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Bleeding really really hard today. Is the 3rd day in, first heavy one. This is really really really an inconvenient level of maintenance in order to not bleed on everything.

Family coming for first of two holiday suppers tonight. Have time to think about friends, too-- though I only finished my last school assignment yesterday (and it was a lot of intense work) and am working today, so I haven't had my first day actually off where I'm not supposed to be doing homework yet.

The sun is out. My african violets are rooting. People used my air hockey table yesterday. Things are good.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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Another Poem About The Heart

When the floor drops out, as it has now,
you cannot hear the squirrel on the wire
outside your window, the wheels spinning
on the road below. You want only pity
and are presented with the unbelievable
effrontery of a world that moves on.
But wait: this is not the person you are.
You're the kind of person who
sits in dark theaters crying at the collarbones
that curve across the dancers' chests,
at the proof of a perfection they represent;
a person who goes out walking in a four-day drizzle,
sees a pot of geraniums and is seized, overcome
by how they can bring so much (what else
can you call it?) joy. You love the world,
are sure, at least, that you have. But be truthful:
you only love freely things that have nothing
to do with you. You're like a matchstick house:
intricately constructed but flimsy and hollow inside.
You're a house in love with the trees beside you -
able to look at them all day, aware of how faithful they are -
but unable to forgive that they'd lie down
leaving you exposed and alone in a large enough storm.

Jenn Habel

Hello again.

I'm in a life. It's my life, more-or-less, and almost completely different than any you've been aware of.

This is the life I lived when I was sixteen, seventeen, eighteen: a life where I'm a world unto myself, where I speak to almost no-one, where I do a series of things required of me. School and work require the most, people almost nothing.

Once again when I write here the worlds echo inside my own quiet mind with no thought of an audience; I've forgotten what an audience might be like.

I spend a lot of time with Blake, all the shared eating-sleeping-reading time in which time slides by with few major features to mark its passing.

Sometimes I miss people. It happens less often now; generally only for the few days right after some sort of social contact with my old friends, but that happens so seldom these days.

I don't talk to my classmates much. I ordered african violet leaves instead of buying pants without holes for the winter because I wanted to nurture something green and alive.

Some days I forget how to love, or forget to know whether I know how.

It's going to be a dark winter. I'm in the womb again, still: I'll live here awhile. Whatever I'm to be born into this time around, it's far on the horizon yet.

Even typing just these words stirs up a little bit of dust. The love is in there somewhere.

I am, by the way, just finished bleeding and the winter still looks dark. That means something.
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Blood started sparsely last month on the 15th, got serious a couple days later. Now ovulation is hitting hard.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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Blood and feeling loved maybe go together? Bleeding since the 11th. Party went well. May know where I'm moving.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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Bloooood. Also: happy and very loved by many.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.

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Failure is rarely an option for me nowadays. I've lived a bunch of my life gently, allowing myself weakness when I have it, sometimes perhaps over-indulging in things like calling in sick to have sex or backing out of interpersonal confrontations.

I still try to live the relationship side of my life gently now that I've learned how, spending time with people who are good for my soul.

At the same time I have a rigorous schedule that leaves no leeway for my humanity.

For instance, I've been working and going to school both near full-time and keeping the rats and two boyfriends and something of a social life on the go. That translates to between 20 and 30 classroom hours per week, 12-15 hours of commuting per week, 30-ish to 35 hours of work per week, plus one day per week rat cage cleaning and whatever the people stuff adds up to, plus of course all the cleaning stuff.

I keep myself going in a number of ways. Some are gentle: I put something shiny in the next week or so, and I work hard to get through the week to it; I support myself and encourage myself and tell myself that I'm awesome and accomplish a lot; I pay attention to beautiful things around me and let them inform me of my right and fitting place in the struggles of this world. Often this is all it takes.

Some ways I get through are less gentle: I tell myself how badly people will be let down if I don't do something; I give myself a little time to break down and then remind myself that no one's interested in interacting with me if I cry and whine all the time; mostly I just keep working, through the dark part, through irritation to mental fury, through my brain spitting bile and insults at every contact, through fantasies of great pain or bodily harm to myself or people around me, through everything my mind can send at me I just go from task to task to task. I get things done and let my mind gibber.

