labelleizzy: (thinky thoughts)
Wednesday, March 4th, 2020 08:48 pm
(already posted this on Facebook)

I'm not sure how much of myself I have crafted, and how much of myself was already present from the beginning. I'm thinking this morning that I'm really proud of what I am and the way I have built myself and the life that I have crafted within my community and with my loves.
labelleizzy: (Default)
Wednesday, September 4th, 2019 02:30 pm
From October 12th, 2018, 03:28 pm
Inktober/wordtober/poem a day
The prompt was "Nessie" but I'm taking this somewhere else underwater.

Longing.

Have you ever been shamed for what you craved? Has your longing ever been pointed out as wrong or weird or twisted or broken or an imposition or something unnecessary?

I have. I've been shamed for wanting things, for wanting experiences, for wanting people. And I don't think that was right. And most days I'm okay, most days it feels like I'm over it, but today is not one of those days.

The thing about a longing is it doesn't come out of your mind. It's not a thought. It wells up from deep in your belly, deep in your heart, or dare I say it, spirit or soul. You can't talk yourself out of a longing.

You can hold yourself quiet about it, can keep the surface of your personal pond pristine and peaceful. Still, underneath the surface something lives, something moves, something travels. Something roils the water beneath the surface.

And there are days where I can no longer bear to live on the quiet pristine peaceful surface. On a day like today, I sink below to the Deep places, where the water presses through my flesh and into my bones.

I sink down to the deep mud churned places, where I can finally breathe.



2)
KILROY WAS HERE
(probably 2015)
https://archiveofourown.org/works/16903659

...and it takes place after the end of the world.

Oh god, we were SO FUCKING STUPID.
So naive.

those long discussions around the campfire or around the HDTV, cold beers in our hands, hot nachos in the fucking microwave, laughing and joking about the fucking "zombie apocalypse". How we would have this job or that job, how we would hole up in a Costco store, because it would have everything we'd need to survive and even enjoy life after the world ended. The skills we already had or could learn quickly in order to be valuable enough to win our way into someone else's fortified stronghold.

We had NO IDEA. We had NO IDEA what we really needed, what we really knew how to do, how fucking SOFT we were.
How much EVERYTHING would hurt. How much WORK just bloody EVERYTHING would take, how much thinking and planning and acquiring.

How much FEAR. Terror. Absolutely shit-your-pants terror.

We used to say, "I'd get a really good knife, and really good boots, and this kind of backpack and that kind of rifle" without really understanding.
What happens when your knife gets dull? Well, you sharpen it. How do you sharpen it? Do you KNOW how? do you have the right tools? can you recognize something else you could improvise as a blade sharpener, if you run across it? and can you use that blade, even dull, to do what you must to survive another day? It's hard work, gutting a carcass, butchering an animal for meat...

Same goes, obviously, for the REST of all our dumb-shit assumptions about how privileged and lucky and SKILLED we were.

What happens if someone TAKES your tools from you? Those books you treasured, that were the reason why you thought you'd gain admission into someone's guarded bolthole? The boots, the knife, even your CLOTHES. What happens if you're not strong enough to protect them? To hold onto them?

Knowing how to brew beer isn't very valuable when there's not enough fucking FOOD. Nobody really cares about booze when they're starving. Knowing how to bake bread is useless, so are gardening skills, if you can't settle down anywhere longer than a week or two for fear of the scavengers. Wildcrafting is a blessing, and I'm glad every day for what I learned from my beloved Girl Scout Leader, of all things. What she taught me when I was fourteen makes the difference now between hungry and starved to death.

I'm always hungry now, I'm always worried about getting hurt bad enough so I can't run anymore. I haven't had any of my meds in over two years, I've got half a tube of neosporin left and fuck-all chance of scoring any more. I'm getting slower, I hurt more often, I'm lonely as fuck. I'll never stop grieving my husband and my home and the comforts I once took for granted, but I just don't have any fucking TIME to FEEL. Every moment has to be spent in working out how am I going to survive this day, food, water, shelter, taking care of myself, whether I can trust anyone at all. Despair would dog my footsteps if Despair could keep up with me. I move fast for an old broad. Fuck that, I move fast period.

What the fuck am I even doing? Who am I even writing this for? I have no idea who's going to read it, but I'm stuck here anyway till it's dark and I can sneak away through the shadows. Might as well, I guess.
heh.
One thing my shitty childhood was good for. Learning how to hide, to sneak, to find all the places nobody would think to look for me. No, I'm not sharing my secrets. Find your own damn bolthole. Oh. Heh. If you're reading this, I guess you DID find your own bolthole, just that I was here first. Hi.

