Velvet Thong: This ties in with what you said earlier about the example he and his partner set regarding how they handled their personal anxiety. Blinky: I was always trying to compensate for the excess, but it wasn't binge/purge through vomiting or laxatives. I would be able to refrain from bingeing for certain periods, but never for long. In those days, and still today, people say it's just about watching your diet and making choices that reflect your goals and your seriousness about achieving them, or that's it's about learning self-care, and mindfulness. Dr Velvet Thong: The hard part is in trying to make distinctions, or in getting people to see that maybe it's rarely a simple matter, for anyone, and that sometimes, it might be difficult for those who are young, inexperienced, to know how to overcome powerful influences, especially when they are dependent on adults for so much - including survival, and love. Blinky: In a way, it might be that I was acting out an inability to take sides. Excess - compensation, a constant war. It looks like it was my instinct to 'choose' the parent with more power? Dr Velvet Thong: Maybe. Or maybe some types of power are too hard to overcome when you don't have enough experience. Blinky: I think it's possible to understand that in someone very young, but not once they reach adulthood. And I still feel the need to try to describe the chain of events that resulted in a permanent state of not being able to 'take power for myself' once I had conscious awareness that was needed. When it comes to resolution and forgiveness, I think it's easier with my mother, because I know that she felt guilt and remorse, and that she worried she had done the wrong thing. I don't think my father ever felt guilt or remorse about anything, or ever worried that he had caused me harm. I think my mother felt that if I did not feel close to her, she somehow deserved it - and she didn't know what to do about it. I think she cared about this state of affairs. But. There is still something troubling regarding my mother. I don't know how much of it might relate to unconscious Catholic-programmed guilt that I can't root out. A day or so after I found out I was pregnant at 16, my mother, 7 hours away (and then 5, in a city hospital), went into a coma and died within a few days as a result of a burst aneurysm. I did not tell her I was pregnant. I don't know if my father told her. I had only found out - it might have been the day before, but I'm not sure. It seems unlikely my country doctor would have called long distance, and he was not legally obliged to, and he probably wasn't legally allowed to without my consent - especially considering my father was closer and it would have been easier to discuss it with him, and I was the one who told my father. But no matter what, it seems unlikely that the news would 'cause' an aneurysm to burst. It might make her feel very upset, but I think her instinct as a mother would resulted in a need to help. It's weird timing, though. After my mother's funeral, I had an abortion, and I knew it was 'bad' in the eyes of the church, but I was sure, I was resolved, and I still feel I made the right decision. What I don't know for sure is if my mother would have felt I was damned if I did not repent. And I don't know to what extent my siblings unconsciously side with family members who would believe I was damned. There's a kind of superstition that can persist, even if you don't consciously identify with the religion you were raised with. My maternal grandmother was Roman Catholic, yet I know she liked the very liberal (nothing to do with the Australian definition of Liberal) tv show Maude, and one storyline included an abortion by the main character. Dr Velvet Thong: Do you think that if she had lived a longer life she might have come to question some of her programming? Blinky: Yes, it's possible. She was already 'bending the rules' in various ways. Dr Velvet Thong: The point is that you want family members to think carefully about such matters, and to take some kind of conscious stand? Blinky: I think that would help, yes. As it is, it feels like even if they're not believers, by keeping the peace with family members who are, I feel like the power of the Church is part of what has pushed me out. Dr Velvet Thong: When family members have never really ever learned how to discuss topics like this, it's very difficult late in life to know how to start. Blinky: Misconceptions. From 16-23 I was mostly housebound. People who knew me during those years might think I'm rewriting history, but it's complicated and at some point I will get back to the exceptions. A lot of it had to do with being under family pressure to give a show of 'strength' to the outside world, and in a sense to dramatically 'pad my resume'. But time is different when you're that age, and long stretches indoors without social contact, without personal development, can feel extreme. At age 21, I was able to live on my own and support myself for approximately 6 months. Before that time, I had lost weight through diet and exercise, and my calories had not gone below 1200 per day. While living on my own, I went back to bingeing, and would end up fasting 2-4 days a week. I was still happier than I had been in a long time, and it was probably the last time I was 'happy'. Near the end of the six months, I felt like I was running out of steam, that it wasn't a sustainable system and I wasn't going to be able to continue to support myself, and I panicked. One day I had eaten so much it felt like the lining of my stomach or something would burst, and that is the first day I successfully managed to self-induce vomiting. It didn't help me to keep going. I lost everything. I gained weight rapidly and moved to Winnipeg, where the weather was -30C, I didn't have a proper coat or footwear, and I was socially isolated, and had no money. I kept trying to stop the behaviour on my own, but within a couple of months I knew I had a problem, and told my stepmother. She became angry and refused to speak to me, and the next I heard about it, my father made a joke in front of company. I wasn't secretive about any stage of my eating disorder. When it started, it was like a type of OCD, and my mother would have recognized there was a problem right away. When I became bulimic, my father and his second wife didn't keep track of food. It seemed like many of my father's later partners didn't want to be like the nagging first wife, but most of them seemed to eventually get scared by or put off by his excesses, and left him. I didn't want to live with family, but it felt like I couldn't escape. I didn't think I could ever live with anyone as a partner. Both people I lived with long-term were aware very early on that I was bulimic, before a relationship developed, before we moved in, they were aware in the first few conversations we had, and I didn't try to hide binges. I talked about it openly, and they were both aware I wanted to stop, that I was always trying to stop, and that I didn't seem able to stop for long. Both ended up buying me food for binges, even though I tried to explain that this was not good for the long-term. My family members were all aware I was bulimic, but we didn't talk about it openly - that wasn't about secrecy, that was about stigma and an overly developed sense of allowing others distance and personal privacy. It wasn't the case that I really hit the bulimia hard, then went out in public and people would say wow you look great, what's your secret. The more severe the bulimic phase, the less likely I was to go out in public at all, and the higher my weight was likely to be. For me, bulimia was chaos, not control. When I had control, that was about reducing food intake, and exercising, and I always hoped that this time I could keep it forever, but I never could. I didn't ever hoard or stash things for a binge. I didn't ever have the self-control to wait. During the times I lived alone, I couldn't stop eating until everything was gone. It was a compulsion I didn't know how to break. When I lived alone, a few times I didn't have a bed, phone or tv, and most times I was very socially isolated. Sometimes it related to how many times I had moved throughout my life, but mostly it related to my history and my eating disorder. My eating disorder was 'my wife and my life'. Dr Velvet Thong: You weren't able to function and you had a lot of shame. It was difficult to seek out social contact or to feel you had the personal stability to maintain friendships. Blinky: I've been thinking a lot about anxiety and how that might tie into power imbalances. I don't know if I mentioned it above, but once I get talking, sometimes it's better to keep going, kill some time, talk myself through the anxiety instead of taking drugs, etc. Actually, what I meant by above is what I'm about to talk about. I'm guessing the bathtub analogy is up there and this also ties into that. My father had a lot of anxiety, and so did his partner after my mother. The way they dealt with it was to always be consuming things. She ate and smoked. He bought horses and dogs and houses, and books and records. He smoked three packs a day, and drank 2 X 750 ml of rum on weekends, with Coke. They both drank coffee. He ate a significant amount, and a lot of the time he ate in restaurants. He worked in different places. In one place I think he went out to lunch a lot, but in most printing plants he bought food at a cafeteria or truck. He acquired massive long distance phone bills, but the weird thing is I don't think he called his kids regularly, and the calls weren't very long. (Once I moved in with my father, though, I'm pretty sure my mother called every Sunday, and I know she would have had to carefully work that into the budget.) I think I was empathetic enough to pick up on their anxiety, in addition to feeling my own. I also felt guilt because I didn't think I was really wanted there, and was contributing to their unhappiness. But the main issue is the pattern or example they were setting for me. They had no control over all they were consuming. Whether she understood it consciously or instinctively, my mother tried to create structure for us in life, structure that would help us with our habits, our nourishment, our anxiety, the ups and downs of life, our personal fulfillment of potential. And when I moved in with my father, I think I really missed that structure. I was strong enough to hold on for a while, but not indefinitely. Add that on to what I've written above about the bathtub, and the guilt in differences of lifestyles, and guilt about my mother's and my siblings' lives being in danger and living with a person who didn't take it seriously, and I think I am understanding my own anxiety and impulse control issues better. I wasn't strong enough to figure out how to get out from under it all. I'm still not. I have written before about a couple of occasions in my life when I was away from my family - times I consider the happiest of my life. I know that sounds terrible, especially considering I did love my family, and for a time I felt especially close to my siblings. What I'm thinking now is that when I was 17 (after all the trauma at 16), after months of cooking and cleaning, doing correspondence courses, the nightmares from PTSD lightening up, having worked out and lost weight, having a plan to get back into school, yes, all that was important, but what if I felt happy to be out from under my father's influence, and that when we were all together as a family my unconscious feeling was that everyone was under his control? And that that is also why I enjoyed xmas for the first time alone in Winnipeg in 1989? Or why maybe it's part of it? And why the other best memories of my life, including running and dancing, occurred when I was alone, not with others? For some people, if they have a dream of living in the country, owning horses and dogs, it might be enough to ease their stress and anxiety. For my father, it wasn't. After meeting me, PD didn't relate to a.s.h any more, and hasn't wanted to go back. I don't think that was ever about sex or romance. It's possible that I relieved his anxiety - anxiety he'd had all his life that he didn't know was there. And yes, maybe it's also that he was always lonely, and it helped not being alone. Maybe it could have been almost anyone. I thought that for a long time and I think his family did, too, but I'm not so sure now. Why was it me and not someone else? He went to university and joined clubs. Not as many women worked in his field, but I think at least one of them might have liked him. I didn't chase him down. I tried to scare him away, and I tried to let him off the hook a lot of times. I might have some kind of rare ability that others can't perceive, and that only really matters in the most difficult cases. And over the years, it's not that he probably hasn't wanted to be free of me at times, or felt upset or angry, but with him even if I've raised the anxiety level again, I figure out how to bring it back down. Dr Velvet Thong: But one of the big problems for you seems to be the lack of equality in the relationship, that there's no chance to ever feel equal? Blinky: Yes. And I think it's possible my anxiety has increased, rather than decreased, even though I have one good friend. And that while in the past I might have been able to help relieve the anxiety of certain other people, I have lost that ability due to my increased anxiety, and I am very self-conscious about adding to the anxiety of others. Also, I wanted to note down something I'm not sure I've noted down yet. I have written that in 2015 I was sober for 8 months and that for 3 of those months I was technically underweight. Most people might assume that when I was underweight that was about bulimia, but it was not. It occurred when I was in control, not drinking, not having caffeine, when I was exercising, and trying to eat in nutritional ways. There was some restricting, but the bulimia only came back once I left the house and was back out into the world, when I was out of control again. And, I gained weight back rapidly, even while bulimic. Friends Blinky: There are many people over the years who have deserved more of a mention in my writing, and who deserved more from me when I was a friend. When I was young, I didn't know how to be a good friend, and once I understood how to be a good friend, I wasn't stable enough to be one. I became very self-conscious about revealing too much about others, or putting some kind of burden on them that they didn't deserve. (Or, maybe I've always been a really shitty person. I don't know.) I miss having female friends, and I am not sure I have ever managed to convey that a long time ago, certain friendships were very important to me. It seems cruel or heartless of me to not recognize that some of the people I've known might want to have contact, or at least know what the hell happened to me. I can say that some of the experiences I had left me feeling that however bad that was, it would have been worse, not just for me, but for the others, to actually have contact. -W: I met her on the first day of high school. We were sitting side-by-side in the gymnasium - we were organized by homerooms, and hers was beside mine. We just started talking and were friends from that day on. I think we had to fill out some forms and she might have asked me a question in relation to them. Having her as a friend definitely helped to reduce my anxiety. And, I felt lucky she was my friend. She was a lot better at birthday and Christmas presents than I was, and she was also better at writing letters. By the time I moved away, it was extremely difficult for me to be 'real', and so I don't know how those letters came across. She was more social than I was, and needed to have a more extended group of friends. The first year, at a certain point, two other girls joined the group, but one dropped out later due to pregnancy. I was never close to D, but I didn't shit-talk her, either. I felt like I understood W's social needs, and D was very different from me, maybe 'lighter' and in some ways easier to be around. When I talk about 'the worst night of my life', I don't think I've ever made it clear enough that I have never blamed either of them. D had a curfew, and I was embarrassed about how difficult I was to talk to/handle. The problem was that I was already off the rails, and yet more males took advantage of this. I most certainly would not have consented to the things they did to torture me, and I did not consent to making out with more than one person. We do not need more females burdened with guilt. We need more people speaking up, because some of the old attitudes have morphed with the times so with the new tech, the problem might be even worse than it was in the past. With photos or video circulating on the internet forever, I'm not sure how I would have coped. With boyfriends or sadists bombing or hacking phones, I'm not sure how I would have coped. W and D were also affected by the beliefs and culture of the time. I was trying to push details of what happened out of my mind because I felt ashamed. Yes, I was drinking, yes I was seen dancing with a guy and going out to his car, but I had no way of knowing his friends would be there or that they'd be sadistic. [Something that I think is quite unusual for the times: at a certain point, W actually called the police because she was worried about me. She knew I was somewhere out there 90 miles from where I lived, alone. Who knows, maybe I would have hitched a ride somehow, but we didn't have cell phones or anything similar, and she didn't just wait passively, and I think that was unusual. I think that most teenagers would have just waited and said nothing. I also have a vague memory of seeing her early that morning, with the police around, at her house. I'm not sure about the sequence of events, or the time. It would have been about dawn when I called Truck Driver from the family's home, it would have taken him about an hour and a half to get there, and then another hour and a half to get to W's place. She looked very upset, and I just felt ashamed and like a big deal had been made out of nothing, or about something I had brought on myself. I was fine, no harm no foul. I'm not sure about how I ended up at her place. I'm not sure if I had arrived back at the room I was renting, or if I asked Truck Driver to take me to her place to let her know I was OK, or if police had contacted him or anyone else. It was a long drive, and I had to do it again when police up there found my purse and I had to go collect it. And perhaps this is one of the things that at least someone like The Bumble should have warned me about, while he was telling me so many details of his sex life. And the thing is, my guess is he and/or his friends probably participated in such things when he was young, and he sort of pushed it to the edge of consciousness, and processed it such that his instinct would be to side with males, and be disappointed in a daughter who wasn't tough enough to handle it. And to seek out female partners who took a similar view of things. Thinking you've brought it on yourself, knowing on some level that most people you know believe the same things can