Jun. 30th, 2005

blustocking: (Default)
STOP FUCKING RAINING SO THAT I CAN WALK HOME WITHOUT GETTING SOAKED. K thnx.

Please to be resuming the rain when I DO get home.

Saw The Rapist again today. We talked about you. No, not you....you.
I...don't know how I feel about it. It meaning therapy. Conflicted. Apparently my logic is flawed. My pride in my ability to handle nearly any hurt, flawed. Putting myself in these situations to see what I can handle, skewed. I'm not sure about any of it, except that a part of me, a big part, doesn't want to stop. It's my way of maintaining control....which is apparently a sign of "trauma". I have a hard time believing my stunted coping mechanisms are not the result of some momentously horrendous event, but a monster more of the flesh and blood variety.
I'm just a bundle of crap right now....and oh so skilled with....the...word-type things.

He seems to think I should have been more forceful when that flesh and blood called me recently, more to the point of "Leave me the fuck alone and if you contact me again, I will call the cops." I suppose that's true, but I was taken aback, and frankly, poised for illness. He may be right, but doing that now would mean contacting the fucker and I cannot stand to hear his voice. I suppose this requires more thought.

Dodgeball tonight. Go Ron Wilsons!

Painting painting and more painting but not enough.

May 2010

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