I'd tell you to keep the faith, but I don't think anyone has faith in anything but themselves anymore. I'd tell you to keep up hope, but I know you know that's a stupid, useless thing to say. I can tell you I'm thinking about you, because it's true. Random Stranger Reading This, I hope you're less hungry and less alone than I am. RSRT, I hope you have someone or something to love and take care of. RSRT, try to be kind. My only happy memories from the last two years are of random kindnesses. Someone scratched directions to a waterhole that hadn't gone dry. Someone left bedding in a bolthole. Someone left the last few pieces of fruit on a tree... that might not have been kindness, that might have been someone who was too big to climb out onto those thin whippy branches at the top of the tree... someone little like me could still get up and out to them.

Once, back in the day, I was fat and prosperous and happy. I thought I was ugly, being fat, I had NO fucking IDEA. I was so lucky then. I was loved, and safe, and pampered and treasured, and I had no idea. Now I'm tiny, wiry, strong, and fast. I have had to be, to survive.

Random Stranger Reading this, despite everything, have hope. Life may be shit right now, but if we all keep going, something has GOT to get better. Maybe I've been off my meds too long, and this is a manic episode, maybe it's just I've exhausted all my fear and I don't fucking have time for anything that doesn't keep me going.

I do have hope. I don't know why, but I do.

It's almost dark now, I can barely see to write, so it's time to pack up and head out silently to my next bolthole.

I hope you can pass some hope along to the next person you meet, and I hope they're worthy of you trusting them.

Good luck, and gods' speed to you.

"kilroy"

Logged reading time: 7:30


3)
poem: Building Strength
(2:30)

why is it painful to let go of unhelpful words?
perhaps these were once upon a time, protectors,
the words bookworm, nerd, gimp, weakling.
the belief that if it was hard, I wasn't meant to do it...
if I were meant to do it, it would surely come naturally?

i can't seem to get my glasses clean
to see my own Self in the mirror
to understand my own wingspan
or the extent of my reach
or how far I can leap

hamstrung by my blindness
the persistence of memory
self image of pale, soft, weak, fearful
but there is so much more to me
than what I used to be

Am I strong? Yes. Am I smart? Yes.
Am I capable? Yes. Am I flexible? Yes.
Am I kind? Yes.
Am I soft?

*smile* Yes, I am soft.
Soft like a pillow at naptime, and comfortable.
Soft like silk sheets, and strong like them too.

Am I brave?
Yes.
Could I write were I still fearful?
Yes, ... but I wouldn't show my heart, were I still fearful.

I don't deal in trivialities.
I want the blood, and the bone, and the sweat,
I want the gritted teeth and the grunts of effort.

I step beyond old useless protectors.
I make myself stronger from the inside
I stand strong

I do not need the deflections of nerd, gimp, weakling.

I see the world as it is and as I would have it
and I reach out my hands
to begin shaping the world
A strong, kind, smart, compassionate world

and my strong hands
will shape it

NOTES: Good audience attention and faces.
Kit said, "damn you got some tasty brains!"
Jeff said, "good pieces!"

Jen and Andrew, Sean and Julia, Suzie and Bala, Mindy and Steve, Jeff and Daniel,
Kit and Amy, all attended!!!
labelleizzy: (Default)
Wednesday, September 4th, 2019 02:16 pm
old ghosts (tw: termination of pregnancy)

I was looking in the mirror one day and thought, "I would have none of this if I hadn't ended the pregnancy."

I was 25 years old when I got pregnant.
Can't decide if I should phrase that as "had an unwanted pregnancy", "got impregnated", or what. "got knocked up" isn't quite appropriate for the situation, because I can't afford in telling this story to be too flippant.

it was 1995. My dad had been dead less than a year, after being sick from diabetes and liver damage for several years, declining worse each year.
Mom and I were living together, in the house on Papaya Drive with the 1970's Spanish tile floors and the little fish pond and waterfall in the back yard. I had a great view of the green green green backyard, and had the constant waterfall noise in my ears every night as I fell asleep.


The smell and the feel of that house inform my memories of the time.

Brian and I were having sex and he didn't tell me that the condom broke, till after. Like, it still puzzles me, he says he felt it tearing, he says it was actually kind of painful for him, but he kept going.

He told me afterwards that he thought I wanted him to, to keep going, which yeah, who doesn't wanna get off, but seriously WHAT KIND OF ASSHOLE DOESN'T TELL HIS GIRLFRIEND THAT THE CONDOM BROKE. I still ... *makes incoherent rage noises*

You know how I learned that the condom broke? I reached down to hold the top of the condom when he went to pull out, and the horror of it was that all there was to hold was the ring that was the top of it. That was all that was left. … we had to dig inside my vagina and find it to pull it back out….