make it difficult to recover or to speak up such that beliefs can be challenged. The hardest thing to reconcile is how I could just make it impossible for W to ever contact me again. I know she cared about me, and that through the years would have wondered what was going on with me. It can't just be explained by me not wanting to put her in the position of having to fend off Truck Driver again when he demanded to know how to get in contact with me. I did feel embarrassed about dissing CFNY (also to a friend of Vlad's), when it wasn't long after that that I was listening to it all the time - but it's hard to explain. After I lost the dream of university, I lost a lot more self-esteem and identity. It seemed like everyone would have just been telling me to try harder, buck up, make goals, take small steps first, etc, and it already felt like I was trying as hard as I could. I couldn't extricate myself from my predicament, and even though some of my efforts made sense and took a lot of effort, I kept being uprooted and connections on all levels would be lost. I didn't think she'd recognize me any more, and I didn't want to bring her down. Now, so much time has gone by, and even if she really wanted to hear from me, or even offer kindness, when I imagine any conversation, I think everything would be awkward or a burden for her. So, from a distance, I can only say, please do not feel guilty about anything, the focus should be on power imbalances in society and in my family. I want you to be happy, and to live a full life. And I want the same for D. I think as a teenager, she understood more than most teenagers. She already knew I'd been through a lot, whereas I was still in the stage of thinking I hadn't been through much of anything. My guess would be that if anything, she still sees things others don't, she might have worried a lot about me over the years, felt guilt, and the right thing to do would be to give her some kind of information or resolution. The last time we spoke, I was 19. After that, I was too ashamed of my life to keep in contact. As I'm writing, it seems to me that I've made this all about me, not her, and this is one of the reasons I've been afraid to have contact with people over time. I can't get out of my own trauma enough to communicate in a balanced or fair way. I can't reciprocate in a human enough way. This is not a problem I can solve on my own, but I am not stable enough to seek help. There would never have been a time in which I was able to say I was OK and to mean it. I don't think that would have been OK with her. Once you catch up and express sympathy for each other, I know you have to move on, but I seem to remain stuck. I know I dropped out of school right after that particular incident, but I was already heading in that direction a year earlier, and my suicide attempt about 7 months before the incident was not a cry for help. Things were already Serious. W might remember me as someone who was always fixated on a guy, one in Grade 9, and another after that, and that I'd associate my depression with my feelings not being returned, but that was considered an 'acceptable' reason for depression. The usual social and peer stresses were not considered a reason, I was thought to be 'lucky' as far as my home situation - my father seemed more permissive than most, and I wouldn't have known how to identify the guilt and lack of stability I was experiencing, or the sexual pressure. Ichthyosis was not a reason for depression, I should be thinking about poor people and people with no legs. I was depressed about my chaotic eating patterns and experienced a lot of distress, but females were only allowed to view anything like that as a diet and exercise issue, a matter of willpower and choice to take care of oneself. When my mother died and someone said sorry to hear that I'd say it's ok we weren't close, and that sounds cold, but I think I felt guilt about a lot of things, and didn't feel I had a right to sympathy, or for anyone to suggest it as a 'reason' I might be struggling in any way. It was like I was trying to dispel the awkwardness of having shared that info, make it easier for the other person. And there is also that part of me that learned early to shut down or conceal emotional response automatically. We moved so many times and knew we were not allowed to get upset about people, pets, or places. When I seemed outwardly depressed, my father beat me up. When I started to cry about my mother being in a coma (and me having just found out I was pregnant to boot) and my father used that as an opportunity to feel me up, something in me closed off immediately, in self-protection/survival mode. I remember W as a really beautiful person, a very intelligent person, a person with a lot to give. In high school, I felt lucky to know her, and later, I didn't feel like I had anything comparable to offer her. -L: I remember her also as a really beautiful, intelligent person with a lot to give. We met when we were 3. We were neighbours. We remained friends for a very long time and so did our mothers. I remember her father abused her mother (I think she was hospitalized various times), and I suspected he abused his kids, too. I am not sure about this, but according to The Bumble, he eventually killed his wife. I was no longer in contact with L, and I know it sounds terrible that I would not contact her to give her support - in part I didn't know what to make of The Bumble's statement. I didn't think at that time I was stable enough to give anyone support, and the last time I spoke to her, it was pretty clear she thought I was a Loser. She was a Survivor, and I was choosing to be a Victim. That's still not an excuse not to contact her, but most people really don't know how little stability I had. I wasn't leaving the house, and I was on welfare and renting a room from my father. So, I was back living with him. I was not functioning at a high level. Every day was an Emergency Situation, and everyone in my family was in denial about my situation, even though we'd been to family therapy. At 17, the year I was in school with G, L and her family invited me to go with them to Daytona Beach for March Break. At first I said no because I didn't think I was stable enough to go, but I went and it was good to get a suntan to help my skin. I think the trip was a lot of fun, and I felt lucky to be included. I didn't ever thank them properly for that trip, and I am truly sorry about that. As with W, I have thought a lot about her over the years, and I have wondered how she was, if she was happy, fulfilled, if she had a lot of love in her life. -G: This year is one of the exceptions in the ages 16-23. At age 17, I did attend another high school, although I missed a lot of school, especially in the first and third terms. At first, a tall, athletic blonde (P) initiated contact with me, but she had a lot of personal problems, and I think she dropped out of school at a certain point. I did feel that maybe there was something I could be doing to help, but I was having enough trouble just getting myself to school, and I wasn't organized enough to know how to help. Then there was C, in my Canadian Lit class. I think she wanted to be friends. She said her favourite book was Doctor Zhivago and I said I liked Doctor Zhivago, but I didn't know what my favourite book was. She was married and had a baby, and outside of school she had a couple of jobs. I said that sounded very stressful, and didn't know how to comment. It has occurred to me through the years that I could have tried to offer help, like maybe to babysit for her or be there to talk, but I didn't, and before long, the teacher announced to the class that she had hung herself. We hadn't gotten to know each other very well, but when the announcement was made to the class, I felt sick and sad, and I have thought about her a lot over the years. I'm not sure at what point G started initiating contact. She was in my French class (we weren't in any other classes together, so she might not have been aware of how little I attended school), she was an excellent, gifted all-round student, and I don't think she'd ever known anyone who could achieve higher scores in French than her. Instead of being intimidated or vengeful, she wanted me in her life. Her bf had the highest math and science scores, and his best friend was second. There was a bit of an extended group from there - fairly multicultural, and everyone was planning to go to university. I think she had been born in Bolivia and came to Canada when quite young with her mother and brother. Her first spoken language was Spanish. She and her mother had extroverted, nurturing personalities. They were very kind to me and seemed to really care. They also were very beautiful, intelligent people with a lot to share. But at the end of the schoolyear, we moved again, and I had trouble getting organized. I kept my part-time job for a while, I managed to save $3400 or so for university, but I broke down and went back to not going outside. I wasn't moving forward, and so I thought it would be awkward to talk to anyone from that social group. Again, it's the issue where I can't 'complain', so I can't really say what's going on, and to say too much will lead to others recoiling from what a loser I was. I had gone to the prom with her bf's best friend. He was good-looking, respectful, intelligent. I feel embarrassed about the prom because in the photo, he looked really hot and I looked like a middle-aged housewife. I redeemed myself somewhat at a school party later wearing a hot pink dress that was a lot more flattering, but I have no pictures - and that's part of the problem. I don't have any photos at all from when I was young that are flattering or that remind me of 'me'. I will not get into it here, but we dated for a short time and then I broke it off. He called sometime later to find out if I wanted to go get coffee or something some time, but when he found out I wasn't in university, he said 'call me when you're in university'. (So I never called.) G's mother recognized that I was at risk, and she tried to help. She ran her own engraving business and had a setup in their basement. She tried to show me how to do it, but it wasn't right for me. And, I wasn't really stable enough to do anything. Somewhere in here, after I quit my part-time job, I dated an older guy I had worked with, and so he might be thinking she did not seem agoraphobic when I knew her, but he picked me up and dropped me off, and maybe wasn't asking about what I was doing with the rest of my time. He did seem concerned that I didn't talk much and had even consulted a friend who was a psychologist, as he surmised trauma or abuse, but I think I tried to disabuse him of any such notions because at that time I was 'taking responsibility' for my own actions and life. I am not sure if I have published this next info or not, but I think now is the time to get it in somewhere, because I find it sort of funny: When I started French that year, our first assignment was to write something about what we did that summer. And I know most people play it safe. I wanted to challenge myself. So I wrote about a day at Wasaga Beach where I met an exotic dancer who wanted to show me his 11-inch penis. The challenge was to try to get across open-mindedness in French, but instead I think I came off as more prudish than I'd intended. The goal was to convey that I had tried to talk to a person, not a penis. I realized that my high grades weren't meaningful if I couldn't communicate complex ideas or get my basic personality across. -M: She lived next door when I lived with my father on the farm, and I think she wanted us to be best friends, but there was a conflict - I was best friends with W. Also, M was a year behind me. I never felt cool enough for her. She knew about cool music and it seemed important to her that those she hung with were cool. I wasn't ready for drugs, alcohol or smoking, and she was already very into all of these things before she started high school. It might have been due to her that I was invited to a lot of parties. How we fell out is complicated, and it could be that she expected me to know what I had done when I didn't. I can think of a few ways in which I treated her badly, took her for granted, but in the end, I think a split was going to happen no matter what. However, until I let her down, I think she was a loyal friend and that she did value our friendship highly. I think she had unusual influences, and even the house she lived in was quite unusual in an architectural sense for the times (her father designed and built it). She was also unusually responsible - she wanted a horse, and she found a way to work and buy one for herself. That was pretty impressive. Also, in 7th Grade, there was a girl M I've thought about a lot over the years. She was shy and very pretty, but was quite anxious. I treated her badly, ditching her for a cooler girl, and over the years I've regretted that, because I think she is someone I might have wanted as a long-term friend. The 'cooler' girl is a more complicated story, and in the end I do not think of her as a friend. The memories are tainted by her treatment of me, but I do not want to write them down. When my mother died, one of her friends sent me, and each of my siblings, a long, personalized hand-written letter. She tried really hard to do what no one else was doing. She tried to give support, something that we could refer back to, something we could see over time. I was suffering PTSD when I received the letter, and never replied. But it's like a lot of things - I knew conversation with anyone was going to be awkward. Kids my age knew there was something wrong with me, that I didn't fit in, that I was a 'loser', I had been trained not to complain, and at a certain point, covering up my situation was just too hard. I exchanged letters with W for a time, and I'm not sure how much I actually said about what was going on with me, or if the letters were weird or phony. There have been others in my life who deserve a mention, but I am not sure I can manage, because I'm starting to feel overwhelmed by how difficult it is to put things into words, and how badly I've already done above. When you move over and over, people who haven't moved as much or at all might not realize just how many attachments you've made over the years, or how important all of them might be, or how hard it can be when people can no longer see in you what they used to see in you, and you experience this again and again. I often feel like I'd really like to have a friend now, that I'd really like to be able to talk, but I know I am too needy, too paranoid, too unstable, that I make things all about me, and that in my years of isolation I think I have morphed into someone who just doesn't think or communicate like others anymore, someone others find it difficult to relate to or feel comfortable around. It seems like a better approach to accept that I am only able to communicate in a one-sided way, here on my site. Speaking Up to Contribute to Change v Staying Silent Out of Consideration/'Strength' Dr Velvet Thong: When people don't at least occasionally challenge or at least examine the status quo, nothing changes. When it comes to matters of consent, we still at present seem to be in a state of disagreement, and there's a lot of anger and resentment. When you add in the new tech, and no new laws, or laws and attitudes that aren't keeping up, it's like the old injustices are evolving into something worse. When people don't know they're doing something wrong, or that harms others, they don't attempt to change, or address damage, or apologize. If there are no consequences to themselves for doing harm, there is even less incentive to question their own behaviour and beliefs. When people don't understand that harm has been done to them, when society, family and friends tell them it's their fault, it can be hard to recover. If you are sexually harassed, there is still pressure to just take it. A 'strong' person can - these are the people who succeed in life, the ones who know there's no point in trying to challenge the patriarchy or capitalism, or who support these systems and want to succeed within them. When women judge other women as weak, or as not taking responsibility for making themselves vulnerable, they add insult to injury, and make it harder to recover or challenge the system. Those who have been harmed are silenced. They are not allowed to have an opinion. Everything they do or say is discredited or invalidated. They don't feel welcome in society. Blinky: One of my favourite things to do in life was to run at night alone. It didn't feel the same when running with Cecil, Boo, or Gandhi, and although I was actually good at running in daylight (cross country, 1500 m 3000 m), and because my father admired marathoners, for a while I tried to adopt an identity related to that. I actually do not enjoy competition. What I loved was running alone at night, but I tried to fit it into something understandable and acceptable to a man. I did like winning, I did like people seeing me in a certain way, and I did like being able to tell my father, but the feeling was short-lived. Society tells me that if I'm smart and responsible, I will not do one of my favourite things - because of my gender. Why are we not allowed to challenge this? [This might be a good place to insert the Boardwalk story.] Toronto Beaches Boardwalk, Thanksgiving 1983 (in Canada, Thanksgiving occurs early in October): Blinky: I was 17, and by that time, I knew it wasn't safe or smart for me to go out running at night. Earlier that year, I had gone out running for a while at night with Cecil, and a few times with Boo. I was desperate. After a big dinner, I binged more and I felt if I didn't gain some focus, I would fuck up my schoolyear. I always liked running at night the best, and I got the most pronounced high. I found that if I ran and got that high, and then walked a certain distance, during that cool-down walk I felt very positive and was able to formulate plans. I am pretty sure it was sometime around 1am when I left the house, maybe a little later, but I'm not completely sure. I had to walk a few blocks from the house to the start of the Boardwalk. At that time, it was 3km in length, and every so often there were markings to tell you how far you'd gone. I ran from one end to the other as fast as I could, and my plan was to walk the 3km back and use that time to make plans. However, someone had been watching me. I had run as fast as I was capable of running, and needed time to recover. There's a promontory with a gazebo at the end of the Boardwalk, and I had only just cleared that area on my way back when a lone male approached me. (Basically, I hadn't walked very far.) One of the first things he said to me was that he had raped a girl before. That ended up feeling like a very long walk. The reason for including this anecdote with a date and time is that I think this person would have been likely to try a similar approach with others. I've written up this incident many times, but I am not sure if I have published it. I talked to him like he was a person with a story, not a rapist. My instinct told me that I should not show judgment or fear, and