There's sometimes a price for being harsh on myself. I begin to lose faith in the givingness of the world. I begin to forget what happiness tastes like and why I would desire any sort of human connection. Finally, pushed too far, my mind short-circuits and leaves me suspended and hanging in an abyss of static, snarling at any intrusion of consciousness.

Things fix this. Time to myself abates it; time with people I love, touching and being touched, talking and being talked to, draws me back into the wonderful parts of the world and gives me reasons for continuing on this path. I can recover quickly, especially if I haven't pushed too far, but I do need time to recover.

This month it feels like I don't have time to recover. I think I have a total of three or maybe 4 days that don't contain work, school, or most often a combination of both. Many of these are 14-hour days. There just isn't enough space.

I'm coming to my computer as a blank screen, to livejournal as a space that doesn't talk back. My own voice will heal me, I hope, that first increment so I can reach out to people for a little more contact. It seems to be working; allowing these feelings and these words to be of value, even if only to myself, is pushing me erratically from blankness through furious anger and towards tears.

It's a funny balance there, actually, seesawing between anger and compassion at myself for this barren painful feeling. It wobbles back and forth from one second to the next. I let it happen, no sense wishing it was some other thing.

That's enough writing for now, I suppose.
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Oedipus on Mother's Day by Donald Illich

Hallmark sells no cards for our situation.
I scan the aisle looking for a bittersweet

spot between those for wife, those for
mother. Wife seems too affectionate,

while son feels kind of reserved. I should
kiss you on the cheek when I've seen you

naked, lots of times? Or sit on your lap?
But I'm a big boy now, as you know,

probably too much so. I did find one
for Dad, actually, an apology to you.

A baby on the front accidentally spills
his pudding. A rainbow word balloon

yells, “Oops!” Inside, a puppy licks up
the drops. The text: “Accidents happen.

I hope you can forgive me.” We'll try
to pretend they're not blood. Let's admit,

though, you're glad I'm back this day.
Once you winced at brunch specials

and mimosas, visited places mothers
wouldn't be: sci-fi conventions, cock

fights, rugby matches. We can go out
together on a date, act as if we have

a child at home, baby sat by shepherds,
never left alone, exposed to elements.

Indifference will never be a problem
for us. The only curse we have is love.

That was the poem this morning. I liked it; it suits me: the only curse I have is love.

I've been living on my own for three days. Tonight will be the first night I sleep alone. You might think those previous nights don't count, but already I've learned that if there's no one to protect from my grief by living with me I cry aloud and talk to myself.

The secret to surviving the world is not really ever quite believing in it. Believe around corners, believe at the edges, but never confront the full unflinching weight of it. Douglas Adams said "the one thing you can never afford to have in this world is a sense of proportion". How do we think of his books as comedy?

When I'm alone and crying in the interstice between work and school (I always watch the clock: it's 2:52 and I should be leaving, but can stretch it till 4:30 if I need to) I listen to the things I say: first, into my palms with my face in my hands, I say: okay. Okay. This is how I try to surrender resistance. If there's no resistance there's no pain, is there?

But this isn't about ego. That was crushed out of my quite some time ago.

Next I say, over and over: fuck. I try it louder: FUCK. More quietly, testing: oh fuck. I always wanted to learn to swear well and never did. I thought that colourful language might open me up, vent this pressure inside and release it. I never did learn, but right now suspect it wouldn't help.

I'm too old to pull the darkness all the way over my head and disappear into it. I'm too old to dissolve. All I can do is sit here, in pain, and tell myself that's the way life is. There's no one who would argue with me. We've all been here; we almost all will be here again.

I live in the future, in expectation and in dreams and desire. This hauls me forward along with whatever weights I choose to drag with me along whatever paths I choose to beat through the unknowns of my life. This is why my fingers seek the keyboard so urgently now, why words explode and then falter in a counterpoint to the sobs I have no reason to stifle.

You aren't in my future. I'm not in yours. We've agreed on that time and time again. And I've tried to be open to you despite that, to not fear severance and the pain that will come with it.

Here it is, a moment of pain in a long life. In a month or a year it'll be just that, a moment, and return with less urgency each time I see it. I know that. I've been here before.

