moving on…

what you ask for will come with patience and no expectations,even when you dont know you are asking. I am not bothering with grammar and typos. I am in a hurry. always in a hurry these days. always fighting being in a hurry by procrastinating and poorly prioritising whatever will bring a moment of peace into my chaos.

I am living with two cats in caravan, going to Massage Therapy licensing classes (that is a whole rant in there, can you tell? fuck the system). I almost want to say I got here through a series of unfortunate events, but I have never really looked at “bad things” in a bad way. Every experience makes us who we are meant to be right? so whatever is going on with me is supposed to be making me a better person? more compassionate and understanding of the general human condition and the complications every life needs to experience at some level. so many people have it worse than me. but relatively speaking I feel like I am being sucked into the drain of a cesspool…and my “positive outlook” is just hoping the drain leads to a water filtration system and not a leach field.

How detailed do I get? jealousy spite restraining order divorce papers psychoanalysis depression  guilt and anger fighting the possibility of joy, peace and a new life…


I frequently fantasise I am really a succubus…a dark creature due to the eternal life that must be fed with the life energy of those she seduces…Many stories talk of the succubus hiding in society moving from place to place to hide the death she brings (but what if those deaths were metaphysical? the people live but empty, bitter, broken for the rest of their meagre, ugly lives, a fate worse than death.) How much pain would the demon endure leaving the shells of the people she loved and devoured emotionally? she would have to move on. the more she loved them, the more she would need to leave them because she would not want to see them left crippled by her draining energy. Sounds like a real narcisstic, energy vampire to me. she loves and gives love but the love she gives is a deception and distraction for the love and energy she steals.  if she truly became to love someone she could not stay and watch herself destroy them. so how does a succubus begin a new life, recreating herself?

of course I remember being a child in the 70s, so I know my life is not eternal in this realm, I began this life not too long ago and it will end, thank god, eventually.

I am a mom. Ever since my first child was born, when I was 19, it seems I fit into this “mama” stereotype. everyone wants to see me as their mother…but it came before that…I mothered my mother, caring for her as she worked, wanting to pamper her on her days off…always wanting to make sure my mommy would be ok. In a way I even mothered my father a bit emotionally. telling him he would be okay when life was making him feel like a fuck up. some how caring for people feeds me. I think it boils down to, ‘if I give you the love you need (nurturing, sex, a shoulder to cry on a cheerleader-not my best, i never made the team) then you will NEED me and, out of your own self preservation, you will want to take care of me, and love me, so that I will keep feeding you. it is a vicious cycle… not exactly co-dependency but definitely, at minimum,  symbiotic relationship.  but then, it has always felt like the only time I get love is when I give it.

except the other night…the Angel, came when i had a migraine, just briefly…unexpectedly…he throws my whole perception of existence into a whirlwind. If I could contain the whole of my being in the moment our lips are pressed together, well, that is it isn’t it? that is perfection. nothing else matters.  How long could we maintain a static kiss?  it is there I want to spend eternity…and then again he is quiet and doesn’t tell me why he visits when he does, what he wants from me, when I will see him again, and yet I get more and more enthralled by him…i want him completely. i want his child, i want his soul, instead, it seems, he is devouring mine.

“the Walrus” a chef and musician…a new friend…a new victim…i am scared for him. I watched him. i waited. when i was away from the Master’s control (aka, the EX-and by the way he chose the pseudonym years ago), pushed out in an effort to punish me, i pounced. It was a deep feeling the Walrus had what I would need and I could feed him like he has never been fed. I try to be honest. I try to give a warning. “I will not be yours.” “I might hurt you.” ” Please, be careful with how you feel about me.”  He is so sweet, and lovable, and he does love me in wonderful ways. I feel sorry for him that the angel has stolen my kisses, locked away my expectations, but the Walrus is more of a companion and friend, never ignoring more, never giving me doubt of the joy he shares with me and how big I make him feel….that was an epiphany for me…he told me I made him feel like a “big man”, which in my mind he always was, but so too have others been to me, never has one told me that I made them feel as important and as special as they made me feel; he makes me feel just as special, and stronger not weak or in need of coddling like the Master…the Angel? well, he makes me feel … dangerous but vulnerable… like a scorpion when it has shed its exoskeleton and the sharp point of the stinger is too soft to penetrate anything, all the strength in the creature is just a ghost growing stronger with patience and time but still in the most vulnerable of conditions after every growing pain.


so I am confused and overwhelmed. I am loved, and feared. I am lost, not seeing my children, not feeling like as much of the mother I once was- because I only accepted this nurturing side of me through my children. I am found, seeing that I can grow, stand on my own and still accept a helping hand. I can nurture not just with sex, not just as a caring mother, but I can accept myself and all I have to learn and teach, give and receive in grace…i am trying to grow up, with out growing old and being torn down.