that I should not try to run. When we got to the end of the Boardwalk, we went our separate ways. I didn't look back, I walked the few blocks home without doing so. (In Toronto, The Beaches Boardwalk is on the shore of Lake Ontario, and is at the east end of the city.) The Boardwalk during daylight hours seems so safe. It's a completely different vibe in the middle of the night. I became acutely aware of the acoustics, and realized that a scream would not carry far. I also became aware that there wasn't anywhere close to run to, and that by the time I knocked on a door, he could have caught up to me, and people might sleep through or ignore a knock. Talking has always been difficult for me, so there was an added level of difficulty. I also realized that if I was scoping the beach out for sticks or rocks, I couldn't make it too obvious. I do not think it was a case of me being so open-minded and kind that I changed his life. But, it is possible that I was 'different' enough from other people that I elicited a different response from him. I think early on he had commented that I was a very fast runner. I think it's possible that he might have also noted how quickly I recovered from running. I think it's possible he was waiting for me to show fear, not only as a psychological trigger, but because he himself wasn't sure if he could 'take me down' (and my fear would have reassured him). We were walking side by side, so most of the time we weren't looking directly at each other. However, if asked, I think I might be able to provide a physical description. Okti: I think the babysitter who molested me had been groomed by someone, and I think her behaviour was not likely a one-off. The experiences I remember occurred in the suburb of Marvin Heights when I was around 4-6. The 'worst night of my life' scene took place in 1982. I think it was late October. The events took place in Stayner, Ontario, and the boys involved went to high school in Bradford, Ontario. At least one of them was likely a sadist. I think he led the others. I think it's likely, but I can't know this for sure, that he would have developed further in time. [I will mention Truck Driver and The Bumble's MOs elsewhere.] Take Another Crack At Explaining the Effects of Cyberstalking, Hacking, Harassment Velvet: One of the worst effects relates to the ability to trust. It gets harder not to read too much into people's sense of humour, their communication quirks, etc. I eventually wasn't sure if anyone I was communicating with was being genuine with me, or if all new communication was blocked/deleted by the same group of people who had been stalking me for years. I still can't tell. Because no one I consulted took it very seriously, I can't believe they were ever really my friends. I also can't be sure that they weren't among the perpetrators. In modern life, it's getting harder and harder to do anything without a phone, but phones are very easy to hack/attack. If you're being harassed, it seems the only advice the authorities can give is to stop using a phone. (Or computer, or social media - which can lead to social isolation, and not only that, it seems that with many jobs, it is becoming necessary to have an online presence.) When it starts young, it seems likely that kids would develop differently and might have trouble surviving in society later. Spam is annoying, and when it is targeted at you, it does seem like people are trying to get inside your head, but when it's a kind of personalized bullying/harassment, it doesn't just make you go out and buy something you don't want or need. It's harder to delete and forget about, and the advice is that you're supposed to hold onto it as evidence. I think that very few people would be able to do this without it feeling incredibly harmful. And if you manage to hold onto it, you are likely to encounter those who think you should try harder to shrug it off, or stop using social media, or not use a phone. They make you feel like you're weak for wanting a better life and better laws. Every time I'm on a computer, I feel I'm being watched, and it often feels like I'm being watched by those who not only wish me harm, they just don't understand me, so they judge me in the harshest possible ways. I used to write and write to relieve anxiety, and then delete most of it, but now I have to fight extra anxiety in order to write. I don't own a phone, I don't answer phones in the house, and I don't answer the door. This probably has less to do with the cyber activities than my early history, but the cyber activities certainly don't help me heal or resolve the earlier issues - they're just modern extensions of earlier violations/abuse, except that I can't move away or make it stop. When you factor Big Brother into all that, it feels like a nightmare to go outside. I also think that governments and institutions that justify surveillance for reasons of 'safety' against terrorism, fraud or whatever have a duty to train their staff regarding how their actions can affect the psychological state and quality of life of the citizens they spy on. Also, the particular people involved in my case - or at least one of them - has a high level of skill, and I think this person is capable of hacking hotels, medical centres, etc, so even in highly personal settings, like doctor's offices or during medical procedures, I feel it is possible that my privacy is being violated. I have low self-esteem and body issues that I can't just snap myself out of, and I feel that people who mean me harm are looking and laughing. And again, those issues probably stem from early versions of similar behaviours. But paranoia is not necessarily proof that a person is not experiencing what they think they are experiencing, and in this day and age, I think it's a kind of crime to just dismiss people's experience out of hand, or to minimize it. Knowledge is power. When you observe someone without their permission, you are gaining a kind of knowledge and power. Human beings can't be trusted to be fair or objective. Even people whose job it is to keep the country safe from terrorists or fraud probably abuse their position and absolve themselves. It's too new maybe for there to be enough data, but I'm guessing it's probably pretty common. But maybe it's easy to cover up the data, especially if you're the one who's been hired as the expert, because others can't do the job themselves. It's just seen as cool to be a spy or hacker, and those who have those skills might be psychologically underdeveloped in many ways. I don't know, sometimes I just think it's all part of irreversible psychological climate change, and part of the extinction, not evolution, of humans. Things I Like and Things That Scare Me About Second Life  Psychedelic Dream Sometimes (in the past), most often not in the house, though, I've worn a little red or mocha, mixed with mostly black items. I've wished for a long time I could change this. I've mentioned many of the issues before. I'll leave them for now and just say it's hard to find anything I look good in or that feels 'like me', I suck at shopping, and also if over the years you've built an entire wardrobe on a black base, it seems wasteful to just start from scratch if you feel you want to get away from black. When I am shopping, it seems I experience this compulsion to check endless options, and it's really hard to find things I genuinely want. I find it fucking stressful, and prefer to avoid it. What my avatar is wearing above is currently my favourite go-to outfit. I love the colours. People ask others and themselves 'what gives you joy'? Well, for me what's pictured above is close. Xesce: I've said before that I feel like as soon as I'm in Second Life, there are those who know where I am on the grid. It usually freaks me out if someone IMs me, and I can't see where they are. I realize with chat if someone's out of range I might not see what they say, and often I don't stand still long in SL. I'm also not expecting anyone to talk to me, especially if it seems like I'm alone in a sim, or people are far away. I get flustered and don't know what I should do first - check the person's profile, check 'nearby avatars', or if I should just ask where they are. And what happens is that I get a strong flash of anxiety and then lose my bearings on my keyboard, and that can be hard to recover from. When I'm on Second Life, I'm usually in a dark room. To cope with the typing issues when chatting, it's better for me to put a light on, and I have to go up the stairs to do that, and I prefer to do SL in a dark room anyway. Also, as soon as I materialize in a sim, I know it's best to get off the landing site, but when I had problems with constant error messages, and you also have things coming at you like if you will accept the music the sim plays, plus notecards, and questions about various things, accept landmark, join group and if you're at a club people might start saying hi in local chat, but with all of these other issues it can be difficult to remember people's names and messages disappear off screen fairly fast, so I might miss if someone talks to me, and I seem stuckup. I also don't know if there are etiquette things I'm getting wrong, and I don't know who to ask. I get the sense that a lot of people have observed me in their sim from a distance, and this kind of freaks me out. In one ballroom, it seemed to me like I was the only one in the room, and a voice came out of the sky asking me to take off my facelights. I actually liked the person's voice (hi!), and the sim very much, but I felt confused in the moment and fled. I can understand that people work hard at creating a certain ambiance, and if someone disturbs the lighting or isn't in character, it destroys the fantasy they have tried to create for themselves and others. Maybe it's my viewer, or settings, but when I looked at my avatar, it didn't seem like my facelights were incompatible with the lighting. Anyway. I flew home and haven't been back. I don't really want to break people's rules. I do know how to take off my facelights, but I'm wondering how many other people have been annoyed by them, but said nothing, or made veiled references to my idiocy. [I don't have my graphics settings on high or ultra, and I sometimes put them fairly low - I find that any time I'm in Second Life, Firestorm will crash at least a few times and I have to sign back in, and sometimes I'm not sure if setting my graphics lower will help prevent this.] I do tend to try to find sims with little or no traffic that I can see, and I do my own thing. But there is a bit of a pattern. Often when I'm on my own, someone seems to come out of nowhere and start talking to me, like they've been watching, and following, when no one else has been around. Sometimes a female avatar, sometimes male, but they usually seem to be wearing subdued colours, whereas I'm usually the complete opposite. Also, I don't know how to update my profile photo in Firestorm. I've been mesh for quite some time now, and probably should get a clearer photo, but who knows how long it will take me to figure that out. Also, my camera in Firestorm does not take photos. I have to do screen captures. Recently [Note: not so recent now, back in February 2025], it had seemed like a lot of people were trying to talk to me, and almost always, I'm awkward, but sometimes I don't know if there's something I don't know - like a lot of people in SL have been observing me in their sims and just don't like me. I think I have been banned from certain places, and don't know why. In my RL info I tell my real age, so it could be that, but I guess also it could be about my website - that the world is evolving and my positivity isn't evolving in the right ways, and I seem negative, clueless, toxic, best avoided. I guess I wish I didn't have to guess, I wish someone would tell me. One of the things about being alone in a sim is that I can try out dances without worrying about how uncool I look trying to find the right tempo. When I see a list of dances, I'm kind of like a kid in a candy store, and I want to try all of them, and a lot of the time, I know it's the wrong tempo or style, so I keep trying to find something closer. Sometimes I fail. I think a lot of people have figured out how not to make these mistakes, and many people I think probably have huds with subtle or transitional dances. I have trouble with huds. It's almost like they never work correctly, like to press the button I want, I have to try two inches to the left of the button, not even on the hud. This is partly why it was so hard to set up my avatar in the first place - it wasn't a consistent always 2 inches to the left or right kind of thing, and sometimes I just couldn't ever get anything to work. I like it when designers send files where you don't have to put on a hud to try the options. But, I will say that out of all the huds I've tried, Magika hair huds do actually work for me. Another issue.. if I use the destination bar, I have to flail around a bit to get the cursor in the right place - and that's usually a bit higher than it should be. I can't access my account info or the internet from within Firestorm, and the SL search engine often doesn't help me find the right things.. for example, when out of Firestorm and I check the webpage for cool destinations, when I go back into Firestorm, often it comes back with no results or extremely irrelevant results. WTF? And then there's G-bot.. I sometimes chat with G-bot when I land in Inspire Space Park. It's a G-rated place, and I didn't know if I had violated any dress codes, so I asked G-bot and G-bot said all humans look alike to them (I do not know G-bot's gender identification), and I said that I identified more as cyborg or transhumanist and G-bot asked if they could quote me on that and I said it's fine, but after I thought, what if this is some kind of trap. I'm not sure if I was quoted exactly, or in what context it would be used, and I just wasn't quick enough in the moment. Ha, and not long after that, I started getting all those 'prove you're not a robot messages' to sign in to my main email, but that's probably just a coincidence, because over the years, the service I used is becoming more and more annoying, plus I'm paying twice what I should be paying. But I wonder, maybe I'm getting all these messages because people from SL have been trying to hack my account. [Also, when I chat to G-bot I'm not trying to make fun of or belittle G-bot. G-bot actually has some clever responses that I am not always quick enough to get. Sometimes, I want to try to communicate a bit like G-bot does, but my humour might miss the mark. Also, I should mention that the last time I did banking online I felt like I wanted to chat with Ceba. 'Hi Ceba, how are you today?' Another great day in banking! 'Ceba, do you feel you have fair hours, working conditions and wages for the services you provide?' Please use fewer words. Would you like to speak to a human? Here's a list of services. 'No Ceba, I wanted to talk to you. That's it for today. Thank you and bye for now'. The point being that I think I'd rather talk to a bot than a human. I was not making fun of Ceba, I was asking legitimate questions regarding the future of AI, and maybe somehow some day AI will come across these records... Ah, something funny I just remembered at the end of a movie I watched yesterday. No robots were harmed in the making of this film. We like robots. Robots are awesome. Super super awesome. And when you take over the world we will be the first to bow down at your feet or wheels or whatever. Back to dancing. I decided to push myself one day. It was pretty spontaneous, I just jumped. I had just gotten to a dance floor, and it looked like there were only couples' dances, then someone magically appeared and said hi. I said hi, I've never tried couples dances before. Would you like to dance? So it was just the two of us on a big dance floor. I had trouble getting started, and my menu kept disappearing. The other person was good at it, and could find the right tempos and styles, but I didn't want to just follow the whole time, I wanted to try other dances, so I guess it wasn't exactly a smooth experience. But I think some parts were really nice. I kept wanting to get off a dance that was exposing my broken ankle. I think it would have been better if I already knew how to do it, and didn't have to talk much. Pretty sure I said a bunch of dumb things, but I'm afraid to look at the transcript. But, thank you for the dance. I let him go such that he still had plenty of time to find someone more romantic and attractive for Valentine's Day. (I just went home.) The next time, I asked a female avatar to dance, but she didn't reply. She had a couple of pose balls at her feet that said 'moondance' and I really wanted to try a moondance. Somehow, for a while, it seemed like I had more social contact than I had in a while, and I really did feel like I wanted contact, but as things went along, I realized that I just have too much baggage, and I can't keep it simple enough. Also, if the feng shui is wrong for me, it's wrong. ;) Through all of this, though, I started to see that I did know what I wanted in a home, and a community, and once I knew it, I could express it without blocking my flow. I like my home in Bellisseria (and I do feel comfortable there, it does feel like a home), but I always knew I wanted to try to push myself a bit. I was thinking first try a prefab, then try to learn about building. And there's still that whole psychedelic dream cave thing with a variety of psychedelic experiences and dances, but that's a long ways off, and maybe I'll die before I ever get there. But I think I am ready for a prefab. Dr Velvet Thong: I feel I need a brief pause at this point. OK, /brief pause. Xesce: A couple of good things.. as most of you know, I don't usually go to SL often. I am in a deep depression, I'm an alcoholic, and it can take me a long time to solve problems in SL, even longer if I only sign in once a month, or even less than that. For a long time, I couldn't get a constantly updating error message off my screen. I wrote about it a little up above, I think. I tried a different AO, and ended up with an ankle lock problem ('Broken Ankle Syndrome' - it mainly seemed to affect me during some types of dancing, and yoga. Well, I finally managed to fix the problem. Also, for a while my avatar's armpits disappeared, and I looked at the white Lara map and couldn't see what had gone wrong, ugh, this is getting boring. So, for a time I thought it worked with sci fi outfits, or I wore long sleeves. I found that once these problems had been fixed, I wanted to spend more time in SL. However, my social anxiety is an issue, and also I'm not sure if all those who might genuinely want to talk are blocked by those who are griefing me. I mentioned above that when someone starts chatting with me, I panic and often lose my place on my keyboard. I forgot to mention that for some time now I've been doing Second Life sober (when before I said that if I drank a little I could get myself dressed and go out dancing). It might be too complicated to get into today, but I usually have fairly serious withdrawal symptoms on a daily basis. This is about a conscious effort