I could try to put possible reasons on what he was thinking, maybe it was as simple as HE wanted to get off too so he kept going even without the condom.

But I don't really wanna think about his alleged motivations because **I** was the one who wound up pregnant.

I felt the change in my body almost immediately. Within just a few days after the "accident," my boobs got bigger, the nipples got softer and more tender. My pussy and labia were constantly hot and tender, and I just had this internal *awareness* low in my pelvis and belly. And I had so many feelings about all of it.

mostly I came to a sudden and crystallized awareness that, more than not wanting to have to raise a child, I didn't want to spend the rest of my life with BRIAN. And I knew immediately, at a gut level, that in some way or another, no matter what else, I'd have to deal with Brian forever if I chose to have this kid.

and it was almost inconceivable anyway, (heh, yeah I went there) to think of having a kid. You spend so much of your early adolescence and twenties controlling your fertility really tightly, worried about the what-if. And sex is mostly fun, mostly meant to be fun, when you're not in a serious relationship and *planning* to have a kid…*

I had done research for a paper in college into medical side effects of being pregnant, it's no kind of easy walk in the park! There's real risk of gestational diabetes, blood pressure problems, varicose veins, digestion issues, likelihood of daily vomiting over months, *massive* mood swings and hormone changes, I mean the number of side effects you have to suffer through for a WANTED pregnancy, not to mention the non-zero risk of DEATH, or single parenthood, or ... all the different ways your children hurt you or break your heart.

That little... blue line on the pregnancy test. Oh my god. Possibly the scariest thing I've ever seen, and I already even KNEW. Like, there was no MISTAKING what my body was doing. I had this swirl of emotions going through my brain and body.


And I left the test on the bathroom counter, under a sheet of newspaper.(back when we still took the paper) Like I had zero idea how to talk to my mom about this. I was terrified I was going to be a disappointment to her, but I knew without thinking that if I *didn't* conceal this test, she would find it and know and help me. (and it turned out that she did find it, and she did help me, which I'll talk about at the end)

I can't even tell you about all the other things I was feeling then because even now, 25 years later, it's still hard thinking about that time in my life; emotional chaos and turmoil, still angry and grieving my father's death, along with everything else. I know I haven't quite forgiven myself for my own ignorance (and what feel like bad-choices when I am being hard on myself).

Though, trust me I do know all about the extenuating circumstances. I know why I made those bad choices especially because I have gotten therapy and done a lot of self work over the last two decades. I can see my own patterns and recognize where those impulses arose from and I don't let that part of myself drive the bus anymore, because I've healed a lot of those childhood injuries, or at least mostly healed them. Largely through talking and writing, both writing the blog and longhand and poetry. All kinds of ways.

I was 25, and Brian was 28. Theoretically that was old enough to know what we wanted, but both of us were dumb and inexperienced in relationships. We'd not really thought and especially not talked about what we wanted at the time or at any time in the future. We were just slinging along together because I think both of us thought we were the best we could do.

But we were old enough to decide if we wanted to have a child together and we met at Tower Cafe in downtown Sacramento to talk about it. about two weeks after the condom broke and a few days after I had taken the test. I'd said "we need to get together and to talk face to face" and he said yes, so we scheduled it. We hadn't even sat down properly at the patio table when Brian said, "You're pregnant, aren't you?" and I said yes. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went but I remember it wasn't a difficult or stressful one.

We were unanimous, that we didn't want to have a child (together), and we were both relieved to find that out. That neither of us had to try and convince the other to keep or to terminate. We were agreed to terminate.

I made the appointment. I had to stay pregnant for a total of eight weeks before the hospital could perform the procedure. I don't remember why that was.

To his credit,(Brian) did take me to the appointment, and did get me home safely.

My mom, and this makes my eyes fill up with tears, had a heating pad, an extra blanket, and she'd set up her bed, the big bed, for me to have a nap. She brought me a bed tray with my favorite tea, some toast with jam, and a little rose-bud in a little vase. I absolutely did cry from that, and everything else.

Brian stayed with me there on the bed until I had the snack and fell asleep. It was dark when I woke up, and he wasn't there anymore, and I was disappointed and angry, but realized there was really only so much I could expect from the guy.

Mom was good to me. No judgment, no anger, just support. She had my back. I had her back. We were a good team back then.