The new psychoanalyst I am seeing told the ex and myself that he believes the diagnosis of “bipolar” has become an over-used, over-simplified catch all category to dish out drugs. Thank God some one says it is normal to be moody and handle copious amounts of stress the way I have. Me, bipolar? fuck you.



Ya got do that in a real slow phonetic way to real get that dumbfounded sound that is the collective of my thought process for the last few weeks…
Everything will be used against me. Nothing is safe, no one else is involved. Life is all about charity…and then it isn’t charity FOR YOU it is charity to feel better about themselves, but he’ll take what you can get and love people by making them feel good about them selves. Always be wary tho. Don’t do anything that anyone can use against you- and that comes down to a matter of your own conscience. If you believe in a god, what will you be able to say to him about your life…seriously? Is your God going to punish you somehow if you don’t recycle? Or if you abort your baby? Or sleep around? Is it realitive moralism … Or is it judging others how you wish to be judged? Personally I don’t want to judge or hurt anyone. Not choosing to hangout with certain people isn’t a judgement call. It is a blessings call. Can this person and I enhance each others’ well being, or will it be more harmful, or just plan unproductive?  Taking comfort in a friendship is a good thing. Being a support in a friendship is a good thing. Being lovers in a friendship is a complete thing. Not just a surface patronising, but deep intimacy, trust, and openess, no boundaries on each other for the sake of humility or ego and that takes self acceptance. That takes time. 

I have been using the swing set in my new surroundings. It is the old sturdy kind schools had when I was growing up. I like to pump my legs and build up speed. I love how my stomach tightens and oils on my back so I have to tighten it more…if I get going fast and high enough my pelvic floor starts to pull and tighten and suddenly the work feels like sex my hands gripping tight to the chains as my arms and core fight to keep me on the swing and the whole body motion maintains the momentum, it is hard to stop, too much sensation to keep going. My head rises above the support bar and I can’t help but laugh and feel like and idiot out in public, breathing deep pumping and holding on in what feels like gentle but intense effort. Does anyone else imagine those noises sound an awful lot like when I have sex…I tell myself to be quiet and I try to hold it in, but that just makes the build up and falling sensation even harder to bare and with a few more deep breaths with the struggle to hold on I start to slow…my feet touch the ground but still I must hang on wait for the swing to stop so I don’t hurt my self with the impact of gravity and ground colliding… finally I can jig off the seat and try try try to catch my breath fold in my wings b r e a t h e deep and deeper until the desire to faint fades away and my land legs have stability. After a session like this Tuesday, after walking back to my home and climbing into bed, I swear it felt like a sonic bomb went off in my uterus. It was not an orgasm, with the clenching and releasing of the pelvic floor and kegals in those oh so familiar ways, this was an explosive wave of energy that radiated so strong and struck a note in each chakra point…from my pubis out to my head…it felt like something magical happened, but I don’t want to expect too much. I just want to be open and honest with myself and the expectations I just can’t trust or put any value on need to be ignored and allowed to happen or not happen in what ever way they can with me being an influence…how naive is that?

School starts Monday. God I hope I can still hack it.

Is it Weak to Need Someone?

​The way I need you

To love you

To feel you are a friend

A lover

A beacon of light and hope 

Drawing me through the storm 
Sometimes I can barely feel you

in the darkness

The mists of the storm

The dark shadows of clouds

Engulfing me 

I cling to the ship

My soul

My life

Thinking somehow

If I hold tight enough

I can keep the ship afloat

I can guide her to safety

If I just focus 

On what may be an illusion

That faint light 

Far in the distance

Glowing through the mist

But the light 
The light is the danger…

Aiming at the light brings me to the rocks

Where do I go?!

What do I do?!

I know not what port I am in

I know not where safety awaits

This ship gives a sense of security

Do I jump ship and swim to shore

Will I become new in the salt water

Maybe I am not the ship…

I falsely cling to the crashing ship

Thinking it will save me

But it will take me down

Drown me in sorrows and pain

I have wings

I was meant to fly above the storms

But this ship has trapped me

Kept me sea bound

For far too long
I must swim through the rocks 

Go beneath the water 

while the storm passes

When I get to land

I will dry 

Unvail what I was always meant to be

When there is no one else

I am sick of my drama, the drama that is my life. I hate talking about it to anyone really. Of course, everyone asks, “how are you?” “How’s life?” “What have you been up to?” Are you polite, or honest, or just vague? Most people get the polite lie, everything is good, just living life one day at a time. Some people, I feel I need to be honest with, life sucks, but I am being strong, relying on a benevolent God even as I start to question who It is. I am losing my strength though. I really want to fall apart. I really want to feel safe. I think someday I will be happier than ever. Someday, I will have all I could dream, and more, and even the biggest problems will be…easier? to deal with emotionally, than where I am now.