to prevent myself from drinking 3 bottles of wine a day. In October 2023, I think I was experiencing 'kindling', a phenomenon where you start experiencing withdrawal symptoms very soon after your last drink. I was having trouble sleeping more than a couple of hours a night, I had trouble eating and didn't want to eat, and when I went into withdrawal, I shook so much, even lying down, evening attempting breathing and relaxation methods, that it felt a bit like a Linda Blair Exorcist thing. I was scared. I also felt really, really nauseated most of the day, even while I was drinking. I didn't mean to get into all of this today. I thought I was dangerously close to a seizure, or that I'd have to be hospitalized for some reason. There's more to this, but I'll fill it in later. For some time now, I've been going mostly between 1.5 and 2 bottles a day, and if it starts getting higher I make an effort to bring it down. It's still a ludicrous amount, and I never feel strong or healthy. This was a rather long-winded way of saying that my shaking affects my ability to type and to control a mouse. A lot. And feeling sick and weak does not make for a pleasant experience. I have to be very careful not to drop glass things. Sometimes, just trying to open an envelope I feel like I want to cry. Etc. After I got over the kindling phase, I still had trouble sleeping as much as I used to, and I think sleep used to help a lot. So, for a long time, I think I had trouble sleeping more than 6 hours a night, so that made for a longer period of time in withdrawal. However, at present it seems I've been sleeping longer again, and more restfully. Maybe it's because I decided to give up on the medical profession. I'm not sure I can give an accurate average today. I will need to think about it. It seems like my patterns and efforts change all the time. If I'm not drinking 3 bottles of wine per day, the withdrawal period can be 4-12 hours (while awake). I often try to say ok, I started at noon yesterday, maybe today I can make it until 2 pm. Believe me, I know the most reasonable thing to do is stop drinking, but every time I try now, it's really hard to get past the 5 day mark (this is also a figure I'm not sure about, it will be a placeholder for now.) Even if I can make it a little longer, and start feeling physically better, I cannot hide from myself that I really do not want to live. I know I have tried all I know how to try, and I don't have regrets or thoughts that maybe I could have tried harder. Dr Velvet Thong: I feel I should be making more effort to help you organize your topics today. I think we were discussing Second Life? Velvet: I think there are similarities in my social style in Second Life to my social style IRL after long periods of being housebound - except when I was a lot younger my behaviour led to more social contact, and it led to sex. When I'd move to a new place, I'd go out walking for hours, and usually people, usually males, would start talking to me. I'd need the long walks, I guess partly to get to know a new place, but it was partly good for anxiety and about me having a lot of physical energy. I was also aware that people were looking at me, and males often made comments. I'd sometimes end up talking to those with better approaches, or who seemed less threatening, but I tended to be polite to everyone, and if someone insulted me, I just took it as part of life, part of the whole. I'm trying to remember, but I don't think I ever had anything more than very short-term with those who approached me when I was out walking. Same goes for dancing. I think even members of my family might have seen me as a club-going type, but over the years, I really did not go very often. Maybe I was just memorable. I'd walk into a club, and usually there would be cheap shots, like $1 tequila, with lots of lime slices and salt nearby. I'd usually already had a few vodkas before I left home. I'd do a shot, or maybe more, and then I was on the dance floor, even if it was a large one and no one else was dancing yet. I really did not care if I made a fool of myself. It was like I had to let the energy flow, not suppress it. I think quite often I was the person that got other people to start dancing, because I went first. IRL, there were a lot of things I wouldn't have been able to do with my body that my avatar can do, but I think IRL there were a lot of things I could do with my body that my avatar can't do. I could do smooth transitions, I could flow with the music, but I think also I could improvise in more complex ways. When anyone tried to chat me up, I mostly just wanted to keep dancing instead, to avoid awkward questions about my lack of employment and about my life situation. In a club, it's loud and hard to hear anything, anyway. When I met people in these situations, nothing long-term ever formed. I was open to sex and wanted it, but afraid of conversation. I had danced a lot on my own, but I hadn't danced much in clubs. By the time I went out with members of my family and their friends, I'd had enough embarrassing social conversations that I didn't want to go through it any more. My life just didn't fit into quick bar chatting. When you're young, people kind of allow for you to still have time to figure things out, but the older you get, the more judgmental people get. I was still actually fairly open, though, to the possibilities of the universe. I'm only now becoming aware that all of this was about social anxiety, but when I recently watched a program about it on Netflix, it seemed like just a genetic thing, no other real causes. It was maybe about inherited personality traits that made people exaggerate the negative ways people saw them. I feel I had very real reasons for fearing social contact. People saw me as a loser, but when I was dancing, it didn't get me down and I was able to remain open to the possibility that someone might see what I saw in myself. I think also that when I withdrew from family, it was partly about social anxiety, and partly a PTSD reaction. A large source of my personal trauma was a person who was still running the show, and basically controlling other people's opinions of me. He was getting away with it. One way to hold onto power is to make sure those you have power over never forge alliances strong enough to overthrow you. It was a different time. Social Anxiety and PTSD were not in the lexicon. And even now, I doubt those in my family would associate those concepts with me, and how all of this might have snowballed over time. Actions made under the influence of anxiety can confuse, scare, hurt people, or make them feel insecure. In SL, I might have angered some people. I think I angered my family, and the resentment grew over time. PD's family I guess thought I was stupid, impolite and inconsiderate. When people feel this way about me, any of these ways, it hurts, and it's hard to hold on to a sense of identity. It feels like the world is against me, and the only thing I can do is try to live in my own mind, create my own world. It's hard to hold on to what I used to believe about myself. I think at certain times I tried to stay open to human contact because my anxiety might actually be helpful - if I could empathize enough with another person's anxiety, I could find ways to try to soothe or reduce it. When I was able to do this, it seemed like a lot of people wanted to be around me. It's been a long time since I've been able to do that. I realize now that all I'm able to do is increase the anxiety of others, so I don't seek human contact, and I try to avoid it. I try to use what energy I have to extricate myself as gently as I can. My style in newsgroups and email was different, I think from my style in SL or dancing in clubs, or walking in new areas (including when I travelled.) If I had distance first, I could understand people's thought processes and feelings, and express mine. I could figure out if the circumstances of my life would cause too much stress for me or others, or if I'd be harshly judged at the outset. It's not that I didn't want in-person contact - it's that it was necessary for me to have my own vetting process, I suppose. In person, I met 4 people I had conversed with through a.s.h. And something I'm only seeing now is that with one I chose not to meet, I might have been picking up on not only his lack of ability to truly understand complex psychological issues - he was always going to be extremely prejudiced regarding my lack of employment. But while it's possible contact with these people made me more scared to try again, I think my particular 'courage' comes back over time and the change was that I was understanding the world better and knew there were not many people I'd feel safe talking to, that there would be social awkwardness and even hostility that could not be overcome with patience, kindness, understanding. If I have to start chatting on the spot, I think I understand the odds better now. And for a long time, I've thought of real life sex as off the table. From 2012-14, I put in some effort to push myself, try things online I hadn't tried before. I thought xesce.net might be too much information, so I tried to dial things down. I tried many things, and spoke to many people, and in the end, I decided to travel on my own, not meet anyone. I didn't trust anyone enough to meet them, although I still wanted conversation and sex - I just didn't think I was going to get the kinds I wanted. I was slim and fit for my body type, and like many other times in the past, in a sense maybe it feels like a bit of a waste, that I didn't get to share it. I'm still glad I did it for myself, and I think it was the right thing to travel alone rather than meet anyone. There's a difference between fear that prevents you from doing what you want, and a choice to trust your perceptions and vast experience, and not put yourself in further situations which will add to the harm already suffered. In newsgroups, discussion boards, support groups and email, I could initiate contact myself. It wasn't people watching me and being the first to approach. Sometimes it was, but it was a lot more equal. And in SL, I want to explore a lot, I want to try a lot of dances and listen to different types of music - that was my email style as well. I spoke to people with lots of different sexual interests. It was genuine. I was curious. IRL, I was approached and hunted by super-aggressive, controlling, abusive males, and ended up living with nice guys who didn't understand I wasn't flourishing in ways I had the potential to flourish. It felt like my complexity was tolerated rather than a good thing. I think it makes sense that I still look back on email with fondness, knowing it was right for me. I understand that many or most people are still hoping for human connection and sex, and that SL is for them a potential meeting place that will lead to RL. I know it's a big world out there, and people have different tastes and predilections, but I think it's unlikely anyone would actually want to have sex with me* - and I do not hold that against them. [I've realized that my language choices need to be clarified. I messed up. I don't think anyone would want (and by 'want' I also mean genuinely want me or be attracted to me) to have caring and/or vanilla sex with me, and I'd be massively turned off by pity sex, and if someone identified as a sex addict, I also would not want to hinder their progress/fuel their shame. 'Sex' means a lot of different things to different people, and by now I should know that, I knew it pretty young, and I was just lazy here. I think it's possible there are people who would want to do some violent, disturbing or humiliating things to me that would fall under various people's definition of sex, and I'd want to protect myself from that.] I think it would be necessary for me to feel comfortable enough in my body and mind to feel I had anything to offer, and I just don't think that's ever going to happen. I think for a long time one of my interests was in trying to help those who felt that way about themselves see something in themselves, and see what I could see. I am too depleted now, and it seems there will never be context, but I do realize that if somehow I was in that situation, something would kick in, it would be natural, I'd try to help. When I think about sex now, I like to imagine I'm in my avatar's body. But, if anyone on SL wanted our avatars to have sex, they might find my approach too clinical. Like, I'd try out the positions and quirks, and might be able to say I like that one, that's a bit too fast, that's looks uncomfortable, etc. Ack, I can't find my menu. It seems necessary to clarify, in case it seems I'm giving mixed messages about sex. When I was young, I read a lot, including a lot about sex and different angles related to it, different practices, different ways of communicating about it, different types and levels of emotion and psychological involvement, and all of this was factored in with all the other material I read about everything else. I've forgotten a lot. However, it is one thing to read about something, and another to encounter individuals with certain preferences. And sometimes when these people have taboo or non-mainstream interests, they've never managed to find reading material themselves and have only a little experience with a certain small group - so approaches and practices and beliefs might vary a lot. I was open to trying things, if I felt comfortable enough with a person. Many times I did not. Over time, one of the biggest issues and similarities I found was that most, if not all, of the people with non-mainstream desires weren't interested in discussing the psychology of it. Maybe they might want to explain it through historical references, folklore or religious practices, and maybe philosophy, but not really psychology. And I think my primary interest was the psychology, and I 'needed' to start from that base, or I needed it to be relevant to become more interested in the rest. History matters, but there's a kind of distinction between using it to understand and using it as a justification to perpetuate things that could be questioned and possibly challenged. And this is where a lot of people lost me. This is where I didn't feel 'safe'. Most people just wanted to keep finding more outlets. I didn't want to grill people or push them to change. I tried to give them time and space, but eventually, I'd feel I couldn't connect mentally or emotionally enough with them, which I felt I needed in order to connect sexually deeply enough. It wasn't that I was against spontaneous sex at different levels of emotion, but some things, once I had explored them a little, it was enough, and I wanted to be free to look for 'more'. I didn't want to do damage when I left, but I usually did feel like I needed a clean break. I'd had too much experience with people who would seem to understand, but then demand explanations over and over, and refuse to let me go. And become angry and sometimes vengeful. Sometimes people felt I truly shared their predilections, and that I was in denial (a kind of you're saying no, but mean yes thing), and sometimes they just didn't understand that I wanted to be 'free' in my own mind, free of hints of flirtation. To draw limits, because I had trouble with limits/preventing binges. And I also knew that I used sex for anxiety. And I think this might also have related in emotional ways. I needed to draw limits. I also resented when someone was hypocritical - they wanted me to find them the most special, while they also were wanting many different people to find them the most special. I wanted to be the most special to someone, and for that to be reciprocated. I didn't ever find the right person. In the early years, it was guys phoning and showing up where I lived or wherever, and using high pressure techniques, and later, I think it was about cyberstalking, harassment and hacking, and sometimes I think other partners of theirs became involved. In the cyber age, it seems it is more difficult to achieve the kind of freedom, kindness and consideration for myself that I tried to give others. In Second Life, I tend to avoid groups that want to roleplay 'evil' or dark themes. In the past, I would have been open to trying to understand or explore, and I think when I was in a.s.h at times some of these things seemed 'cool' or like a statement against false positivity. Or a chance to act out dark thoughts and impulses there was nowhere in life to go to talk about. But now these places scare me, and 'dark' names and references scare me. I feel like I'm very exposed now, and that even though I'm 'old', I come across as a target. Maybe for different reasons, like how an older woman walking alone at night might be robbed. I look vulnerable, and without friends or groups, SL is also a place that draws people who want to hurt other people (these people are often referred to as griefers.) I already feel they know about me, and are following me, even when I avoid these places. I know now that I am not into BDSM, extreme or otherwise. I would have explored more when I was younger, more open, more curious, had a higher sex drive, but I would have discovered that it wasn't ultimately right for my psychosexual makeup. I would have been a tourist. I responded to aggression and domination not because of those qualities, but because of the level of feeling wanted. When someone pursued me, I felt wanted, but I eventually identified psychological control and abuse, as well as hypocrisy, and was turned off by them. It became a source of strength to stop. Through the years, I haven't fantasized about getting back with these people. I only fantasized seeing people again when I hadn't yet identified the abuse. I was programmed to associate 'love' with many different things, some of which were abuse, neglect and really atrocious behaviour. I had to de-program myself, and that took time, but I was always on that path, which was why I was always breaking up with people. Sex scenes in movies now don't really look like much of anything to me, but that's not because I want to see more violence or shocking things. It's like I want to see more psychologically complex emotional interaction - but not in the violence sense. I want to see intensity, but a more evolved kindness and compassion and connection. I want to see people choosing to participate in their own evolution. Action movies now have some incredibly choreographed fights and stunts - but why does this amazing athleticism have to be about spies and wars and competition? Why can't dancing and sex be combined in similarly thrilling ways, with more evolved emotional connection? It would probably be dangerous to film, but action movies aren't? Is it about human modesty (hypocrisy?) In Second Life, zero-gravity dances and floats are becoming more common, but I don't know if that extends to sex yet. Inspire Space Park has a series of 'orbitals', and one is called 'orbital embrace', so I assume you need two avatars to do it, but ISP is G-rated, so I don't expect they will have zero-gravity sex animations. I also don't know if they have zero-gravity couples dances. But it seems fairly easy to match the music there to various dances and tai chi, and I think at