I don't like contemplating alternate universes for this story. Like, the what-if game doesn't work out well for me.

in 1995 I hadn't gone back to school to get a teaching credential.

I hadn't met my first husband, or even the boyfriend before him (who was and is a better human being and more thoughtful and kind than either Brian or my first husband).
I hadn't started my spiritual journey that gives me so much richness and meaning in my life (and which I was turned on to by the boyfriend I mention above)///
I hadn't started getting therapy for my relationship with my dad and my inability to grieve him or to get out of the anger stage of the grief.

My mind shudders away from the idea of having had to raise a kid in the conditions we were living in. Not that those were horrible, but it would have been stressful, hard work. And while I know motherhood is supposed to have its rewards, I just don't even know how I would have coped, without the skills that I have been able to acquire BECAUSE I didn't have a kid...

It's this fork in the road that my life took, and I DEFINITIVELY chose the one path and left the other path behind.

I'm glad I am HERE. I'm glad that THIS is what it is. I'm glad to have Eeyore and my priesthood and Burning Man and a lot of beloved friends. I'm glad to have the writing, and the making and the sewing and the dancing, and the work toward social justice.

The ability to choose when and whether to have a child is HUGE in your ability to determine your life's path. HUGE./// 12 Minutes

I don't have any kind of snappy ending, except that I am grateful that I got the chance to have the choice about whether or not to have a kid, and I will continue to fight for other people's right to chose whether to have a kid or not.

NOTES Performed this on the spoken word stage at center camp, Burning Man 2019 Mon August 26. One woman thanked me and cried. One man told me about, before he knew he was gay, his girlfriend got pregnant, and when she miscarried, they also cuddled in bed with the heating pad. And a couple that were pregnant (8 months) and beautiful "the first one I've carried to term"
But the last person said, "did you do this as a TED talk? It feels familiar" and I said no, it was a blog post and he said "huh well I guess we know what comes next"
SQUEEEEEEEEE

TAGS abortion, actions have consequences, anger, becoming, challenge, children, choice, dad, death, designing my own life, feeling some feelings, feelings, guilt, karma, life is good, making things, mom, open hearted, pagan practice in everyday life, paradigm shift, parent, past lives, pathwork, personal cartography, pregnancy, probably more than you really wanted to , sad, self, self-worth, spirituality, state of the liz, stomping brain weasels, stream of consciousness, taking care of business., truth falling out of my mouth, what doesn't kill me makes me stronger, words, spoken word, burning man
labelleizzy: (Default)
Saturday, June 10th, 2017 02:51 pm
A bunch of us who grew up touch starved developed unhealthy coping mechanisms.

I would like to share, please, the healthiest coping mechanism I’ve found for wanting the kind and quality of touch that I need, when I can’t get enough of it. And all it needs time, hot water, soap, and like $5.00!
Trader Joe’s Lavender Salt Scrub costs like $3.99 in store. Amazon has it listed at $15.00!! Plus shipping! Duh, don’t buy it on Amazon then…

Pretty easy to make a salt scrub at home if you don’t have a TJ’s. Olive oil, coconut oil, almond oil, or any kind of thick massage quality oil, with the same amount of non iodized salt and maybe a few drops of an essential oil. Lavender is good because it’s a natural antimicrobial, but you do you.

Exfoliating is pretty simple, it’s a bit rough on your skin till you get used to it but good grief does my skin feel amazing, soft & smooth right now, hands, arms, shoulders, legs, torso. And NOTHING ITCHES right now except for that spot I can’t reach in the middle of my back.

I like to get in the shower, wash my hair first, then turn off the water to scrub my skin. I do hands, then arms (underarms feels SO GOOD to scrub but please don’t try this just after shaving if you shave!), shoulders, boobs and torso, butt and hips, legs and feet, and face is last (and most gentle).

Then I get some soap on my scrubbie, get me and it gently wet, wipe off remaining salt and excess oil, before resoaping and washing as usual.

Many years ago, I left my ex husband, for a bunch of reasons but one of them was, that he refused to touch me in the ways I asked him to, the ways I needed. And I wrote myself a reminder:

“If nobody else is touching you in ways that you need, you need to do it for yourself.”

I forget this sometimes. It can be hard to get enough warm tight hugs, or enough neck kisses, or other things I wish I had more of and don’t seem to know how to ask for, how to get. But I can definitely treat myself on a Saturday afternoon, scrub my bod, cut my nails, do my hair.

I can do this for myself, and so can you, mostly. If this specific technique doesn’t work for you, or if you are differently-abled than I am (which is mostly able) then i encourage you to adapt.

