Why Bullying isn’t Healthy for ANYONE, a post intended for Karen Kabaki Sisto (Trigger warning for everyone else also I cussed a bit))

I know I have not posted in some time but the surgery I had and slew of failgivers and bad agency issues took my writing spoons for survival. I am just getting settled with my new carer from a new agency and this article has come out that I cannot even finish. This post like most of what I write has a trigger warning for a reason.  Here is the article by the person I am chewing out below.

Dear Karen-

I am calling you out. The initial title of this post? You better run bitch. Why? The internet is coming for you. You see you did something stupid. You wrote an article that promotes bullying. The idea that bullying is acceptable for anyone is already disproven. Children die daily because they cannot endure bullying and the pain it is caused. These are not just autistic children but children across the human spectrum, some of whom fall into the category of normal. People of all ages are bullied for skin color, eye color, hair color, weight, ability, and so many things I cannot list it all. Bullying is always arbitrary and boils down to psychological trauma that sometimes never heals. It shatters confidence.

The article, as far as I could read sounded like my mother. I deserved to be bullied because it would make me stronger. I was weak because I couldn’t take the pain. That is bullshit. I am not weak. Medically, I admit I am, but mentally I have dealt with things people should never be able to imagine coping with, and I am still alive. I have spent my life aware of death itself because of my body and more so my family. My family of monsters. I am angry this was written because there will be people who do not think before they act, and will traumatize already fragile people. Autistics get bullied all the time, this simply removes potential resources. Of course this is also from the people who created the ABA system of abuse. They call it therapy but I mean mother fucking abuse.

In the end I cannot stand by and be silent on this. Bullying caused me to cut myself. With my medical conditions this could be fatal. I thought between my parents and the other children I deserved pain. I thought that if I cut myself maybe they would stop. If I hurt just a little more I would be purified by that pain and worthy. Some of this is through the lense of absurd religion but not all of it is. I am crying as I write this because I know out there people are dying a slow death from bullying and this article will cost them dearly. I am crying because I cannot protect them if I am silent. So I am roaring.

Here are ten effects of bullying regardless of autism.

1. PTSD- Post Traumatic stress is not a choice there is no pushing through it and it can forever undermine self confidence. Avoiding triggers is the treatment, and like avoiding allergens to not die or spontaneously combust into hives and anaphalaxis this is not really effective because its impossible. Anything around at the trauma from a scent, lighting, touch, voice, words, or even clothing can become a trigger and you will not know until you find out the hard way.

2. Lowered Confidence- Confident people succeed. We do. I had to rebuild myself and am lucky I could but not everyone is able to do that with or without help.

3. Depression- This too can feed lowered confidence and can get you bullied. Don’t feel u p to anything because you hurt so much and are sad? People WILL bully you for that. Depression is hard to live with and bullying is a cause. Depression is also painful and often causes people to kill themselves.

4. Lower grades- You do notlearn when afraid, you learn less when stressed. There must be a safe place for people to go to learn. Living without one creates a priority of survival not education. You can’t focus on algebra because you are focused on not sitting wrongly, or the physical threats that bullying can entail. Sometimes people even drop out.

5. Social Isolation- Bullying makes it harder to make friends. Cliques aka human herds are social. While not every autistic is social many are, and this deprives them of the opportunity to make friends, to learn because a bully takes out your friends too. No one wants to endanger themselves for a stranger. Sometimes not for people they know. Bullies are dangerous, predators even.

6. Health issues- Bullied for weight? Well you may just end up anorexic. Bullied with physical violence? You could end up with serious physical trauma that disables you. It can also be BOTH THINGS. Bullying can even cause sexual dysfunction, increase the trauma of having puberty, and living in stress is also just bad for you. Hypertension, heart issues, bad diet, inability to sleep just to name a few.

7. Violent Retaliation- I have written about it before, but I nearly blew up my high school to kill everyone so allthe pain stopped. I also realized this was not healthy and stopped myself. Not everyone has that ability and sometimes these victims make more victims in a violence chain reaction. School shootings, the shooters are often bullied. This isn’t once or twice. Its not “Just Columbine”. Its also not always so clear cut. I became so afraid of bullies and had no safe home and ended up hurting the only friend I made before I was an adult because I didn’t have the ability to think past the fear and she touched my food. Yes I was also abused at home but a lot of bullied kids are, not just the bullies and sometimes those bullies have healthy home lives despite what the Film Industry/TV Industry tropes are.

