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This area is reserved for the tidbits I know hope will be of interest to my readers. Check back often for regular updates. 


Check out this article about the Fifty Shades of Grey phenomena, including a list of organizations which strongly oppose this sick trend, and have implemented various means of helping women who have been sexually victimized.


Were you raised by a narcissist? Chances are you were if you suffered any form of childhood abuse. The Little Red Survivor website is filled with excellent articles examining the many faces of narcissism.


It's been a long time coming---7 years to be exact---but finally email notifications for new BD posts is available. Sign up today and never again miss another post. You know you want to!













Kate Is Rising has an excellent Survivors Resources page which directs you to numerous websites dealing with issues of abuse, healing and recovery. Please bear in mind that the information on these pages may be triggering.



There's lots of good stuff at the Dissociation Blog Showcase, including a list of 180 blogs dealing with some aspect of this disorder. 



On the Overcoming Sexual Abuse site there's an article entitled, "It's Not About You Mom" which I could have written myself. I bet many of my readers could say the same!








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Old Moldy

Today I took a ride in Old Moldy. Sad to say, that's what I've recently dubbed my car. Someone attempted to break into it months ago by using a crowbar to bend the steel framing around the back windows. As a result, every time it rains the backseat gets soaked. No one noticed this for some time, as hardly anyone ever uses the backseat. When it was first noted that the car leaked, the mold had already set in. My son has been using the car for his long commute to and from work. I had to laugh today when I saw the little face masks he uses to protect himself from the nearly debilitating odor.

Have you ever seen mushrooms growing in a car, or seat-belts furry with mold? I am not making this up. I spent a lot of time in that car today running errands and, let me tell you, my tummy protested all the way. This is a good little car, running-wise. I've never had a problem with it until now. Doesn't it just figure that something like this would happen? I mean, what is it with me and cars?

Back in the 80's my ex gifted me with a car whose horn blared every time I made a right hand turn. Naturally he failed to mention this little quirk; imagine my consternation the first time I turned right into a filling station and the horn blasted my arrival. This was the busiest time of day for the gas station, and there was only one guy on duty pumping gas, a surly teenager with a short fuse.

"Hey lady!" he hollered over at me as I waited my turn in line, nearly dying of embarrassment. "Wait your turn! Can't you see all these other customers were here before you?"

I stuck my head out the window to explain, but he'd already stomped off to wait on someone else, all the while throwing me contemptuous looks. Some of the other customers were giving me none too friendly looks as well. When it was finally my turn, the attendant stomped over to my window, shoved his face close to mine, and said, "I told you, wait your turn!"

I explained the situation and he stomped off to fling open the hood of my car. Yanking on this and that did no good. He slammed the hood shut, breezed by me long enough to demand how much gas I wanted, and tried to unscrew my gas cap. Oh naturally it wouldn't budge! By this time I was ready to simply drive off, but he was swearing so profusely I thought better of it. When he finally succeeded in unscrewing the little bugger he threw it on the ground with all the force of his wrath.

As I said, what is it with me and cars? I couldn't help but laugh today while riding around in Old Moldy with my daughter in-law and granddaughter. It's one of those situations you have to have a sense of humor about or---well, or--- react like the surly gas attendant.

I'm taking Old Moldy in for a professional cleaning and electronic deodorizing on Monday. I know better than to get my hopes up. Some days all you can do is try. Laugh and try, and hope for the best.



My Addlepated Ramblings

I'm really  disoriented today. I'm still adjusting to my new blog; as much as I love it, it's so vastly different from the old template that it startles me every time it comes up.

This morning, half awake, I thought of a short story that begged to be written. Perhaps not all begging should be dignified with an answer. All I know is, I crawled out of bed, plopped down in front of my PC and began writing off the top of my head. No coffee in my system though--- not just because it was early but more to the point, there's no creamer in the house. (By the way, I haven't had a problem with coffee grounds lately. I seem to have overcome that particular quirk of mine. My latest coffee related quirk is not being able to pour a cup without ending up with a lake on the counter.)

Where was I? Oh yes (I really should stop interrupting myself), the disorientation thing. As anyone who keeps up with my blog knows, yesterday several of my kid parts collaborated on a poem. I feel a tad bit left out. After all, two of them have been MIA for months, one of them I see only in glimpses as she darts upstairs to her room, her face hidden behind a mane of hair which hasn't been brushed in, well probably forever. And the other one, Beezer, well I barely know her. How the four of them got together without me knowing about it, I don't know. I suspect all kinds of goings on take place when my back, so to speak, is turned. Did they have to write this poem then go back into hiding? Apparently so. Maybe now that the ice has been broken there will be more sightings, more random drive bys (or should I say "outings"?)

Last weekend my cousin and I took in a movie. My, my, I couldn't help but think sarcastically as we drove off into the dark, "imagine that, Beauty gets out after dark. Wheeee!" So we picked this particular movie (Children of Men) because of a good review, also on account of our original choice being too violent. On the way we stopped at a little hole in the wall Mexican restaurant we'd never seen before, and the food was outstanding. The best salsa and nachos of my life. Oh yum, my mouth waters just thinking about it. So on to the movie. Boy I'm sure glad he talked me out of the violent one. So glad we went with this one instead (not.) Good grief, every time I plunged my hand into the bag of popcorn (which did NOT have extra butter as requested, it was dry as sawdust), someone else was getting shot, stabbed, and let's just say "etc." for those of you who may actually want to see this movie, and don't want it spoiled. I will say the acting was excellent as was the directing.