You can still pamper yourself. You can still feed yourself in the non food ways, you can still treat yourself with kindness and gentleness (yes, for some of us it takes conscious practice, I know and realize).

Love yourself enough to care for your body, listen to what it needs, and do what you can to provide that.
I love all y'all. I finally love myself, too. (Mid forties fat cis woman.)

Take good care of each other and of yourselves, please.

#touch #deliberate touching #touch me #gentle touch #loving touch #self-care #touch starved #touch starvation #kindness #massage #exfoliating #exfoliate #exfoliante #exfoliantscrub #grooming #love yourself treatyoself
labelleizzy: (handfasting)
Thursday, April 17th, 2008 09:33 pm
Scorpio Horoscope for week of April 17, 2008

Verticle Oracle card Scorpio ("Precious")

It's the Week of the Fabulous Smirk. Not the Week of the Arrogant Smirk or the Vengeful Smirk or the Hateful, Whiny, Passive-Aggressive Smirk. Rather, the Smirk that Passeth All Understanding. The Wise, Charitable, Forbearing Smirk. The Uber-Smirk that says, "I've figured out what everyone's hiding, and I love them anyway." You are ready, Scorpio, to explore the Divine Smirk that arises naturally when you have outwitted an obstacle that was obscuring the truth from you; when you have finally seen through the delusion you were under and guessed the secret you weren't smart enough to see before.

< smirk >
labelleizzy: (growth is inevitable)
Sunday, April 29th, 2007 10:27 pm
I've decided that from now on, April is my Month-o-Self-Care-n-Checkups.

it just makes sense.

No more putting it all off.





which reminds me, I have to book a flight and get a substitute again for Friday's Southern Cal memorial for Scotty. And make sure it's ok with my boss. (I'm pretty sure it will be.)
labelleizzy: (demi clamshell)
Thursday, June 16th, 2005 09:56 pm
The question circulating today is what your 11-years-younger self would think of you, if s/he suddenly materialized today.

Well *winces* for one thing 11 years ago today my dad had died less than two months ago and I had started a new job just OVER two months ago...

so life was a swirly, bitter drink of chaos, grief, insecurity, and confusion.

the me from 1994 would be amazed at my current self confidence, but not surprised that I'm in teaching. she would be surprised that I stayed 8 years in that library job. Though she would have expected to be fired rather than quit, as I did... I didn't have much faith in myself and my skills at age 24...

that me would also be amazed at how incredibly happy I am now. the relationship I have, the friends I have, were not even conceivable to that mindset. The adventurousness, the security, being able to take (almost) for granted that I am loved and that people want to have me in their lives or just generally around? Inconceivable, if you don't mind me quoting Princess Bride.
*grin*

That me would be surprised to hear that I was angry at my dad for about 8 years. I used to have a lot of trouble admitting I was angry.
Now, (echoes Nathan Fillion) not so much. (You should HEAR me in the staff lounge sometime! But I'm funny about it.)

that me wouldn't have believed I'd stay 7 years with a man who had trouble expressing affection, but that me was on the verge of breaking up with a man who I'd dated for 2 years, who had that exact same problem... The more things change, the more they stay the same, until they simply don't stay the same. Thank the gods for epiphanies. I love epiphanies... they are just the best.

That me was sure I'd be married with kids by now (which is in part why I agreed to get married in the first place, so I wouldn't be an "old maid"... and this is my own baggage, and no commentary on Josh.)

as I say in my bio, the 11 year old I once was would find it surprising that I publish publicly so much of my own thoughts for people to read and comment on. the 24 year old me would have equal trouble. It was before I was well-established in the Renfair community, and WAAAAY before I got into the dance community generally... my support structures were rather thin, to be honest.

I think the me I was then would be relatively unsurprised by most of my major decisions. Also unsurprised by who I chose to date. Surprised about my lowering of my own standards so as to not be alone, but hey. that's one of the epiphanies I keep having over and over again. You can have multiple epiphanies about the same thing if you have a lousy memory for your own behaviour, which used to describe me. Until the year I turned 33, when I un-blindfolded myself.

If you ask nicely, maybe I'll tell that story. *shrug*

Now then, it's well past time I et something, so remember, I still have a post to come regarding my LAST DAY OF WORK for HHS, my school.
I did good things, and people did good by me, and I'm not quite finished there yet (unfortunately).

but I went to graduation for my seniors today, and cheered for them, and saw who I had to see. It was A Good Thing (tm)... and absolutely necessary to closure.

This was a good topic to post on. I am intrigued by the "11 years ago YOU" notion. Glad someone came up with it.