8. Alchohol and Drug Abuse- Oddly bullies tend to be more prone to drug and alchohol abuse in some studies than their victims but compared to non bullies/bullied people both parties are much more likely to drink. Bullying is not just bad for the victim but creates bad mental hygiene for a life time.

9. Criminal Records- I can vote because my mistake of assaulting my friend came at the right age but not everyone is so lucky to get help and both violent responders to bullying and bullies still have to live with the consequences of their actions and reactions for life. I can’t forget, even with two brain injuries, the realization that I nearly killed my friend. I have to live with that feeling forever. Any time I think of her, it is there. A reformed bully joins me there but often they continue to escalate into other criminal behaviors, as bullying is another word for assault in MANY areas.

10. Missed Opportunities- Bullies and their victims both miss opportunities. Later in life the victim may be successful, needing to hire someone. The bully applies and… I would not hire them if I was in HR. This applies to non work things too. I have forgone games and social outings because an abuser/bully was there. Sometimes I tell the bully/abuser to fuck off, but I am an adult and aware of my power. I am the rare person who despite all of the crap they endured is able to do so. Its not common.

I am I think the sort of person who inspired this false and illogical article. I am strong. I am tough. I kick asses and take names. I push myself and sometimes I can’t get past the bullying. It still hurts me. That isn’t stronger. Stronger would be less of that. If I had not been bullied at school I would have had a refuge. Not having that? I tried to kill myself a few times and failed. I didn’t get found or helped, I just didn’t do it right. I am glad of that but telling me that I am stronger because of this is an insult to my intelligence, common sense, and every autist on the planet. I understand the writer wants to justify their being a bully, but I hope ANYONE with children near them runs, because this isn’t a red flag. This is a sign that reads: I am an abuser. I will hurt you. I will hurt the ones you love. I will forever scar the minds of innocents. I am also not qualified for anything. Not even McDonalds.

No one should be bullied. Autistic children are much more vulnerable, as we still cannot even be guaranteed education, access or care. We are discriminated against at all levels. I have been denied access to medications because of autism, endangering my life. I have been denied access to necessary law enforcement. Autistics are already trained to obey everyone, by ABA which the author supports. We can ill afford more of the same. It is much arder to stand up and say no. A lot of the reason Autistics struggle with these things swings back to being bullied. Bullying is abuse. Calling abuse healthy is assinine. A lot of this post was edited to remove the word fuck and many other unfriendly epithets to the originator of that piece of shit article. I am still cursing in it because frankly, that fucking piece of trash article deserves to be called exactly what it is.

Karen Kabaki Sisto M.S. CCC-SLP I hope you read this. I hope you understand that this paragraph was originally cursing and I hope you learn something. Bullying doesn’t give any perks. Putting the burden of the victim on making it about team work, autism awareness every month, claiming we learn verbal skills when we are terrified of being harmed, grow stronger, gain friends, and a better well being shows me you have NOT looked at the effects of bullying at all and are either high or stupid. Self Esteem is often low in autistic children because of bullying. Please, quit your job. This is not said lightly but quit your job. You don’t belong near vulnerable people.

I will be blogging extensively about your article and I hope you get this on your “other folder.” I also hope you read my article. As an autistic adult I am more qualified than you are to deal with autism and you have proven to be the least qualified hack  since Jenny McCarthy. For your education here is a link from me to you, about the risks associated with bullying. I didn’t consult it, because I know them by living them.

I AM More Important Than Your History

Random thoughts as I woke up this morning, and began my daily motions crept into my head. I have been thinking about the acecssibility of my city, or the lack there of. The excuse I am given in new buildings is that the sticker on the door should be enough. Some places obviously tried and usually it shows in grand ways. Other places give the excuse that to put a ramp in, or wide enough doors would be destroying the historical importance of the building that their business sits in. I am more important than the history of the world. All people are.

I know that this makes me appear to hate history, yet this is the opposite of truth. My first passion in life was history and I have always loved taking part in reenactments. I am for preservation but not when the preservation includes the history of excluding others based on arbitrary things such as skin color or ability. I suspect that the place I live is far from the only one guilty of such crimes, yet I look at the excuses and they no longer work.