And I know too that maybe the point where your life diverges is not this week but later, weeks or months or even years down the road. Who knew this would go on so long, after all, haphazard and circumstantial as it is? And so in this writing I come out of the future where we have already had our last kiss and into the present where neither of us know. I suppose that's always the present: assumptions, but no knowledge of what comes next.

The pain is fading in my ribcage, leaving bruises where it forced itself huge against the bone, and leaving an afterimage.

If I look at the clock (3:14) I don't even have to see it.

I'll sit here looking at the clock for a few more minutes before I leave for school.


May. 3rd, 2011 02:47 pm
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Last blood day was 11/04/04.

Feels like six months ago, my life goes fast.

Posted via LiveJournal app for iPhone.


Mar. 4th, 2011 06:00 pm
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I am making an amazing bean soup. It's made with the remains of the ginormous roast I made and some beans and veggies and cocoa and chipotles and cumin and all those things. I have several gallons of it. It may be time to invest in a deep freeze; my fridge freezer is full of raw meat. It'd be awfully nice to have a supply of ready-made meals and now that I'm beginning to have enough containers, and to be busy and broke enough not to cook at home or eat out much, I think that might actually be good for something other than raw ingredients.

I had more stuff to say but my house smells like soup. It's distracting.

Oh right, started bleeding today. Harness those cooking hormones!
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Blood day three. Yesterday was stupid heavy.
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I've had two days in a row of absolutely wonderful. I've got to spend lots of skin time and chat time with people I love, been to a couple food-based casual get-togethers, spent time in my home and out, played with baby rats some, and been seen and appreciated by people I care about.

I've spent a lot of time in bed (in all the best ways) and a lot of time in roomsful of people I like.

It's very good.

Oh, also: done bleeding, started the 30th or so.

Soul Food

Nov. 28th, 2010 11:26 am
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Winter is for being in warm places with convivial company, snuggling and eating, and for periods of reflective solitude in the outdoors. The cold builds walls around me, indoors or outdoors, and my own self-reflectiveness creates an inward-spiralling gaze that only thaws when the mental separation cold imposes on me is thawed.

Right now I'm in a livingroom full of rowdy video-game players. The room has a fireplace and the smell of bacon. I can't access my schoolwork on the internet right now. I am perfectly content.

I have friends. I have so many friends. I'm finding that as satisfying as having the most flourishing of complicatedly fluid ecosystems in my garden. This is the first weekend I've been in town, not at work or school, for quite some time, and so I have time to enjoy people again. I am enjoying them and then some.

School is exciting too. I had my epic exam on Friday: 8:30 am to 3:30 pm, 3 1/2 hours was spent in the snow with a little bit of sleet and drifting cold mist lining compasses up with distant targets (the dials and my fingers were stiff with cold), reading clinometers that fogged up when I breathed, and doing mathematical calculations (percent slope -> horizontal distance, for instance) to a timer. Many of my classes are drawing to a close, but I don't finish school till the 17th, and there's a lot left to learn.

Work is picking up. It's poinsetta season. Poinsettas are the epitome of the junk-culture consumerism culture we have around christmas: they are poor quality plants, they spend the whole time I'm taking care of them dying, about half of them make it through in presentable condition till they need to be thrown out. It's my job to make it look like they aren't dying, because for us death is unthinkable, even in situations where it's obvious, inevitable, and self-created. So, my job is to remove dead leaves and dead plants so no one thinks about their death.

Also I found this today:

Superbly Situated

you politely ask me not to die and i promise not to
right from the beginning—a relationship based on
good sense and thoughtfulness in little things

i would like to be loved for such simple attainments
as breathing regularly and not falling down too often
or because my eyes are brown or my father left-handed

and to be on the safe side i wouldn’t mind if somehow
i became entangled in your perception of admirable objects
so you might say to yourself: i have recently noticed

how superbly situated the empire state building is
how it looms up suddenly behind cemeteries and rivers
so far away you could touch it—therefore i love you

part of me fears that some moron is already plotting
to tear down the empire state building and replace it
with a block of staten island mother/daughter houses

just as part of me fears that if you love me for my cleanliness
i will grow filthy if you admire my elegant clothes
i’ll start wearing shirts with sailboats on them