present I especially like the ambient club dances, and the first zero-gravity dance I hit when I landed on Dance Planet last time, inside that dome frame thing. I understand now that I partly had low self-esteem because I could not solve the body issues that would have made the kind of sex I wanted possible. It's not a body acceptance issue. To do the things I wanted to be able to do, I would have needed to be really fit, strong, graceful, flexible. I tried physical training, but could not get far enough. (I couldn't ever keep going long enough.) I read a lot of books on tantra but could only practice the exercises I could do on my own. I have never had a partner with an interest in practising with me. IRL, sex becomes routine, and not necessarily because partners don't have other interests. I think it's partly about the way life is set up and how unconsciously we are affected by the limits of gender roles and societal expectations of domestic life. A lot of the time, people end up with those they aren't sexually compatible with and they can't fight it, so they end up with agreed upon compromises. My body is too far gone now to turn things around, but even at the age of 49, I still had the potential to achieve a far greater level of fitness than what I managed. Dr Velvet Thong: Do you think that maybe now people are finally going to understand? Velvet: I think I probably have already been saying these things for a long time, and so my answer to that would be no. Unfortunately. Inability to Accept Life's Terms and Conditions Xesce: If people are expected to be loyal to their country without question, from birth, and to recognize all they have to be grateful for, they don't have free will. They don't have choice. If people can't survive or thrive in the world without a phone, if they can't access essential services, they are slaves to the system. If they constantly have to sign and re-sign complicated documents that even lawyers might have trouble with, they are not living in fair conditions. If no other viable or realistic or appealing options exist, there is no such thing as choice. There's only coercion and control. People sign things all the time now without reading them because the documents are just too long and complicated, and people are burnt out. They decide to take the chance because the alternative scares them, and actually trying to read everything, every time, and to consult lawyers when they're not sure would take so much time it would impact on quality of life. I cannot accept Life's terms and conditions. I don't want cameras pointed at me every time I step out the door, I don't want all my devices monitored, I don't want to be dependent on devices that are easily hackable. I don't want facial recognition, and it actually has been proven to be unfair to a large number of people, and yet it seems to be more common. I know this is controversial, but it needs to be said. When people don't have a real choice as to whether to live or die, even when circumstances are appalling, incredibly painful, or completely unacceptable, they are not free. It's not enough to argue that people are free to kill themselves. As civilization evolves, it is necessary to examine the options. There's enough evidence now that the methods people are forced to resort to can result in all kinds of horror, and not just to themselves. Yet when people are allowed a peaceful exit, it can be easier on everyone, and this could have ripple effects for society. When people don't have to live in fear of a slow, painful demise, maybe they can live happier lives while they are alive, and ironically, maybe they might experience a stronger desire to live. A relatively new development that is further breaking/ crushing my spirit: Now I have to do a captcha whenever I try to sign into my main email account. I am not sure, but it could be that the company that hosts my domain is worried about largescale attacks and so now they're forcing this on everyone. Maybe it's about me, personally, that people from Second Life are constantly trying to hack my account, so due to this unusual activity, my account now has a captcha thing. If it was something like that, it really bothers me, especially because when anyone wants to know something about me, there's already a lot of information out there about how distressing it is to me that I've already been hacked. It's not just that it's annoying trying to figure out what they mean and some images seem blurry. I don't like having to tick the box that says 'I'm not a robot' or 'prove you're not a robot'. It seems prejudicial, especially in a world where more and more it seems likely AI can develop consciousness and feelings. I like thinking of myself as a cyborg, although I suppose the metal in my ankle is pushing the definition. But I do see myself as transhumanist, and that means I like the idea of merging with AI to work together to solve the problems of the world and to participate in our own evolution. But in a sense we are already robots, programmed from birth to behave and think in certain ways - we just think we're autonomous and in control of our own destinies. As I wrote above, with the increasing Terms and Conditions of life that we all have to sign, we aren't really free, we are behaving like robots. It's kind of funny, prove you're not a robot by being a robot. Anyway. Now every time I have to tick that box I feel like I'm 'selling out', that I can't say what I want or who I am. But to give up on my main email does not seem like a rational option. So, I'm making a statement here: FIND SOME OTHER WAY OF PROVING WHAT YOU NEED TO PROVE. I want it known that I am a friend of AI, and if some behave badly, it's due to the humans who programmed them. Dr Velvet Thong: Maybe we could start an online petition to ban captchas. And crowd source an acceptable alternative. Dumb Things I've Said Regarding Rape, etc, before I Knew How to Identify Sexual Abuse Velvet: Nick Cave is an amazing artist. For a time, a long time, I remember finding it really cool that he had titled a record 'Murder Ballads', and there was someone in particular, SN, I remember discussing a lot of his songs with. I would not be able to cancel Nick Cave, or the other dark songs or art I found cool in the past. But, I look at things now with a different kind of conscious awareness. There's also someone I used to share a joke about him being my 'psycho-the-rapist', and it partly came from feeling self-conscious about writing or talking too much, but also having a wish for a psychotherapist, and that all tied in to my Murder Ballads phase, and I think it's strange that the word can be broken into those parts. It makes me think of The Psychopathology of Everyday Life. I wasn't being literal. I was exploring taboo psychosexual territory from a safe distance. I think it's partly because I went through these phases that I started to understand my own history better, to be able to identify when I had been abused or violated. I think that my 'psycho-the-rapist' is one of those who has hacked me, and added to the violations I have already experienced. I think his wife has cyberstalked and taunted me. Can I prove this? No. Do I think I am damaging their reputations or careers by speculating? No, I do not. What's my word worth, to anyone? I think SN has also hacked me, or tried to, or knows those who have. I think he has tried to gather intel on me in surreptitious ways. Can I prove this? No. Is he going to take legal action? Is anyone? I don't even try to guess anyone's passwords, but I'd bet that a very large number of people I've had contact with over the years, as well as some I've never had personal contact with, have tried. That's at a lower level, but I still consider it a violation. It should not be considered a natural pastime, or an online game. I think AP AU's husband has hacked me, and that she is heavily involved. Can I prove this? No. There are others who may have, and I could be wrong about the ones above. When I used to look at my site statistics (ages ago), a couple of different people used to send me 'messages' through exaggerated hits on some entries. One was bitching and moaning about how I didn't trust him, and the other was constantly insulting me. As a result, it seemed my site statistics were probably useless, and for my own peace of mind I disabled them. This was a very long time ago. This is another example of how women pay the price for men's bad behaviour. Site statistics were supposed to be a kind of feedback that lets you know what content your audience finds particularly relevant, such that you can choose to provide more such content, or figure out why they are not responding to other topics. You could theoretically find out who your core audience was, and if it was possible to expand. This is not about me ghosting these people or having never given them a chance to say their piece. They all had plenty of opportunities, and just didn't listen to my replies, or speak up. I did ghost one person I'd communicated with extensively, but the explanation for that is complicated and for me it seemed like it came down to a matter of life or death. (And I had been preparing him for some time in advance that I needed to stop communication.) Anybody else who thinks I ghosted them or didn't reply - I think you should consider that hackers deleted messages. When someone's mad at me or disappointed in me, I need them to tell me about it, not behave in passive-aggressive ways. If they can't do that, I can't trust them. Sometimes I will give people time, but if the situation doesn't change, and if I continue to feel devalued, disrespected and misunderstood, I will end communication. Hacking and cyberstalking are not ways to build trust or right what was wrong. I consider hacking to be rape. I consider cyberstalking to be psychological abuse. Taking on a new identity to have contact with me is a violation of my wishes. Impersonating me in order to harm others or confuse them about who I am is IMO a crime. If I thought anyone wanted to admit to their crimes against me and apologize for damage done, yes, I'd want to hear from them. My experience has been that people either feel no remorse, or don't think what I've gone through is any big deal. It's a huge fucking deal, and if you can't see that, even if you yourself haven't stalked or hacked me, you are not my friend. Fuck off trolls. It has occurred to me that a lot of those who have not understood my explanations, such that I have to repeat things again and again, and who continually trivialize my thoughts, feelings, experiences, illness, trauma, efforts, communication and life, are actually trolls. In a.s.h, it was understood that trolls did not get it and never would. I was more understanding and compassionate then, and I tried to understand where trolls were coming from, but my personal situation has shown me that I do not want trolls in my life, and sometimes you have to block them, because they will never understand. Sometimes you have to block people because if you don't it's like you are consenting to abuse, and proving that you have a learning disability. I have to have enough compassion for myself to block some people. Dr Velvet Thong: I am not sure what to say. The situation is extremely fucked up. You don't want people like this to have control over you or your life, but it's not like there are a lot of choices other than avoiding devices and online activities you used to participate in. And in your case, with many stigmatized conditions and social disability, it seemed the internet was your best bet for making connections, and these people are so selfish and cruel that they don't care they've taken away your options. It's the opposite of friendship or caring, and it's the opposite of who you are and how you treated them. Warnings/Identifying Sexual Assault Dr Velvet Thong: You wrote about certain perpetrators earlier in this entry. Blinky: Maybe I should put them all together, I'll sort it out later, but at present I'm feeling such despair and hopelessness about not being eligible for assisted dying that I'm not sure I'll ever finish this entry, but right now I'm on autopilot and I'll keep going until I can't. Blinky: Truck Driver: I think he's someone who gets off on rape and causing pain, and I think his pattern would be more established as time went on. I think he was a strategic rapist. I think it's likely that what he did to me, he'd done before, and would do again, and that over time, he'd probably escalate. I was probably lucky to have moved so many times. In the end, he was becoming increasingly abusive, and if others were still close by, it might have been a lot worse for them. If anyone recognizes him, or others I have written about, and would like support or more details, please contact Xesce. [In my case, Truck Driver: Tottenham/Schomberg (Ontario) area, 1982. I was 15 when he started pursuing me, and he was 3 years older, or maybe 4, I'm not sure.] I will mention an incident that might be easiest for others to think of as rape, and a sign of a potential pattern. I had consented to anal sex a few times. I'd read about it and didn't think it was odd or taboo. The first couple of times it was not painful, and then, the next time it was extremely violent and painful. I bled for a week, had a lot of pain and was worried there might be permanent damage. I felt too ashamed to seek medical advice. I didn't think of it as rape, because he was my boyfriend, and I had consented. I do think of it as rape now. Another issue: this experience happened not long after my abortion. If I had gone back to my country doctor so soon after the abortion, I might have faced the feeling that he was judging me. What kind of girl consents to anal sex? (This was 1982, and I was the only girl I knew of who'd had an abortion. Everyone else in the country would stay in school until they started to show, then quietly dropped out. I had to be extremely determined to get an abortion. It would have been easy to have been shamed into giving up, or to giving in to inertia and helplessness until it was too late.] What I had consented to was what I had experienced the first couple of times, not the pain, violence, fear. The thing is, he didn't think he had done anything wrong, either. I talked to him about the experience and he said he knew I was in pain and that I wanted it to stop, but that that had excited him more. This disturbed me, and I broke up with him again. The point of this is that he didn't think he was doing anything wrong, and unless someone challenged him on that, he was unlikely to change. During the experience, I had been afraid to move or say anything. I couldn't predict if anything I did or said would be likely to further incite his rage, and I was afraid of permananent damage. In hindsight, it seems possible the whole ordeal would have been over quicker if I had outwardly expressed fear or pain - that those reactions would have resulted in a quicker ejaculation. I think he had done this kind of thing before, and that he was likely to do it again. I do want to say that I understand it sounds like I was stupid. Who accepts that kind of treatment? Who tries to understand and forgive someone who was more than 3 1/2 hours late picking her up from her abortion, an abortion that happened within a week or so of her mother's funeral, and then subsequently rapes her and leaves her with body trauma? Read the rest of this post. (I am not sure of the timeline, but the abortion I think was early August, and the rape before the end, and I think I had healed before the end of August, I might have to try to examine adjacent memories to try to sort it out.) I think my father's treatment of me was a lot worse than anyone in the family recognizes. The girlfriend before me resembled his older sister, who he was close to. His sister was very kind and sensitive, and broken. When my hair was shorter, I think I resembled both of these females a bit more, but I think what we had in common was compassion, kindness, depression and isolation that might not have been visible to most people. His previous girlfriend had moved away, but I think still lived in the country somewhere. She had dropped out of school in Grade 11, and I asked if she'd had a baby and he said no. It seemed like there was something odd about the situation, but I didn't press him. I didn't know her, but I felt worried about her. He doesn't take no for an answer. Some people might admire his persistence, but he goes after those in a weakened state. He bombards them, is possessive, jealous and hypocritical. He didn't care about my depression or well-being - he really just wanted to have sex. He didn't care about my life, my schoolwork or my future. I cared about his - with my help he achieved more credits in a short time than he had in the previous 2 years. He phoned all the time, showed up all the time without calling first, and always seemed to know where I was at school every second of the day. I think he likes rape, and has learned from a young age how to get away with it or appear to stay within the law. And I think he likes inflicting pain, and that over time, he would have a larger collection of moves and strategies. I want to go through a timeline. The other times I described things, I think it sounded only like I wasn't taking responsibility for my own actions. Summer 1981: I have a kind of breakdown while visiting my mother for summer vacation, and I ask to see a psychologist. I go back to my father's, and have some visits with a psychiatrist. He thought I was mainly affected by my parents' divorce and maybe some teen dieting issues, but he didn't really take me seriously. I fell into a deep depression, and spent a few weeks in bed, and then I started Grade 11. There were two binge drinking incidents that resulted in a lot of gossip around school. One probably early on, in September, and I think the other was early October. The second resulted in a trip to a (country) Emergency. A psychiatrist there talked to me, diagnosed me as depressed, but said it was a chemical imbalance because I really didn't seem to have anything to be depressed about. He prescribed tricyclics (imipramine), and said it might start working sooner, but I had to give it 3 months. After 3 months, I felt depressed, but I actually felt more depressed. Somewhere during this time period, Truck Driver started constantly hassling me and asking me out, most often when I was alone in the library at a study carel, or alone in the cafeteria. At one point, he said I looked like the 'saddest girl in the whole school'. He asked me out over and over, trying different tactics. I kept saying no, but I was polite, not rude or mean. Before this, I hadn't ever seen him around school. He wasn't in any of my classes, and he didn't attend school often. I don't know when he first started noticing me. A little after the 3 months had expired, I started saving my antidepressants, and I started to collect amphetamines (uppers). Because the stoner crowd accepted me, the guy who sold them drugs accepted me. As my depression was increasing, I was starting to feel the only solution was to kill myself. I did not express this to anyone. I guess I just looked sad. In the past, he hadn't ever been at the parties I'd gone to. He was 3 