The first time I approached a historical building and there was no ramp, the excuse worked, because then I did not know my rights under the Americans with Disabilities act. The second time I was told this, the excuse did not work but I had no power. Since then I have regularly avoided the section of town that is considered somehow worthy of preservation. Even going along the side walks outside is difficult as the inclines on the “accessible” places are so steep my power chair cannot make it, and coming down the other side of these inclines would likely be an act of suicide. Old Town is lovely, and often has events that are free and meant to gather the entire community. These events only count if you are willing to burn out your chair engine, sink into grass, or sit on the only part of the side walk that you can get to that is safe. The excuse is history.

None of these buildings retains their original purpose. They are all shops selling the same tourist crap. There are a few restaurants but they too are selling the tourist crap. People claim native ancestry and sit out on the side walks, because this is apparently historical too and barricade the way. I have had people get angry at me for asking them to move so I can go past. Then there is the staring. For some reason people react more strongly to my presence in this section of town. The idea that a disabled person may be near these expensive shops, may want to see some old time gun battling, or in general may want to be on the side walk that has curb cuts at BOTH ends (an extreme rarity in this town no matter the section) boggles their minds.

I have found my response finally, for why they need to have access for me and others who are disabled. I am more important than your history. It is not my history if I am prevented from learning about it. It is not a history I can embrace when a store that is selling the same tourist thing as the one next door can have stairs and no entry and their excuse is history. I realized this morning that the lie does not work for a very simple reason.

All of these buildings have restrooms. Every single one has a place to go when your bladder is full, when the tourist trap food gives you a stomach ache, or when you need to check your make up. Every single one. All of these buildings were built without restrooms. Every single one. They were built with out houses in the back, all of which are torn down. If access is less important than poop, you are obviously not thinking straight. If you prize history over poeple, you lose vital lessons about people that history contains. Yes, the stories here are amusing, amazing, and important. So are the people who want to hear them and might not be able to.

So there it is, my reply has been cemented finally. Whenever someone plays the history card in this never ending game of poker for bigots, I have my answer. If you can put in an outhouse, you can put in a ramp. I am more important than your history.

Catnip: Aztec Animal Clinic

Aztec Animal Clinic is located at 4340 Coal SE, Albuquerque NM 87108

Their Phone Number is : 505-265-4939

No one ever wants to need a veterinary hospital for their animals, and yet this is the best one I have ever been in. In previous places I had faced discrimination based on my disability, financial recriminations for being a poor person and daring to have an animal companion, and just a general process of humans being devalued. Needless to say my writing this should indicate none of that happened here.

At the Aztec Clinic my cat and I were valued equally, and highly. My financial limitations were respected, and every single doctor I dealt with made me feel safe and I had no hesitation on trusting them. I worked mostly with Benoit Bouchet, but several of their doctors were helpful in dealing with Nymph’s critical illness.

From my first phone call when dealing with their receptionists and asking about pricing on through my most recent visit, not my last by any means, there was no problem with my need to keep in mind my wallet. There were suggestions made on how I could help make ends meet and other hospitals were mentioned as places I might try. Aztec turned out to be the least costly and the best equipped for my veterinary needs.

My first visit we met the founder of the clinic, Dr. Truesdell, she was warm, understanding, and I didn’t feel like there was any grating despite my Autism always being a factor in conversation. Especially during times of stress. In fact, I appreciated how up front everyone was with me, each doctor asked me if they needed to sugar coat things, though they phrased that far better than I did. I was given the communication I needed. I was unaware she had founded the hospital at the time, or I would have had more faith on my next visit where we met Dr.Bouchet. He continued this trend, and each of the techs that I worked with, there were so many and I cannot recall all of their names, each one was the epitome of professional without professionalism being used to distance them from their clients.

Wait, there’s more. The receptionists, I worked mostly with Hope, 9/10 calls Hope answered and that is why she gets mentioned. She was great with me on the phone, and I will be honest, the phone is where I sound like I am a rabid badger. She was great in person. She was great even when I wasn’t sure how to answer a question. The amount of patience and actual care these people have just knocks my socks off. It was at a point where I was actually disappointed when Hope didn’t answer the first time, until my discovery that each of her colleagues has the same skills.

I wish I could go into detail with my experience here, but as I did on other pages of this blog and that writing is very sad, I want to try and keep this light hearted. This Catnip Award is the most well deserved so far, out of a tradition of only the best meeting my standards.