but i have decided to become a public beach an opera house
a regularly scheduled flight—something that can’t help being
in the right place at the right time—come take your seat

we’ll raise the curtain fill the house start the engines
fly off into the sunrise, the spire of the empire state
the last sight on the horizon as the earth begins to curve

by Robert Hershon

Oh, and my body is conducting a guerrilla war on me with blood. Slow trickle until the occasional militant overflow when I'm doing something (an exam, for instance) I can't set down for a second and attend to it with. It's getting old.
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Well, here we are in the dark time of the month. My mood has a tendency, when I'm not really on top of self-care, to thunk like a lead weight and I'll be damned if I always have the energy to lift it up again. I can do things because they make me productive, but I can't do things to take care of myself.

One thing I've been having trouble with lately is food. I have trouble cooking for myself. That type of self-nurturing works poorly. Don't get me wrong, I'll cook-- but then I won't eat the food, I'll give it to someone or put it in a container and rush off intending to eat it later. If I have food, I'll do things rather than eat it. I've been relatively good over the past couple days, but last week I was really bad with it.

At this point my body's waving flags. Instead of giving me hunger-feelings, which I ignore, or stomach pains, which again I disregard, if I miss a mealtime by two or more hours I start to feel lightheaded and nauseous.

One of my solutions to my eating thing has been to line up people to eat with. I will eat socially. I will also cook and eat for myself when I'm relaxed and have the luxury of time to shop for fresh foods and cook something fun and interesting, or if I can afford to eat out, so if I can hit a produce store on the way home I'm usually good. Problem is, those tend to close before I can get to them, and I'm pretty tired after a day at work/class.

I've been meaning to check out local CSAs. Those seem like they'd be inspiring. There's one through school that's super reasonably priced but only happens once every two weeks and not at a time I can easily get there (not designed for night students, that's for sure). There are some urban ones that seem exciting, and I'm sure there are winter ones around.

Even aside from food, though, I'm aware enough this time around to know just how out of whack everything is. There are spells of pretty intense paranoia, usually just momentary, and that sense that I can't accomplish anything or that nothing I do means anything or serves any purpose. There's floating anger and irritation. There's ...agoraphobia? the strong desire not to leave extremely familiar areas.

I hate that this happens to me. The winter isn't helping-- my skin is dry and uncomfy, I'm allergic to things touching my skin (oh, cold and pressure, how I hate thee), and I've fun out of vitamin D. Need to get on that one.

On the other hand, the people around me are sweet and patient, things are going well at home, school is trucking along, and I have a freezerful of meat for the month.


Nov. 15th, 2010 09:21 pm
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It isn't even almost a little bit near time to come out yet, Greenie. You have maybe four or five weeks to a brief respite and still almost two years till you're done-- more if you decide to stay a little longer. You cannot afford any bit of weakness right now. You cannot afford any bit of softness towards yourself, and little enough towards others.

It's not time.

You can't rely on being smart in this. You can't rely on the endurance you've found in yourself up to this point. Each day is a new contest and any victory in your past is just that-- it's over, it's only served to bring you to another day where you haven't yet proven yourself. A handful of failures is the end of all of this.

Emotional turmoil is no excuse. Nothing is an excuse. You do this because you've started it; you finish it and you get through it. You've broken up with your friends group; twitter is like reading a fresh ex's happy relationship updates tonight. It doesn't matter. It's past, that fact hurts, move on. You have a midterm tomorrow and a quiz the next day and a bunch of homework for the day after that.


You cannot let down your guard in this. You can't feel safe; you can't feel like you have enough time. That's when the accumulated traumas come out and you have to cope with them. You can cope with them after you graduate, or maybe in the summer, but you cannot do it now.

And you cannot afford to get this attached to people. In the past you've had the luxury of wanting things from people who were emotionally unavailable. That luxury is gone. Take what they will give you but you do not have the excess energy to delve. If someone opens to you that person is a treasure but you can't go hunting after the other ones.

You will be on starvation rations for sex and love and physical contact for a long time. It makes it worse when you go off those and glut for a little bit; you starve all over again when everything dries up. You will learn willpower on this and soon; I don't care how precious these things are to you, or how much they feel like the core of your humanity, you can't have them now and not for awhile.