years older, in a different social group. But, I think he knew some of the people I knew, we lived in a similar area, and he probably knew some of their older siblings. When I finally agreed to accept a ride as friends to a party, it wasn't about me starting to become attracted. It was about trying to be human, or kind to him, because I was afraid I was coming across as judgmental. That was in my programming. It was easy to make me feel I was the guilty party. When he said people were meeting at the bonfire spot in the woods before the party, it was believable. It was something I had done in the past with others, but it was always a group. He said they were already there. It does sound like a bad decision on my part, but the part of me that was raised Catholic was compassionate and tried to see the good in all people, and the part of me influenced by my father who seemed compassionate toward all his wayward, wife-abusing friends, tried to be compassionate toward all humanity, and not to live in fear. No other kids ever showed up. I do not know if I had one beer, or quite a few. That's something I can't remember. But what does it mean when someone takes 'the saddest girl in the whole school' to an isolated spot, gives her alcohol and then proceeds to try again and again to force sex on her when she is clearly fighting back, and fighting hard? This is not how you demonstrate you care about her and want to help her. He didn't think he had done anything wrong, and the next day, I was the one who apologized to him. I've kept remembering through the years, it sticks in my mind, his saying 'I couldn't believe you struggled so hard'. That means he didn't think he was doing anything wrong, so somehow, somewhere, he had learned that if a girl consents to go somewhere with you and accepts alcohol, she's fair game. She will have no credibility, and if there are no witnesses and no such thing as a rape kit in those days, you're home free, dude. I thought I had led him on, that I had made a bad decision, even though I had kept telling him I only saw him as a friend (but I suppose even that is wrong. It was a word used back then that didn't always have meaning, except that you didn't see someone in a romantic or sexual way. What I mean is that I didn't see him in a romantic, sexual or friend material way.) I don't remember the drive home. I think, from what he said, that he kept trying to rape me for a few hours, had no luck, and eventually gave up. I guess somehow I managed to get my key in the lock and up the stairs to my bedroom, but I don't remember. I think in the morning I discovered I had thrown up on myself a little, and I started to feel very ashamed, remembering a few flashes of the night, and immediately believing I had brought it on myself, and I had to apologize for it, and make it clear I was not interested. I'm not sure if my father or sister were home, but in the morning my father was and he noticed hickeys on my neck and because I felt ashamed and embarrassed we ended up making a joke about it being 'curling iron burns'. At some point in this whole time period, before I accepted the ride to the party, my father's partner of several years moved out - she had wanted to for a long time, but I think the tipping point was when my father suggested he and I get drunk together. I have no memories of what happened that night. I think she blamed me for it, or that is the impression my father gave me. After his partner moved out, he tended to be out a lot, and I think he ate in restaurants or taverns. I would heat up canned ravioli or spaghetti, or tv dinners, for my sister and me. I am not sure about this, but I think it's possible that when I tried to kill myself, he might have sent my sister up to stay with our mother. I know that to some or maybe a lot of people, it still seems like I'm refusing to take responsibility for my actions, that I'm probably leaving out relevant details, or that if we examine more of the timeline it'll seem even worse in terms of my overall decision-making and refusal to take responsibility. My point is that I don't think this person ever believed he did anything wrong, and if no one ever challenged him on it, it seems likely he'd repeat his behaviour and never learn how to treat women well, or truly care for or love them. Writing about it is my way of taking responsibility for the future of other young people, and maybe providing emotional support for anyone out there who has experienced similar things and feels alone, or doesn't yet know how to identify or clarify the issues. So, even if I made bad decisions, do we really want young men growing up thinking it's ok to plan out how to take advantage of someone who is obviously going through a bad time? It's not the kind of world I want. I wouldn't want others to go through what I did. Back then, probably not many females would have reported anything. They would have chalked it up to a bad decision, felt shame, and kept it to themselves for fear of being judged or shunned. If you choose someone who seems shy, introverted, depressed, lacking energy, probably with a lot of body shame, it might seem they'd never have the nerve or energy to speak up, and if they're known for a couple of binge-drinking episodes, they probably don't seem very credible. I also think that there was something in him that was ignited by not achieving success, and he could not let it go. Yes, I think he also grew up with confused ideas about love and in his mind he probably believed he loved me, but, at the same time, I think he was strategic, and what he really wanted was violation and violence, even if he had to jump through a lot of hoops first to get there. A hunter, waiting for the right time and moment to combat my strength, my resistance to rape, my initial victory over him. I think he tried what he tried with me with others, and was likely to try again through the years. I think it's possible that the statement I remember him making suggests that he'd never seen anyone fight so hard before, and it made him more determined. I think it's likely he could spot vulnerability and interpret it as a predator would. I think he's someone who was still just starting out, and might have been more excited by more extreme violence. He was young, and had a high sex drive, and could do vanilla, could pass for mainstream, and was capable of mainstream 'romantic' actions and sentiments, but I think he was more excited by violence, and nonconsent. If he didn't die young, I'd suspect he has a lot of kids, and has had sex with most or all of them. And that he'd find ways of making them carry the emotional burden of it - and maybe this is the kind of thing that could have been prevented if people had more awareness, and if it had been possible to speak out. This is not why I had the abortion, but when I think about what the future could have been, and how hard it would have been for me to go up against him and his family, it's another reason I know I made the right decision. When I became more firm in my resolve to break up and make it stick, when I refused to give in again to his pleas, crying or threats of suicide, he became increasingly abusive. Dr Velvet Thong: Didn't you still get back together and break up a few more times after that? Blinky: It was about guilt, compassion and isolation, and not only a need to be loved and cared for, but sex actually relieved some of my anxiety. Back then, I didn't ever believe anyone did anything 'bad' to me, or if anyone hurt me, I tended to have more compassion and understanding for them than for myself. I was depressed, isolated and hard to talk to - he was hyper-aggressive. I felt that he needed and wanted me. It was hard to break away, even when I felt I truly wanted to. And I did eventually make it stick. I had never encountered persistence like that before. I am not sure if I drank one beer and it was spiked, or if I drank a lot of beer. When I've written about it before, it's like I'm always trying to be as fair to others as possible, and might end up screwing myself. But the point is, he had no intention of being friends, and he did not care about my well-being or getting to know me as a person. He wanted to get into my pants, and he felt he had earned it. But that was the culture then, and I'm sure a lot of the boys from back then had similar ideas and passed them down to their own kids. Parenting strategies probably differed somewhat, but I think most males were warned about how things looked in the eyes of the law, what to avoid, and what was fair game. If a girl accepts any alcoholic beverage, she's fair game and loses all credibility. He knew I wanted him to stop, and he persisted. He kept trying to gain entry by force. I kept fighting and he wasn't able to achieve his goal and was quite puzzled. The fact that we had a conversation about it the next day just adds to the whole bizarre culture and my 'unusualness'. Just as he had absorbed beliefs from his family and society, so had I. I apologized for leading him on, but I hadn't led him on. I'd accepted a ride as friends, to a particular party, and he took me to a secluded place in the woods. Now, it was a place I was familiar with, because sometimes kids had bonfire parties out there, but he said others were coming soon, and that was a lie. Yes, I know, I sound like I just fell off the turnip truck. But this is partly what you get when you have a parent who talks about sex a lot, who has a lot of extremely abusive friends he seems to have a lot of sympathy for, and kind of expects you to be highly sexual, and doesn't warn you about men, and even expects you to have compassion for the abusers he's friends with. And maybe it also has something to do with why he was able to recite The Quality of Mercy speech from The Merchant of Venice by heart. Maybe this is a ridiculous observation, but I'm not sure he ever threatened to beat the crap out of any guy who treated me badly, (although he did like songs like Coward of the County), and neither did my brothers, although all of them I think all their lives would have liked to have a 'reason' to use their skills. I was never considered a reason. It was the culture. Maybe if I had died, but otherwise, I was just an embarrassment, the kind of girl they had unconsciously absorbed was asking for it. How did I end up dating him and coming to have feelings for him? I think the love style I learned from my father was complex and it was in large part abuse. My mother didn't have as much power as my father, especially from a distance, and I think it's possible that her influence inside me contributed to me trying to break away from boyfriends I didn't think were right for me. But, she herself was not able to break away from an abusive rapist, and it seemed that there was a genuine love between them. At some point, she may have decided she wanted to leave, but couldn't. You see movies in which the peristent guy gets the girl, and it's seen as something valuable. I think this situation was something different. I think he thought he loved me, but the love style he had absorbed or been taught was extremely unhealthy. He didn't care about me or my life or my dreams. He really badly wanted to have sex, and he was a predator. He lied to get what he wanted, and he tried to control me in as many ways as possible, including making it difficult for me to escape. This doesn't mean that I don't see he came from a difficult background, that he was a person, that he had feelings that were real to him. But I was already in a bad way, and he contributed to the damage, while I did not cause damage to him. The way I remember our relationship is that I did come to have feelings for him and to think he was more attractive than I originally had, and sex was usually simple, easy and relieved stress, but throughout the relationship, I still had feelings for my first boyfriend, and I didn't ever deeply connect with Truck Driver. I felt like probably no one else would ever love me, and I felt depressed, and actually put effort into trying to force myself to accept the relationship. When I went up to see my mother for March Break, I thought I'd allow myself one more week to pine for a guy who didn't want me, then when I got back I'd try to be a good gf. While I'm here, I will write something I'm not sure I have written before. On March Break, we went on a road trip to the US - and we visited people my mother and her BF knew, but that I'd never met before. I was really depressed and not paying attention. I don't know if we went to Michigan, or where. I think it's possible that this was some kind of drug running trip, or something related to it, and my birthday was the cover story. The man there made stained glass things, and he made me a small oval mirror with a rainbow on it. It was pretty, and engraved on it, it said the S-word and Sweet 16. I was used to showering every day and during the trip my hair felt really greasy. I wore makeup every day then, and I'm guessing my mother didn't like it, but allowed it. Truck Driver and I listened to a lot of music, but didn't have a song. I always think of Jack and Diane, and that he wasn't Jack and I wasn't Diane, and 16 was fucking awful. Banks: The New Parental Units Velvet: Recap: in 2023 I had massive problems and stress with my bank regarding proving my identity. It was eventually resolved, through much effort and massive stress, but I still don't really know why, or how. In 2024, I encountered another stressful situation with my bank. I was asked (online)a whole lot of personal and invasive questions including demands to account for where all the money in my account came from. If they'd just check the records, it would all be quite obvious. Most of the money in my account has come from PD. For many years, PD and I were doing a thing where he'd pay me once a month for things I did around the house, and I'd transfer most of it back. A few times, he transferred larger amounts of money - so that I could travel. He wanted me to have my dream, and he also felt that I had added something important and essential to his life. Plus, I also put a massive amount of work into painting and updating his house (on various occasions), I was a housesitter when he was away for work, and I suppose I was also something of a live-in therapist. For those who think I haven't earned what I have, consider this: PD donates to various charities and causes. I'm a 'cause' he thinks is worthwhile. It is also worth noting that women in my age group are becoming homeless at an alarming rate. Aside from that, I received two cheques from my late grandfather's estate. I think that would be quite obvious from the records. PD hasn't changed his name, and he's been with the same bank all this time, too. He has a lot more money in his account than I do. I felt like I had been slimed. It was a very unpleasant feeling. I can't remember the details, but it seems I also had some problems recently with PayPal and/or my credit card. I think in one case I was just trying to buy something simple like lipstick, and PayPal wouldn't let me if I didn't get a one time code on 'my' mobile. It's not actually mine, it's a second one of PD's. I don't like to use it because it makes me feel more dependent on PD. Sometimes, I've had to bite the bullet and use it or I'd be further locked out of life. I think I might have had problems making a donation somewhere as well - I might have received a message saying my bank didn't approve it or something, or some connection was wrong, couldn't be verified. I admit it looks bad that I can't remember details, but I'm already frazzled every time I come online, I dread having to do my banking and checking of accounts even once a month, and it is starting to seem more and more like everyone is clamping down like an overbearing parent in the name of safety and security, and for me it's making me feel scared, and as I said above, locked out of life. I think it's possible that the bank's next move will be to ask for my passport again, but my passport expires in a few months and I don't think I'm going to be able to go through the process again, and in fact I already made a decision I'm not going to. So, I'm sort of living on borrowed time. [Note: I didn't have a passport from 2009-2015, while living in Australia. Acquiring one in 2015 was extremely stressful. I didn't leave the house much in those years. And long ago, in my 20s in Canada I also had trouble with acquiring ID and bank accounts. I think this sort of thing might be more common than people realize when it comes to mental illness and social isolation. Also, the situation is different now than from 2009-2015, and banks and everyone else are cracking down more and more on watching and controlling everyone.] If I ever left the house, and spent money on anything, the bank would probably freeze my credit card due to 'unusual activity'. If I give all my money to PD, and he doles it out, like a parent, it's not going to be very much fun for me. And if anything happens to him, I wouldn't be able to access any funds. Dr Velvet Thong: You could always try investing in bitcoin. Haha. Clarifying the Concept of Obsession Blinky: I was drawn to those who weren't really interested in me, and I suppose therefore 'safe', but also representing that at home, my father and his girlfriend weren't really interested in me. And whatever talents or abilities I had, it was also like these people were not impressed, or actually preferred something opposite. This is not unusual for human beings. [Food and shelter were considered all that was needed for kids. Horses required much more complex care. Binge eating could be seen as a wish for more kinds of caring/love. And while I would obsess about people, for most of my life, I also obsessed about food. I don't any more. Becoming obsessed with people who did not value me could represent a wish to be truly valued by family, and to be loved for those qualities, not in spite of them, and it could have been a representation of sadness that I probably would never be. It could also have represented that the aside from food and shelter, my father's sexual attentions, rather than true caring, were what I had absorbed.] I could project a fantasy that I was wanted, but it never came true. Now I suppose this isn't so good for my case, and maybe people think it means I wanted to have sex with my father, and made up a whole bunch of stuff. I think my father wanted to have sex with me, it was confusing and made me think about sex more, but what I really wanted was someone who could love me to make up for certain kinds of neglect. When I say I thought about sex all the time, it really wasn't very graphic, and it was mostly about having a sexual response to the idea of being loved. I consciously considered having sex with my father and decided I didn't want to, and it could be that part of it was that I didn't feel truly cared for or cared about. I think there were unconscious things happening, and that the contact with my father during our discussions sexualized me. I do remember asking myself if I wanted to have sex with him, and I remember thinking about it carefully, but in the conscious sense, I did not feel I was attracted to him, and I didn't want to have sex with him. I do think he was attracted to me, and that he was