As always this means the ADA must be met, and then surpassed. The only flaw is their front door, but as the staff will help you, other clients will help you and I do believe the door was light enough, though M the Carer is the person who handled it the most often, it isn’t an object. The rooms, even their smaller rooms, are large enough for me and my chair, as well as other people. Their wheelchair friendly room is huge! In fact, I could navigate the space easily. There are enough places to sit where I wasn’t exposed to dog without my say so, which is incredible to me.

Even the lighting and decorations are soothing, this place was built to echo the chambers of your heart, a place of love.

Frankly even if they are no longer the cheapest vet, they are my vet. If you want a veterinary experience full of love that helps you and your pet to heal? Go to the Aztec Animal Clinic!

For more, please visit their website. http://www.aztecanimalclinic.com/

Victory!

Today there was a great Victory. Not just for me but for others with animals that are their helpmates. Service animals have always been controversial with in the doctor’s office. I have had to change doctors a few times given the responses, some places just refuse to accommodate your needs and when asked they would rather be reported for an ADA violation than bothering with reasonable accommodation. Today after my appointment I was told I couldn’t bring my service cat back in. I asked to speak to the person who made the decision and pulled out my well worn copy of the law. I realized this copy is the one I used last time a doctor’s office discriminated immediately, there was highlighting on the portions about medical offices.

I asked the why, and I was told something new. This office does allergy shots and the risk of exposure for other patients is a concern. I asked if we could compromise which startled the office manager. It actually made her freeze her eyes wide with shock. Compromise? She asked what I would suggest so using the ADA as an outline I pointed out that I sometimes cannot even get out the door without her, but I do not want others sick. Sprite will wear her most covering outfit when we go in and I will call in advance so I can go straight into the office where I will see my doctor. This was our compromise. This allows me to have my needs met but does not infringe on the rights of others.

I expected a huge battle, but instead I was given victory. I left a copy of the law with the office, and explained what each part meant to the office manager as well. She hadn’t really ever bothered learning the ADA laws and therefore was unaware she had been about to violate my rights. I did remind her ignorance is never a viable reason in the court room, but is instead the fool’s gambit. I said it as nicely as I could of course. Victory, glorious victory. I feel more secure going to the office now, I feel respected, I feel human, and I feel alive.

In other news, I started with my newest caregiver today. The previous person was so great but that partnership is at an end. She has moved on to another client who speaks her language fluently, so her needs are being met. The new caregiver and William are already attached, and she is going to see if she can take him home. William may have a home. She understands his needs, and is willing to make the commitment. All feels right in the world, though it is a bit rainy today. Oh well, it couldn’t be a perfect day… that might be asking just a bit too much!

Oh, and if you want some great audio entertainment… check out Pendant Audio. They do radio shows! I know that not everyone is into this sort of thing… yet their work is really high quality. I am currently catching up on my Earth-P radio listening. The shows are short and make great waiting room time killers for those days when you just can’t read.

The Generic Title that Misses the Feeling

How can I title this blog post? There is no title sufficient for what it is that I am getting to write about. I am home. I am free. I am safe.  No, it is not perfect but a perfect life was not what I pursued. A safe home was. I am sitting on my couch, in my living room, looking at my cats and the art on my walls and all I feel is this burning sensation that is a mixture of relief, joy, and grief.

I grieve for what was lost. The sanctity of love itself is no longer something I can cherish. I may find it again but I will never truly heal from the betrayal of my heart. In fact, this betrayal has given me new layers to my PTSD. Simple things, as those of you who have PTSD know, can trigger it and I must learn my new triggers. Foam Cups. They make me curl into myself and want to scream. I know the reason but that doesn’t make it any better. Time sheets. This one is a problem as I cannot escape time sheets even though I can escape foam cups. I will adapt, I will heal, and I will grow.

I do not know how to explain it but the grief shrinks by the second. William has not run into a wall once here. He did attack the cable guy, who rolled the attack off without harming William and with a smile. I really had a most amazing cable guy. He was patient, he didn’t make me feel unsafe, and the cats response to him was something he found amusing instead of upsetting. He even moved a piece of furniture so it was out of my way. Not his job, he just wanted to.

I have my ramp already too. The last place fought me tooth and nail and refused to put it in. They won, as far as the ramp goes. Little do they know that there will still be an investigation by the Fair Housing people. I may be moved but the investigation will reveal much. The ramp was put in last night, and this means I can go out and in. Right now using the manual chair is hard but it is freedom. There is so much to say. I spent the last week without anything to do, my mind is in a frenzy to be used for more than imagination and organization.