Goddammit, woman, shed your skin. You used to be so fucking good at it.


Oct. 25th, 2010 09:18 am
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Yesterday was my worst day for crazy and broken in a long time. I don't really want to talk about it, but for record-keeping purposes I'll note: there were three seperate points spread throughout the day where I lost my language. Twice my field of experience was limited to overwhelming emotional pain. There were triggers but the tendency towards that was definitely pre-existing, when I woke up yesterday morning and in fact the morning before that the dread and isolation were intense. In the evening food and being firmly, lovingly held for a very long time helped clear things up some but it was a long time before I could go outside. I feel mostly better today. The feeling was not directed at any particular person. Yesterday and the day before were my heavy bleed days, I am not implying causation just noting the correlation.

The beginnings of that pressure where I begin to know I need to cry but can't started awhile ago but were barely perceptible at first.

I seem to have an unlimited capacity and maybe need to be held.

Needing people breaks me into tiny pieces and crushes them into dust.
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This morning is, again, rather rough. Yesterday morning was rough but I had to get moving so early, and then I was nervous about class, and then I was on a machine, and then it was evening. There was no time to worry about it until it was better.

This morning is rough and I don't need to work today.

I always sit down and try to define the problem. Today is rough because this has happened lately, that has happened, and something else is a factor too. I like to understand myself, to know what makes me tick. The problem is that while I can sometimes predict myself, I can never pin myself down. There's no set of circumstances that's always going to make me happy-- wait, no, a plant walk with my ecology prof actually always would-- and life is too complicated to make use of much of the past information. So I gather this data, pore over it, write it down, and I'm still not happy. It's a lot of work for little return: all I can do is avoid a couple things I know won't go over well.

For the longest time people made me happy. Spending time with my people was what I wanted to do; I did it and I was happy, more-or-less.

Now school makes me happy. It's a lot of offscreen work, I guess like a boy who demands flowers and a new poem written for him every time I go to see him. Maybe that's why I like it: I love a challenge. I love sinking work into school, making it like me, making it notice me. That metaphor is hardly any stretch at all. We have long conversational lectures and we learn new skills together. Yesterday school taught me to use an ATV and we went riding in the woods. As for testing, well-- everyone has difficult days where the challenge is to make sure everyone walks away happy.

So if I'm honeymooning with a new lover, what happens to the old ones? What happens to my friends? I see them, but my mind is elsewhere. I talk about school all the time. I don't make enough of the kind of time I need for myself in my life. I am restless when not involved in schoolwork. I cease to identify and acknowledge my own needs, instead focusing on what school needs or wants from me.

Everything else in life has flashes of brilliance, but as a whole ceases to satisfy.

I have a natural relationship span of very approximately three years. That's how long it takes before a relationship becomes work instead of honeymoon for me, more-or-less, circumstances depending, etc. Most things tend to crumble about then. This program I'm in is two years, with the degree option another year tacked on.

It really seems like a good fit for me. In this context, using this metaphor, I'm doing absolutely the right thing. The only question is, what about the rest of my life? What about my people? The things I do can often be put on a shelf. People? Not so much. And when I do shelve them, and I have been lately, I feel disconnected and unwanted and on-the-outside of everything. I don't like that, so I get avoidant, and away the whole thing goes.

You can tell I'm writing this from a dark spot. I'm writing this sitting in bed at 7:30 on a Sunday morning, wishing I could have one day of waking up in one place with one person and not having to leave either that place or that person all day-- wishing I didn't have to chop and ration everything into an hour there, a move of some sort, a couple of hours here, change scenes again, shift gears again, and now we're doing something completely different.

Just as I was about to write 'hey guys, ignore this, it's all babble that will burn off if the sun ever rises today,' Angus wanders through in a towel, looks at my expression, his face falls, and he does little things to try to make me happy. I don't know if it's lightened my mood any, it doesn't feel like it has, but I'm going to stop writing now. This is more than enough of this.

Noted for recordkeeping: this is the second day of real blood, like the fourth blood day or so.
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This has been a week of heavy. Since Monday I don't know if I've had any amount of non-emotionally-charged non-discussion-laden snuggle time, certainly no uncluttered sex, and only brief snips of interpersonal without crazy in them. I've had body issues of various kinds. I've pushed myself pretty hard.