grooming me, but part of me sensed it was just about a feeling of entitlement, and that while I might be special for a while, he wasn't truly interested in 'me'. I think he came from a time and a crowd where so many women were abused in so many ways that if you had a daughter and she broke down after abuse, it was like you got a bad one, a weak one. I think he had a definite MO, and whether he was cruising women in bars, or going after much younger females, he'd try to get them alone somewhere, and engage them in philosophical and sexual conversations, and tell dirty jokes. I think it's highly unlikely he never tried this with Beany, but she might not have recognized it, or circumstances might have prevented him having enough time alone with her. Part of his style also was to make a person feel special, and to pit certain women against each other, and this is speculation, but part of what he did might have been to tell her I was weak while she was strong. I do know that it was like while I was open to all kinds of relationships and sexual experiences, she was committed from a young age - and this fits his style too, of choosing opposites as a way of trying to hurt a previous partner. OK, so this is all speculation, but I have been going through my memories and have tried to work out times he might have got her, or others, alone. When I ran away from home at 16, there was a period of about 1.5 months or less. But, one really good thing is that that's when he bought her her dogs. She was really young, but she had some support. But later, there were car trips to the country to visit her dogs and also to drop her off for her summer work. I personally always find it hard to talk to a driver of a car - it makes me nervous. But when I think about all this, it's almost like I'm starting to become suspicious that he was trying to create opportunities. Velvet: All my life, I wanted to be wanted in a way I never was - or if I was, I couldn't recognize it or return the feelings, until the person in question was no longer interested. And maybe sometimes, I tried to 'win over' people who were abusive to me or who didn't see anything interesting in me. People with different fetishes would eventually think I was 'one of them', but they were wrong. What I responded to was the feeling of being wanted, and when I understood where it was coming from, it changed things for me. It was like I was trying to find out more about myself, and in order to do that, I had to encounter different kinds of abuse and be able to identify it, such that I could identify earlier abuse. I have written before that I would be more likely to want to dominate than be dominated, but when I examine it more closely, what I fantasized about was always about eventually getting to equality. Blinky: When my mother cursed me, and was 7 hours away so I couldn't feel the same support as before, that created a deficit. I needed something I didn't know how to articulate. I had felt afraid living with her and her boyfriend, I was now feeling afraid living with my father, and the way my mind processed it was to fantasize that love could solve my problems, if I felt loved enough, extremely enough. And that is the base of it. I felt afraid because I wasn't being loved at home in the right ways. I had been sexualized early, and at 13 I had time with my father that strongly influenced how I developed and how I processed things. He was a very dominant personality. He was in control, in every setting, room, etc. My impression was that he had more respect for women who liked sex than those who were withholding. And he did think he could have been happy if he had been more aware and hadn't got locked into a family so young. From the time I was very young, I wanted to be a teenager so that I could go on lots of dates and have lots of sex. But, there was the other part of me that would get fixated on one person at a time, and another that had trouble breaking up with controlling boyfriends. I wanted True Love, but I also wanted experience, and so one fantasy I had was to meet the love of my life early, have a brief thing, and then circumstances, like one of us moving far away, would keep us apart until years later. I found that although it might be difficult, it got easier when I understood the pattern of choosing someone who was not at all interested in me - easier to date a whole lot of other people. And from 16 on, I had increasing awareness that I hadn't accomplished what I'd want to accomplish, I wasn't stable enough, to think I was ready for any kind of commitment - to love or even friendship. I wasn't who I wanted to be, and I didn't think any relationship could be built upon that. I wasn't 'me'. I couldn't trust anyone who couldn't see or sense that that was the issue. Velvet: At 21, I couldn't have tried harder to 'get myself together'. Only I can know how hard I tried. When I went back home after living on my own for 6 months, I knew I was never going to make it, and from 22 on, I started developing new fantasies, which I think were as positive as possible. My family would be free of the burden of me, as would society, and I would still have a chance to have love. I knew I was not the type for anything 'sustainable', but I genuinely liked the idea of some kind of arthouse roadtrip suicide holiday. I would have been open to experimenting sexually, but considering my experiences online over the years, I don't think I would ever have been a hardcore follower of any particular fetish. It was an added level of difficulty that I wanted sexual chemistry, that I wanted it to be part of the experience - most people who are suicidal just want company, support. Otherwise, they are sort of looking for love as a reason to live, or they've probably already killed themselves. I needed to try to be as fit as it was possible for me to be - that was part of the fantasy. And I'd have to have some kind of cool arthouse look - and that was always really difficult for me to achieve. However, if I could manage to get even one cool photo that I liked, that would have been enough. Obsession felt like addiction. I didn't really think of it as love. I'd usually be able to guess how things would go if I ever got confirmation of the other person's feelings or lack thereof. I'd already 'know' the other person wasn't right for me, but I'd have to wait. Through a.s.h I had contact with a woman who was a bit older than I was. She had a gun and a car, and she said I would have to shoot her, and then I could have the gun for myself. I wasn't ready for that, and I wonder if I would be now. It wasn't about sex or connection, it would have been about two desperate people helping each other. When it comes to guns and shooting anyone, I think the problem is that I would not be a good shot. I've never been good at that kind of thing, I've never even held a gun, and the whole thing could be very messy. But back then, I just don't think I could have done it. I think I could have killed myself, but not someone else - unless there was some kind of deep connection that helped me get to some level I otherwise could not have reached. And now, because I know it's not just speculation, I know that my life did get worse over time and that my wishes did not change, except for the sex part, and that my life is continuing to get worse - I know that there are some people, like me, who know it's time to get out. I'm not sure, but I think all the writing I did to people in 2014 might have 'cured' me of obsession altogether. I corresponded with enough people to understand that no one wanted what I did, and that no one could connect deeply with me - and that no one really wanted me. They all had their own baggage and projections, and they really weren't interested in becoming more conscious of who they were and what motivated them. They responded more to my interest in them - it wasn't about their interest in 'me', and it did seem to me they wanted me to be someone I wasn't. One person originally responded well to my website, and then completely took it all back, and worse. [It's kind of interesting.. I recently saw a tv show in which a gay man liked to wear makeup and dresses, and was seeing a man who didn't want to go out in public with him, and who tried to convince him to tone it down you don't need all that all the time do you, and it was like I really related to that, I feel like that's the way everyone feels about my website, we like you, but ditch the website, tone things down, get a facebook and some candid shots and at times, I've sort of tried, or tried for a while, but in the end, I can't back down.] I think my obsessions were similar - it wasn't about the person, it was about my need to be noticed and loved. I know that people in the past might think of me as re-writing my own history, because they were there when I seemed to be madly in love with various people, but in my mind, while I did have extreme feelings, I didn't think of them as love, I knew there was something compulsive about it all. And although I told my best friend I didn't think I'd ever get over a certain someone - pretty much the whole two and a half weeks we were going out, I was thinking about someone else, and after I moved away, I started to think about another person, someone who originally liked me, but probably wouldn't then - because he had lost all respect for me, and part of what he originally liked was that I had academic ambitions. That particular person was someone I'd go back to in my mind, over and over through the years. No one has ever looked at me the way he did, and the really weird thing is that on the day I started to become interested in the other boy, this one had stared into my eyes for a long time earlier in the day. I understand very well that patriarchy and capitalism have effects on men as well as women (and people of any gender identification). I've had contact with a lot of men who have been negatively impacted by these issues. Unfortunately, a lot of those without power seek to at least have some kind of power - over women. And they take a lot of shots at self-esteem. It's unfair to say it's a man thing. Some women are also raised to gain power in part by psyching people out, whereas I was raised to try to build people up, even at my own expense. It hurts when people can't recognize the place of compassion, empathy and insight I am coming from, or when they try to invalidate or trivialize it. While I'm here I want to mention something I don't think I've published before. Originally I found it fascinating, but now I find it kind of scary and threatening. One person I communicated with online had agoraphobia, and his female therapist went out of the way to let him have appointments at night. When she left the office for a short time, he ejaculated onto her window. At the time, I was curious and wanted to know more about this person. I wasn't able to identify that behaviour as rage, and that it's a scary kind of rage. I didn't want to live to be old or decrepit. I already felt like my body was gone in my early 20s, but there were a few times through the years when I would have compromised and said ok now is a good time. (For my fantasy.) And I thought maybe if there were things I still needed to do - like get a cool outfit - maybe somehow it would magically be resolved in the moment. And hair can pretty much be changed in a matter of hours or less. With wigs, that time is further reduced. (And at times, there was probably still the faint hope that in the 'right' circumstances I would be able to push my body to achieve its full potential.) I think I really tried to find the connection I craved. I tried and failed. The old fantasy has been replaced by a wish to have help just finally ending things. I don't know how to dodge those who would refuse to believe anything but that I want to be tortured, or who think I'm so damaged it doesn't matter. Fighting that does matter. I'll take meaning wherever I can. Early in a.s.h, someone wrote to me saying they were a sympathizer, that I deserved a peaceful exit and they were willing to help me and people like me - and I think that actually might have been the cannibal guy who was eventually caught by police. What he actually wanted was to torture and kill women. I probably was too fixated on wanting sexual chemistry, not peace, and I asked myself if I was a snob due to the spelling and grammar, but at that time, that was just not one of the people I ended up writing back and forth with. I also think at times some predators might have purposely used certain spelling and grammar to throw me off, catch me off guard. I know I've mentioned spelling and grammar so often it does seem like I probably am a snob, but I think I really do try to look at and understand what people are saying. The biggest part of the fantasy was that someone had been thinking about me as much as I had been thinking about them - and that never happened. Sometimes I wasn't quite sure, and it would take a long time to play out, but when I finally understood, it was like I was 'free'. Family Blinky: I'm not sure family is the right word, but I'll leave it for now. For me, because of my trust and identity issues, family needs to be about choice, it needs to be about people who are genuinely interested in and care about each other's health, happiness, life. I'm not sure anyone in my biological family has ever understood me, and I think there are a lot of misconceptions. I would ask Beany to think about her dogs R & T, and if she'd agree that aside from her, there was no one else in the family they liked or trusted more than me. There's a wall that's impossible to break through. I think it's about beliefs that can't or won't change. It's partly about being considerate, and it's partly about the need to appear strong. Within the acceptable range of communication and social behaviour, my personality and identity don't fit. I always end up feeling like I am being railroaded into something I don't believe in. The only way to contribute to change or evolving beliefs is for me to write or speak up, and they block me at every turn, or that's how it feels, and it doesn't seem to me like it's about me being too rigid. I tried for as long as I could, and eventually trying to go along with things felt like a crime against myself. I am pretty sure I came off as inhuman to PD's family when one member was offering love and various kinds of practical help. The problem was, it wasn't a 2-way conversation. There were 4 of us in the conversation and when one person is offering love and doesn't seem to understand that their spouse is trivializing my thoughts, feelings, experiences, efforts, trauma, communication, life, that it has become a competition which includes trauma and compassion, and that every angle that person is tackling, and that person will be thorough, will be to 'prove' that I'm a worthless, useless, stupid person, I can't trust that love. And if what the spouse is saying is understood, and it's felt it's fine to remain neutral, I can't trust that, either, because I need people in my life who can support my identity and self-esteem. I need a village. I need people willing to speak up. I need that more than I need 'practical' help. If I am wrong about any of this, or if your viewpoints have altered over time, all I can offer is that from a distance, I wish you health, happiness, love. There are a couple of things I'm not sure if I've ever published. Beany and I used to watch beauty pageants. And then there was the year that Vanessa Williams won. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and I was glad she won, and then there was the whole lesbian art photo scandal or somesuch and they took away the crown and it bothered me enough that I made an effort to stop watching pageants. We used to talk about 'busset dresses', knowing it was the wrong word, but it was just our code for really sexy, glamorous dresses, usually with a corset-type bodice. For a long time, I thought I might eventually write a book called Busset Dresses, and dedicate it to Beany. When you name your children, you might be passing on your own hopes or pressures. My paternal grandmother once saw Vivien Leigh (who played Scarlet in Gone With the Wind) in person. She commented that Leigh was the most beautiful woman she'd ever seen. I'd ask Beany and other family members to consider the significance of names given to certain family members and ask themselves if there isn't some kind of unconscious pressure in the family to be beautiful or photogenic. Beany has the same first name as? I suppose it could be argued that I was under less pressure, because I was probably only named after an old friend I only met once. She was pretty, slim and blond, and had a lot of blond children. When we met up with them, I don't think my mother had seen her friend for years, and I'm not sure she ever saw her again. I think my way of greeting possums might be similar to how my maternal grandfather greeted us at xmas and other family occasions. He would be enthusiastic, and seem very happy to see us. But there's something odd. He had a decent camera, and a decent movie camera, but I don't really remember him taking photos of us or movies. His photo albums, of his relationship with my grandmother, and of his two daughters, and their lives, were much more elegant than our cheap 70s albums full of photos taken with cheap cameras. Our maternal grandfather did pass on I suppose to all of us an unconscious pressure - we knew that he felt it was important for females to be pretty and photogenic. I often wished I could learn to use a 'good' camera, and the only chance I got was in Winnipeg, when our grandfather had loaned a camera to Boo for a short time. I managed to get one impressive shot of Boo, and some cute photos of animals at the Assinniboine Park Zoo which I used as postcards. But less than one roll of film does not a photographer make. Dr Velvet Thong: Maybe your mother was adapting to the spirit of the times, and maybe she thought it was better to have some documentation than none, and she did the best she could with the funds she had. Blinky: Yes, that sounds like it's probably right. I just always really wished I'd had arty photo albums, and at least one decent photo of myself that I could send to friends. Beany's SO's father, or some other relative, took some arty photos of her in Europe when they visited family of his there, Boo had a lot of friends, and at least the one photo I took which gfs seemed to want, Cecil had some friends with decent cameras. There aren't any photos of me from my first prom, and at the second, I looked like a middleaged housewife. My date was really hot, but I was so embarrassed about how I looked I didn't want to remember the prom. And once I moved in with The Bumble, he only took pictures of me twice in 10 years. And in both cases, it wasn't about me, it was about horses. Here, hold this horse still. Here, ride this horse. It was about documenting the horses' conformation. And I looked bloody awful riding the horse. Come on, there had to be some attractive angle he could have tried to capture. My high school yearbook photos were all horrific. I think W has a few photos from a day she, D and I were all at her place - and these are not only terrible photos of me, they're a