I even dreamed nonsense happy dreams. No nightmares. I actually slept more than five hours, despite my bed not making the trip in one piece. I have crashed on the couch and I do mean crashed. Until two days ago the instant I was alone I would fall asleep. I am still exhausted, the bone deep type that seeps into your marrow and leaves you loathing the waking world for having energy. My bed will be put up tonight. My friend M replaced the mold filled mattress and broken bits, my mother is bringing some strong young people with her and they will fix it.

My mother has come through for me, in such a way that it surprises me. I wonder now if the Zillas our mutual attempts to communicate, or if I am setting myself up for heart break. I think it is both. I cannot however turn down much needed help. Nor will I. My mother’s own trials continue and I can help her if she will allow it. There are specific ways too. I have not fought my last battle either, the place I am living may have fair housing violations, though I managed to get what I needed. If there is discrimination it is based on Race, and I suspect this has been confirmed by my needs being met and others who happen to be another color being denied. It is sad, but, I am the ally of the truth. The truth will come forth, and that is the best that can happen.

I am bouncing from topic to topic again, my poor mother didn’t believe me about the mold inside my waterbed, and her work crew tried to siphon out the water, and now one of their number who sucked that moldy water into his mouth is very sick. I feel sad for him but I am surprised that there is no guilt. I did tell them so. They wound up dragging the mattress outside and cut it open to find it was worse than what I had suspected. I wasn’t there for that but each of them was made sick by the smell. My new water-bed is going to be treated with care, so that it lasts forever. The mattress isn’t gold this time either but is green. I look forward to sleeping on it. No pressure on my body just the softness of a warm cloud. That’s what a good water-bed feels like to me, my pain may even vanish for the first few nights. Perhaps it will vanish forever, as the bed will not harden with mold. The mold had almost burst the other mattress, it was that bad.

I am eating real food too, not just making ends meet. My foodstamps card arrives any day now, perhaps even Monday. My mom brought me Bacon when she heard me mention how that was the first thing I would buy, so now, I am free. As my house comes together I find that my sense of tension is receding, more so now that I have an outlet for my mind. That was a slow torture, I tried to hold it back but when my book reader broke, I was suddenly trapped with just a cellphone for the world. Still, most of what helped was the fact that I could sit outside. No sunshade, a bit risky for my health but, I needed some sun. It’s been five months since I could just be outside without an excuse or worse was trapped exclusively inside.

My mom promised to help me get my garden set up in the Spring. My rosebush and tree need some love, but they will be well tended. I am also going to grow my own strawberries and I was considering pansies. There is much to do before Spring is here but I can dream about it, little flowers all in a bright display right there just for me.

Too this is the start of preparations for Halloween. Today I bought shoes for Winter, I found an amazing two pairs of shoes that fit and then went to the Dollar Tree, a true dollar store, that carries the same stuff as Walmart. There I bought a few decorations for my favorite Holiday. My faith also allows for Halloween to be a very special day. I am going as Snow White. There will be pictures. I can also get my corset now that I am moved, and curtains. I also have enough room in my living room and bedroom for more art. I am going to someday get Nene Thomas’ art for my home. She’s my favorite Artist, I found her work when I was younger and was hooked. I have other favorites but she is the foremost, and her work is also not all that expensive. Some artists want 100 dollars for a print, but I can get small prints for five or ten dollars. How smashing is that? Something that if I budget wisely I can afford.

I have an electric bill now too. I have bills. I cannot hold back the glee that bubbles in me. I have bills! I have almost everything I need and there is little that I want truly. My wishlists already seem outdated and overly full. I need a blender, I should get a recliner that helps me stand (replacing my couch that broke last night) and maybe another book shelf. That is it, excluding wheelchairs.

I even have a big screen TV, it was here when I moved in. I found a windchime in my boxes of stuff too, one I thought long broken, and so I even have music in the wind. There is so much that I am getting rid of, I may be able to cover the blender after that sale.

I will write more later, I have to write a How To with caregivers, as there is some information there. I am changing agencies, and that will be the source of more knowledge. K my wonderful caregiver and I exited the honeymoon period. The change of Agencies shouldn’t cause me to lose her however. We worked out the really minor issues and the main stress with having a caregiver has to do with the paperwork and scheduling. That means I can leave that over with someone else and be much calmer.

Now I plant the seeds in my soul, for my soul and heart are entering a glorious spring after their long winter. The seeds will grow into happiness, joy, and a further understanding. I will share the fruits that come from these with the world as I have shared all I am and know. The changes that he wrought will only make me stronger and my inner garden more beautiful.