Now my period is here-- a week and a half or so early. It's kind of freaking me out, to be honest.

Um... body? Yo? I know I've been pickling you in stress and exhaustion and I haven't been feeding you. So why this now? Usually it works the other way around.


Sep. 15th, 2010 11:09 pm
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These are full days. I am incredibly tired right now. I've finished work, class, homework, a bit of a visit, and a meal and a half today. I'm starting to drink frozen juice a can or two a day, just because I have neither time nor inclination to eat and it keeps me on my feet (yes, the juice stuff, not the sugar stuff). Homework will come to rule my life pretty soon, I can feel it.

Had a couple of fantastic moments today, most of which I am too tired to write about. My bus-friend at school continues to be my bus friend. I continue to be in an enviable place with some pretty fantastic people. I have realised I get off class such that I could go to all-you-can-eat late night sushi afterwards if I wanted, which might be a decent social event. The aches in my sides are subsiding a little bit, but now my legs are cramping and knotting from sitting so much. If I had time to get to the gym at school right before class, or actually scout my bike route getting to class (and trust my bike not to get stolen), this would be resolved.

I have equipment like it's Christmas.

You know what made me happy today? I said "I love you" and he said "yeah, yeah, yeah."

Started bleeding. Such is life.
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My interior soundtrack this week, apparently:

Great day yesterday. Work didn't kill me, an issue was resolved the day previously so I didn't feel completely crazy, I actually got to the beach with someone whose company I'm starting to really enjoy, dropped in on Andrew and Sara who I hadn't seen in too long and who I'd missed quite a bit, still managed to fit quality Angus time in (I guess I was lonely for one-on-one after the weekend-- need to remember that crowds don't satisfy that craving for -my people- though they are great and fun and bounce me past a lot of friends).

Now, straightforward day (knock on wood) and some Writer time.

Yesterday I even watered my garden!

My new haircut looks incredibly perfect after being dunked in the ocean and slept on.

I have no idea why my period is so late this month and yet was so early last month. Stress? Either way, Monday was blood day.
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...because she's easy, and nice. She never says anything very complicated, though, and she isn't very imagist, so there's not a lot of impact in her poems for me. Still... this one makes me think of 'Mary Oliver covers ee cummings' and I am rather fond of it:

I don't want to live a small life

I don't want to live a small life. Open your eyes,
open your hands. I have just come
from the berry fields, the sun
kissing me with its golden mouth all the way
(open your hands) and the wind-winged clouds
following along thinking perhaps I might

feed them, but no I carry these heart-shapes
only to you. Look how many how small
but so sweet and maybe the last gift

I will ever bring to anyone in this
world of hope and risk, so do.
Look at me. Open your life, open your hands.

Mary Oliver

I'm tired this morning. Maybe it has to do with the lack of sun; I haven't got noticably less sleep than other nights, but it was actively difficult to get out of bed this morning and that never happens to me. There's a meeting at work this morning so I need to be out the door soon, but I think I'm gonna scrap some of the extra stuff I was going to do today and just clean up the mess on Monday when I get in. That'll make Monday a long day and both today and tomorrow an exercise in not thinking about things, but otherwise there won't be much left of me for the folk fest, and I need that folk fest. Already I'm not sure where I'm going to fit in packing.

Fireworks last night. [ profile] dillen_dagen is a powerful ally when it comes to making a space or a group of people act like 'my people'- things slide that much more easily towards touch and physical closeness than when I'm the only one doing it. I appreciate this like I appreciated the party on the weekend where I wasn't 'the naked one'-- it's my natural environment and very comforting.

Tired. Tired tired tired tired. The walk home after the fireworks was every bit worth it, the night was skin temperature and I could have walked forever. Still, today I pay-- along with my bosses, who were there and out late too, so that won't be so bad.

I just wish it were sunny now, to burn away the sleep.

(my cycle seems to be shortening. I'm pretty sure I'm ovulating again, and my last period was a couple of days early. Not sure what that's about but it makes dealing with people occasionally inconvenient. I wish every part of it were not quite so much of a ride)


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