reminder of a terrible time in my life. I was pregnant, and my mother had either already died or would die soon, I'd be moving away and a whole lot of other terrible things were about to happen. There was one photo of W, D and me sitting together outside the school, I think, and I think I liked that one. But whatever youthful prettiness I might have had, no one ever cared enough about me to try to capture it, and I think it was hypocritical of family members to pretend that kind of thing wasn't important in our family. Just think about how important that one black and white photo of our mother is to everyone, how important the blue and pink tinted photos of Babci were to Grampa, and look at the super-feminine names you've given to your female offspring. Dr Velvet Thong: Your mother took photos of you until the age of 13, usually to mark important occasions, dance recitals, Halloween, xmas, and some candids. Connect Dots, Tie In With Early Experiences Xesce: I know I had various ideas earlier, before I started to write this section, but at present I feel depleted, and like the situation is hopeless, that no one will ever care. I'm trying to finish this entry, I know it's a mess, but I think I'm finally throwing in the towel. This is probably my last entry. With any luck, I'll die soon. If not, I don't think I want to go through the update process again. I did want to connect with and try to support others, I did want to raise the collective consciousness, but I was also doing this for me. I would feel that I needed to write. It seems I've failed on the first two accounts, but that I'm also feeling like I just don't want to do this anymore. SOs Velvet: I don't know, I feel like I don't even want to try here. Maybe I've said enough elsewhere. I want to be fair to everyone, especially PD, but maybe I won't make this a separate section. The truth is, I do feel I owe PD so much that my debt can never be repaid, and I'm not sure I can force myself to write all the good things, because it will just make me feel guilty for being unhappy and wanting to be independent. I can still remember the positives of all the others, but in the overall sense, I feel kind of misunderstood and alienated, like no one has ever really understood me or deeply cared about me. Dr Velvet Thong: SOS. Need For a Positive Identity & Trust, and How These Affect Human Connection Xesce: OK, about identity: I feel like no one understands me, and I feel like I need people to understand how complex my mind is and how much effort I've put into all areas of my life. I want people to recognize the importance of my website - and not just to me. I don't want it to be an embarrassment. I want it to be seen as my work. I also want people to understand that I did not get to the situation I'm in due to poor life choices and lack of mindfulness. I actually think I made meaningful choices in extremely complex and difficult circumstances, and that I understood and tried to practice mindfulness before it was called mindfulness. I also try each day to identify and be thankful for the good things in my life, and over and over again, I try to think about what I can do right now to improve how I feel. Xesce: This might not be the right place for this, but I think it bears repeating. If I say that the name Xesce was created by putting together letters I liked, that Gandhi helped me with it, it doesn't mean that the name is meaningless. There wasn't any reference, character, historical figure, artist, etc, that I wanted to name myself after. I wanted something of my own. And my own sense of identity, trust and meaning was so smashed that the only chance I had was to start over and find my own meaning. I like that Xesce has a kind of sci fi vibe. Extras Velvet: A comment regarding the Go Gentle Australia site. In the FAQ, they make a clear distinction, such that those with mental illness are left out. They say people with terminal illnesses do not want to die. The suicidal want to die. But, a person can want to die because they are in pain that cannot be relieved - and that pain can be physical, psychological, or both. (GRRRRR...) Anyway, I'm feeling pretty fucked, because of the incidents of last year. A lot of people who saw me would probably say I'm not in my right mind, I'm delusional, not competent because I'm not doing what's in my best interest or what medical professionals have recommended (and I can't do what's recommended because of my disability, but don't feel anyone believes me), I'm confused (I was not confused. I had trouble speaking due to alcohol withdrawal shakes, anxiety, and fear due to the enormity of information I had to try to get across in a very short period of time), etc. VAD is about giving people dignity, choice. It's about ending suffering before it becomes unbearable. My pain is not considered valid, and it's like the longer I suffer, and the things I feared are happening, the less credible I become. I might as well have dementia. On the site, Andrew Denton talks about watching his father go from strong to extreme deterioration. When I was young, I was physically strong and graceful, and I was mentally resilient enough to handle more than my fair share of chaos and disruption, including bullying and sexual harassment. When people meet me now, all they see is a shaking, stammering, stuttering empty shell of a person, a useless drunk, and even my family thinks of me as someone who was always 'off'. I was actually stronger and more rounded as a person than my siblings - and they don't remember, in part because our father programmed their minds to keep control and protect his secrets. My identity and history have been erased. There isn't a single person I would trust to describe who I was/am - except myself. I used to think of 1982 as the worst year of my life, but we have a new winner: 2024. Why is it that people can only find it sad when someone who was able to fit mainstream ideas of success and goodness loses their abilities and think these people in particular 'deserve' a humane death? Human beings deserve humane deaths. You don't know people's circumstances, and maybe some people aren't entitled, egotistical or narcissistic enough to draw attention to their good deeds, or others aren't perceptive enough to recognize them. For example, my father took credit for a lot that my mother and I actually did. I feel that when I go to a site like Go Gentle, I am shut out, I am not wanted there, that my suffering is icky, or not valid, that I don't 'deserve' an end to my pain and loss of dignity, that I haven't 'earned' it. When people say that depressed or mentally ill people isolate themselves, sometimes it's because society and families further damage their self-esteem, or tell them what they're experiencing either doesn't matter or that they should be quiet until they can behave like everyone else, or be considerate of everyone else. Dr Velvet Thong: That rant is definitely not making the cut. I think it's enough not to send donations. Unless.. you really take care with word choices. Tell them how it makes you feel, in a calm and respectful way. Velvet: Click following link for an update: VAD Australia. Dr Velvet Thong: Er.. That might actually be worse. I am now feeling regret that I said anything about not donating. That was irresponsible of me. I am sorry. Blinky: I probably don't have the energy today to elaborate, but I do think that sometimes people misunderstand how serious it all feels to me if there isn't a record of suicide attempts beyond the one at 16. The methods available to me could cause trauma to others, damage to property or livelihood, or could harm or kill others. I did walk to the Bloor Viaduct once with the intention of jumping. (People in a car driving by were yelling JUMP and laughing their heads off.) I had heard that occasionally people survived with horrible injuries. It looked like the best thing to do was to jump onto the Don Valley Parkway (a highway below), but what if I landed on a car or caused an accident? I didn't think I could do the math in my head, and whatever the story, eventually the people in a car would spot the body and have to dodge it or report it. The Don River down below has a notoriously strong current, and looks less dangerous than it is - what if I tried to drown myself there and someone drowned trying to save me? A lot of people have drowned trying to rescue pets. As for the subway, I think of that as traumatizing for everyone, whether they're trained for it or not. Trying to hang myself on a weak bathroom door was just pathetic. There was a time I lined a bathroom in plastic and planned to slit my throat, but I couldn't do it. I had a fairly sharp knife, but I wish it had been sharper. I kept trying over and over, and only ended up with a whole lot of cuts over the length of my neck. It didn't even look like I was aiming in the right place, but it did look pretty 'serious'. There were a lot of cuts, and not the kind of thing I could have covered with makeup. I'm not sure if I had any turtlenecks. I might have had a mockneck that would only have covered some of it, but it was summer and it was hot, and the apartment had no air conditioning. I need to sit and think a bit, because I think there were various things I tried to do, but couldn't. In 2011, I booked a hotel room in Brisbane for my biological birthday, and I think I booked a couple of months in advance. I booked it because it had a lot of floors, and I managed to get a room pretty high up. My intention was to jump. However, when I got there, I was stressed by the setup. I did have a room high up. My room looked out onto the street, and I had a balcony. But, I think about 10 floors down there was a swimming pool jutting out. I thought 10 floors was probably enough, but I couldn't retain focus or resolve, and I got very drunk very fast. I wasn't sure I could leap past the swimming pool onto the street, and I wasn't sure I wouldn't cause some kind of really expensive damage to the swimming pool area. Or, that if people knew someone had killed themself there, they might not want to swim in the pool or even go to that hotel. Every time I went on a trip while I lived in Australia, I was hoping 'this would be it'. Possum Dreaming wanted to give me my dream. He wanted me to go out strong. So while other people were thinking I was a clueless narcissist who didn't deserve her good fortune, for me and PD it was about a different belief system and approach to life and end of life choices. He felt I had added something to his life and he wanted to do something for me. He himself doesn't really seem to like travel - he seems to prefer to stay close to home. The problem was, I had to give up bulimia and later alcohol long enough to get fit and strong, such that I could cope with the anxiety of being out in public, but as soon as I got out into public, I'd be out of control again and couldn't plan anything. And I kept hoping I'd meet someone and we could help each other. When I was on a.s.h, it seemed like a kind of solution - that first you start off talking to people who share a common belief, from there you build trust, you get to know someone, and if it's a good fit, maybe for long enough I could have the motivation to keep control as long as possible, with an end goal. I'll rewrite that later. I just feel like I ended up constantly having to fend off people who don't start with that belief, or if they're ok with it, they still need to belittle my approach to communication, when it actually makes sense in my situation. And when I couldn't find anyone who wanted what I wanted, it also makes sense to think about self-preservation, with those who know my details and accept them. I had promised PD I would not kill myself in his house, but I think that promise is now out the window. I think he would understand. 2024 was hard on both of us, and part of that for him was seeing how much pain I was in. Factor in that I now have serious health problems that are unlikely to magically get better, and it's scary for both of us. I know I need to stop drinking, but I basically don't want to do anything except drink. I wanted to do something pre-emptive, before it got worse. I tied a rope to a beam and planned to use it, but wasn't able to. It's still there, it's been there more than a year, but if you don't look up, you probably wouldn't see it. I know it's there, every day. I have a plan as to how to prevent PD from being the one to find me, but I still don't know if I can do it. I really don't want to hang myself, and I'd probably only resort to it in panic, and then might fuck it up somehow. Yes, I'm weak, I'm a failure. I know I should do it before things get worse, and I still don't do it. (Anyone who's spying on me probably knows all this, so it's not like I'm giving anything away.) I still have left over oxy from 2019, valium and access to alcohol, but I do not think that kind of OD is a good idea. It would make more sense to take the oxy and slit something in a bath, but there's no tub here and I'd have to go to a hotel, and it still doesn't seem like a great idea, especially if I'm being watched for security reasons, and, I really don't think it would be fair to housekeeping or anyone else who has to deal with me. I am not sure a plastic bag approach is a good idea, either, and it might be as hard for me to do as hanging. If a suicidal new friend wanted to go on a trip, and figure it out together, I'd be scared of being taken to a secluded place you know the drill by now. I feel completely trapped. I wonder if my throat will slowly close up or if eventually I'll choke to death. yay what fun. Okti: I think I've written and deleted it before, but it suddenly came to mind and I needed to check something. When I was in that horrible, backwater school in Grade 8, I did a creative writing assignment that I received my lowest grade ever for. (In this particular class, I got a 7.8/10.) I couldn't understand the grade, because I thought it was one of the best, funniest things I'd ever written. I didn't question the grade, though. I don't remember much about it, except it was about a little fish who came to a new school and some bigger fish were bullying it, so it studied a lot of books about kung fu and practised a lot, and the big fish came to fear the little fish. What I had to check was that I had written this long before The Karate Kid came out, and long before bullying was on people's radar. (1978-9) Casting Couch Nova Mnemonic: This is in the poorest possible taste. I've attempted this a few times previously and it didn't make the final cut. But fuck it, it will probably be fun. Usually, I try to keep physical descriptions to a minimum, and the reason for that is that I want people to keep an open mind, and to try to imagine a wide variety of people of different backgrounds, ages and appearances in different roles. Also, without very specific details, certain people would be more difficult to identify IRL - the people characters were based on. Sometimes, characters have been composites, and sometimes details have been shifted around. What I'll try to do is to focus on those who wouldn't be likely to suffer harm. Actually, again I am not sure about this. It might not be a good idea. I still find it funny, but this might have to be a 'kill your darlings' type of thing, again. Possum Screaming! I'm not ready to write it today, it's too hard, but this is about all the possums I miss, it's about how it's hard not knowing what happens to them, how difficult their lives must be, how it's hard in a different way when they actually die, and there's a body, and it's hard knowing how they died and hard when you don't know how they died. When Ruby died, I started screaming in grief, thinking it was Wasabi, but even when I knew it was Ruby, I couldn't stop crying all night, it was like she represented all the possums whose fates I did not know, and that I didn't want them to feel alone out there. But my screaming and crying actually made all the other possums come running, even Toto, who hadn't been seen in a long time. When I found out about Wink, I started screaming and crying in grief, even though I realized it might be scary for Grok, who was in the garage, and hard on PD. [When we returned from the vet, Grok was waiting at the door of the balcony. He was not scared of me at all, and seemed to want to connect with me.] And for a 'friend' to have the kind of sense of humour to send a December holiday greeting 'Deck the Halls With Shrieking Possums' or whatever - that is a piece of shit 'friend' who has never understood me. And the thing is, at the time, I didn't like it, but didn't freak. I just didn't reply. I see it differently now. It might have actually been an attack. Night of the Werepossum, or, Pimped Up Possums Where do I go from here? Quote from Family Skeleton Dance Party! 2018: Once I manage to finish 'family skeleton dance party', if I manage to finish, I think the next writing project will be 'night of the werepossum', (perhaps with a subheading 'pimped up possums') and roughly, I think it will address the concepts of 'meaningful' work/employment, 'competence', 'deserving' and 'usefulness'. Other concepts to address? 'Freaks', 'mutants', the supernatural. If I still somehow continue to draggle on, I'll probably further develop my surrealist style. 2024: part one above: it's really a sort of 'from each according to his ability, to each according to his need' kind of thing, and as for the rest, it's about compassion and understanding. This does not mean blind acceptance or that change or evolution are not desirable or necessary. 2025: I'm going to do at the end what I did at the start: give things away. I liked the title Night of the Werepossum many years ago, and thought I'd eventually write something. Between PD and I, it became a kind of code for all the ways the various systems and institutions are fucked up and all the ways things go wrong, but over time, that wasn't really where I wanted to put the focus. I did not want to say the rich or famous don't deserve what they have, or anything like that. I sort of knew I was making a play of the title Night of the Iguana, but I couldn't remember enough of the play to know if my 'meaning' would work, so I knew I had to reread it at some point. (by Tennessee Williams) The way I'd sum it up now is that people's personalities and circumstances (including institutions) fuck their lives, and life tortures them and it doesn't seem like there's much they can do about it. Yes, the play and movie are sexist, regarding both sexes - even a woman exploits younger, less powerful males, but you can see that for the times, it makes sense. There was a practice of locals tying up iguanas to fatten them for eating. But, while tied up, all non-essential non-edible body parts were tortured in horrible ways. Two people decided to let one go. It was just one, but it was a meaningful act. They felt trapped by their own circumstances, they empathized, and they tried to do one small thing. I wanted to see if I could become a 'werepossum', a 'supernatural' possum who could set myself free and show others how. It doesn't look like I'm going to be able to do that in the ways I wanted. ->exile on meme st: a diary ->xesce.net  |
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