 Afterwards, my cousin walked about 3 blocks to his car and I stood shaking in the cold and wind, waiting for his scrawny self to hurry up. It was dark and my night vision's nothing to write home about, so it occurred to me as I stood squinting at the cars approaching, what if I got into a car I thought was my cuz's, but it wasn't, and just as I shut my door and turned to make a smart alec remark, I saw my mistake? Ok, so then I thought, let's say it's a housewife who's treated herself to the rare luxury of a night at the movies. With much pleading she managed to drag her hubby here, and he even held her hand when the lights went down and offered to get more butter for the popcorn when she complained of how dry it was (something my cousin didn't do by the way.) OK, so now the show's over. Who knows if they liked it, they were so busy rediscovering each other. They stroll lazily outside together and he offers to go get the car, as she has a bad, let's see, a bad knee, and the walk would make it throb like a bad toothache. So he trots off and she stands in the dark in a sort of romantic haze, smiling to herself, anticipating a much needed night of passion. She peers at the cars driving by, not really thinking of anything beyond the ride home, and the promise of a delicious later. A car approaches and she steps from the curb, grabs the handle, plops inside with a highschool girlish laugh, shutting and locking the door behind her. As she turns to say something amusing to her hubby, she sees with shock that it's not hubby after all. It's some big sloppy zit faced man with a sneer on his face, greasy hair and, she sees as she looks frantically around, a back seat strewn with empty beer cans and kiddie porn.

Oh brother. Can we all groan in unison? Where do I get these ideas anyway? And why did I bring all this up when I was talking about my blog, and disorientation? Well I suppose it must be that I've been a bit off kilter since that night, truth be told. Just the oddity of going out and doing something fun, mingled with a surprisingly good meal, a surprisingly violent movie, my twisted thoughts of getting in the wrong car, then a few days later, my new pale pink get where I'm going with this, right? I don't know what I'm doing. Oh, let's also throw in my 4 parts making an appearance long enough to post a poem, then going back into hiding. Other than that, not much happening around these parts. (Get it?) Oh I know I should stop this nonsense and get back to the story I began this morning. It's already about 10 pages long, hopefully I won't ever finish it. If I do finish it and everyone's lucky, I won't publish it here. But with the way my mind's been working lately, I wouldn't count on it.



Jan312007 the eye of the beholder

This is how my granddaughter sees me:








This is how I see me:






And this is what I hope others see when they look inside of me:



Slip Slidin' Away

Where do I go when another personality takes over? Is there even a "me" at all or is that merely an illusion? My therapist of several years ago told me that I'm a separate personality from all of my insiders. I wonder though. Wonder if that's par for the course for multiples. She only had about 5 months, once a month, to work with me, so maybe that was a lucky guess on her part.

Some days it feels as if no one's home inside. A great emptiness looms and there are no voices to keep me company throughout my day. I long for the sound of Jenny's laughter, but remember she's still in hiding. Mrs. Homebody, my system's resident caretaker, must have her hands full these days. I don't hear much from her either. And Vava (pronounced VAY-va) my 13 year old, very likely has gone in search of Jenny and my missing comedian, Funnygal. She and Jenny are the best of friends, despite their age difference (Jenny is 7.)

This is what gets me about integration: wouldn't you keenly miss your individual parts? Yes I know that some say those parts would all still be there, you just wouldn't sense or feel them as keenly as before integration. I don't want to experience all my parts as one lump sum. Since I never have before, why would I ever want to do so? Just the thought raises my anxiety level, makes me think of things dying and sorrowed over.

My parts and I have had many adjustments to make recently. One of the reasons I chose this new template for my blog is because pink is Vava's favorite color. The Little One, who is pre-verbal, is also drawn to this color. Normally I would have help blogging but none of my writers are on hand to contribute their two cents worth. I know that change is extremely hard for them. The person I refer to as "I" tries to make things go as smoothly as possible, and to keep a stiff upper lip. But lately I wonder, who am I doing this for? Everyone's scattered to their hidey-holes, so what difference does it make if I buck up or crumple come nightfall?

I feel myself slip slidin' away just like the others, and I hope there is something to grab hold of before that happens.

(I feel as Jenny did when she wrote the following after we lost our dad and brothers, decades ago.)




Beauty's Face Lift

Isn't it a kick when the shoe fits?

Once upon a time, in the midst of his happy ever after love for Beautyrella, the Prince suddenly asked her, oh so gently, "Do you think it's time for a face lift, darling?" A soft sigh escaped Beauty's lips at the thought that her dear lover found her less than appealing. "Your features have become rather dark and drab," he prodded, and picking up one of her listless, liver-spotted hands, kissed it affectionately.

A single tear formed in the corner of Beauty's eye; she could hardly believe her ears. "But," she faltered, searching for the right words to convey her consternation, "but darling," she managed, "I like dark. It suits me so."

At this the Prince chuckled. "You no longer live in the cellar," he reminded her with a twinkle in his eyes. "You must live according to your new station in life as the Prince's beloved!"

"Oh," Beauty gasped, eyes widening with sudden comprehension, "then I shall array myself in the softest pinks, for they are the hues of my love's devotion."

Uh, yeah. That conversation never quite happened. I'm writing metaphorically, for it's my blog (and only my blog, I hope) in dire need of a facelift. What you see here is the result of total frustration with a template which was too dark, fonts too small (which couldn't bear tampering, or rather which I didn't dare tamper with at the risk of my sentences being all smushed together.)

I hope this blog will better suit my readers' needs. Some of them, like myself, are getting on in years and need a bit larger font. And maybe there's a bit of symbolism here; I've been writing recently about coming out of my trance, of this being the year for me to turn things around. How fitting, then, to begin with a lighter, easier to read blog. My old site is still available HERE for those of you who are dying to delve into its archives and do some catch up reading. I know you're out there somewhere!


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