A Breath of Panic (Trigger Warning)

It came as a small scratching at the door. The wind and rain pounding on the outside making it easy to ignore. The cats sat staring at the closed curtains, each bristling. Then came the howls of the neighbor’s dog. It was snarling with rage. Even still, it could’ve been ignored. It was an eventful storm, loud and showing the wrath of nature. Nature screaming at the impending violation of his presence? The words brought me to pause, literally as I was watching a movie. “Oh (expletive) the door is locked.”

Immediately I sprang into action, my immobile body trapping me with the slowness that comes with adrenaline. My hands shook as I dialed first the Security office at the apartment, then the police. Someone had tried to enter. I couldn’t tell if it was my Ex. I knew it was. The cats ignore most strangers but fear him. In fact every day I still find new shades of things he has done. Today I learned that William answers to curse words.

The operator for 911 asked me to stay on the line. I appreciated that, I felt like I was going to pass out from panic. I didn’t tell her. If I said it, it acknowledged the part of me that had to wait. She had answered the phone before and remembered my voice, and that alone was comfort. Another bang came, and I heard the van driving up to the front. There were some thuds… then he was inside. It lasted for a split second, I never even saw him. The Security officer was there, and the police came as quickly as they could. The storm slowed them. I listened to the howl and watched my cats rage.

What happened? Using his key he broke into my storage unit, then he forced the door to open with brute force. The cats hid, and I risked pain by rolling off of my spot and crawling behind the wall space. I didn’t cry. I will probably when I lay down. I can’t yet. Everything is still to fresh. It’s been five hours and I just sit here. I finished my movie, I called people.

There is of course more to this story, but, he came again. I had just started to feel safe. The police told me I may not open my windows or doors, they will be watching the apartment as they can but any other crisis will pull them away. This will last until I move. I know too, now that there are two warrants for his arrest. I asked if I could write about that, and they said “Sure. If he reads it he may turn himself in, which will make his punishment much less.”

He did get away with some things. He took a few of my wheelchair accessories but not the wheelchair. I had started to feel safe. The complacency of having a moving date in mind and being about to pay my deposit via the help of my friend M, it left me feeling safe. I am still imagining. I am not just staring at the walls but I am browsing online stores and imagining what items may look like in my home and my yard.

I am (expletive) terrified. I should be. The idiot (yes I am just going to call him what he seems to be) first broke into the wrong apartment. The neighbor’s dog went after his balls and he may or may not have a serious groin injury. The neighbor did not see his face but was fairly certain it was him. They also called the police. Other neighbors heard the barking and looked outside. A total of six different neighbors and myself called in but he still escaped.

I do feel safer knowing that they didn’t ignore it. I have some balls I got for free with a bag of catfood, I am not sure why they were giving dog toys away but, I had been intending to give them to a service dog I know. Now they will be one less. The officer hand delivered the tennis ball for me, because that dog saved my life. I would’ve ignored it. I’ve felt like a crazy woman jumping at every sound.

It has worn me down so far, that I cannot even comprehend saftey. It feels like this distant dream. The concept that I could be safe? It’s a sweet torture. I can’t stop imagining it but now it feels like the worst idea ever. I do not want to sleep in my bed, it smells bad and I am afraid, one of the neighbors reported a gun.

Because he entered the storage unit and only he and I have a key, it was deemed beyond a reasonable doubt that he broke in. The police are going to make my landlord fix my door first thing in the morning, and security is parked out front. I know they will protect me but, I cannot stop the fear. None the less, I know I did the right thing. The police were impressed with my ability to protect myself. I will be feeling the effects for days.

In fact I never would have known he had entered the storage shed if I had not leaned on the door to keep my balance. I felt it shift and we all heard the lock click. I checked because they suspected he was hiding in side, but no such luck.

I do know this will help me with my restraining order. I go to court Wednesday at 9:45 AM. If he reads this maybe he will show up. He can tell them it’s all in my head.

I keep replaying the moment where he penetrated my home, there was a crackling sound, the door still closes now but he forced the locking mechanism through the wood, which was already damaged enough it looks whole. I felt myself stop, the cats were bolting away so I rolled and felt the most pain I have in a long time. I know nothing is broken that wasn’t before, and I will be bruised but, if I had been in his line of sight I might be dead.

I can’t wait to move. The good news is my friend who is helping me with the rent and deposit this month, so I can get out of Dodge has also replaced my waterbed mattress and has given me bedding. This means when I move I will sleep that first night in a bed that is full of clean instead of the decrepit filfth. I may even leave the mold filled waterbed here with the bags of his belongings. I no longer plan to try returning them to him. I will abandon it.

If you are wondering how bad the bed is, let me just say that the smell fills the entire house, and both K and myself have been taking benedryl so that we can breathe, the cats too. When I lay down it crunches, and sometimes it stabs me hard enough I can’t find a spot to rest on. I have no bedding as it is, and the poor man wound up having to replace everything except my bed frame. My ex found a way to ruin everything he could.

I will eventually post the wishlists here, though I may hide my really outlandish jewelry wishlist from you all. I decided to just make a list of anything pretty I may someday want, ignoring the fact most of it is over priced and I would never buy it.

Thank you all again for your support. I want to use this moment to draw your attention to a blog post that reminded me that this would’ve been way better if I wasn’t disabled. I wouldn’t have to fight for any police response. Tonight has been the major exception and not the rule. I had probably the best officer on the entire APD show up. So, here it is. This too has a trigger warning but it’s worth it.

What makes the world go round?

I have had time to think, between the cleaning. My apartment, this temporary shelter is now clean. I look at it and if I could just feel safe, I know I could stay. I could live here.

I cannot open my door alone, every white van that drives by, it has me jumping out of my skin. Plus, the rat things that were here could return. I cannot stay.

I have reminisced too, thinking on what I was, what I could be. I keep going back to that fateful day when I became irrevocably disabled, when I couldn’t escape it any longer. Yes, I thought I was able bodied, but it was a lie. I was merely Temporarily Able Bodied.

I’ve played it out in my head, the moments, each heart beat. I remember the lift of the van seat, and tried to see what would happen if I had just flowed with the van. It’s a dramatic opera in my head, like an underwater ballet.

The crash of glass is added in, as I, not yet buckled when the accident hit, go through the window. I die in this scenario, the children too. Nothing is better. It is in a way worse. It is worse because of the potential I would’ve stiffled.

It’s the what if game. What if I had made a different choice? Would I still be pent up? Would I still be burdened by fear? Would i still have met my now Ex?

I don’t know. Too many unknowns leave shadows in the game, it lets my mind run wild. None of the alternative scenarios are good. Most of them end in a gory death. I turn my imagination off and wonder too, the what if’s of the future.

What if they cure my disorders? Will it be an in the womb cure? Eugenics? Do I want them cured? Then I back track into that past of mine again, dodging the shadows of terror, to acknowledge my disabilities have saved me too.

I cannot change the past, and again am reminded, I do not want to. I want to be just me. I like who I am. I like knowing what makes me tick. If I changed the past, I would be someone else, and I do not think I would be happy, if alive.

This too reminds me of the cure, if they were to cure this body, it would take an erasure of my own history, which would again alter me. Without my memories do I lose my essence? Probably.

I am tough, and I can be out and out mean. I have had to let this meanstreak run. Oh, I may make a few barbed jokes here and there, but while cleaning this temporary shelter, while digging my way out with the help of K my new care giver, I have had to be cruel.

I cannot return every single thing he has bought to him, because I do not have room to store it all. I am still astounded at the amount of trash that one person can accumulate. We went into the storage area today, I secretly long to find my missing stuffed rabbit. The only vestage of my childhood. I know she’s gone forever. I know he likely desecrated her.

I am going to do something wicked too. I am going to live. I will find a place that I can go, I will find a place where I can thrive. Today, I renew myself, fertile grounds to grow in. The seeds of who I am are planted, and although I have had many winters in this life, as the world I live in turns to fall, my own heart begins a spring.

I dream of feeling safe. I dream of freedom. I dream of walks on sunny days. I dream of taking the cats out to play. I dream of small children visiting me. I drema too, of the stories I will write. When I am moved, I can return to my novel. I can feel safe enough to let myself play.

Today, I plant the seeds of dreams. I set new goals. They are all short ranged goals, but they are goals. I will survive. I have survived. I am surviving.

My Name:
by Kateryna Fury

My name is not victim.
My name is not survivor.
My name is not Woman.
My name is all these things and more. My name is life.
My name is Joy.
My name is Love.
My name is freedom.
My name is strength.
My name is mine.

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