I was served a restraining order yesterday. I was told I am unsafe to care for my children after 25 years. In reality parenting concerns were only a minor issue. Jealousy, humiliation, lashing out in pain was the real source.

   Haste, makes waste. Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was the first class I took when I started going back to therapy and the psychiatrist. Taking actions based on a weighed balance of logical and emotional thinking, does make one consider others as well as themselves. Weighing options, considering possible outcomes, makes me much slower to take many actions. I think this has helped me avoid the types of breakdowns I grew up having, and the breakdown I had eight years ago before my first affair helped get me on track.

As a child, the stress of how other people saw me and treated me, always puts much expectation on myself. I had to be good. I had to be smart. I had to be liked, loved, special even to anyone who had power in my life. Yes, I was the teachers pet, brown noser (though I tried to be more sincere than that sounds) most the time. I said, “as a child”, but really my whole life. Be good be good be good being good is the only reason people like you, pretend to love you, and most importantly TAKE CARE OF ME….all while thinking, knowing, hoping I could take care of myself (not to mention the seven children I so eagerly bore) but too afraid to find out.

So here I am, alone. With no one I can trust to talk to. No one I can feel comfortable, let alone safe around. Except Grandma’s cat…at least she didn’t wander far from the RV and will be here keeping me company all night, well what’s left of the night..

I took a muscle relaxer, I am smoking sativa (alien dawg I believe, if the label and the bud were still properly matched)…I should sleep good and hard and LATE. I LOOK FORWARD TO SLEEP….

We see a judge on Friday. And though the father of my children quickly regretted his legal action against me, though he found a loophole and made it legal for me to stay in the home with my kids, though he pretty much begged, with sadness and humility pouring forth, I left. I insisted he provide a place for me (tho I did find the courage to ask daddy to reimburse the family funds) and their father went even further saying his dreams are dieing so he will just give me the trailer basically and signed it over to me and said the money was mine…(because I was a bitch and through the 50/50 state thing back in his face like he kept telling me)…he was being kind. He says he does this, these kindnesses that lure me into a false security, because he cares and is such a good guy and so sorry…sometimes tho…I just think he is #lovebombing to protect his own insecurities. I think…well I can never say what I think because either I don’t trust my thoughts, or I don’t want to believe them.

Home again, but not home

I have an ultrasound appointment this morning. No food or drink allowed. 😔 I had such a horrible migraine when I left to camp and the mushroom, pot, meditation, skinny dipping, nothing was helping so I packed mist my stuff up took two benadryl and half a cyclobenzaprine, and crawled into my sleeping bag. I had taken off the rain fly so I could just lay and look at the stars. So I woke up at 1:20 am, and felt great. No more headache! I finished packing up camp doused the log that was left in the fire, and went to see my lover.

I was so so SO looking forward to climbing into bed with him…something about him makes me not care about the dirty house or dirty sheets…he makes it all smell so good and feel so relaxed. Usually the door is unlocked and I just sneak in pet the dog undress and climb in bed. He curls around me like we have been separated far too long and if I can calm my excitement from being with him I sleep so much better so relaxed…but he locked the door last night. So I had to come home. Pretty heartbreaking.

Two of the kids were still up when I got in. I remembered no food or drink after midnight so hugged them brushed my teeth and went to husband was surprised to see me, but it couldn’t stop there…along with cuddles and a nice massaging I had to play therapist and listen to him go over all his wants and desires and loneliness and basically how badly I make him feel because I am not who he needs me to be. 

This puts me in that place with her. That one I was talking about in my previous post. The one who just wants to be a good perfect girl and give everyone what they need to be happy regardless of how it makes me feel. Fuck me, it doesn’t matter if I feel soiled, used, abandoned, as long as I am making everyone else around me feel loved, cherished and happy..I am supposed to sit in the corner and get over my ugly selfish idea that how I feel matters. I hate that self righteous bitch. I don’t want to kill me I want to kill her, long slow and painfully…maybe that is what I am doing.
Edit/post script:7 August, 2026

After a week at home, I started to see something…I started to see that this other person who is so confused about her roll in life and how to be GOOD to be loved and liked by all…I am beginning to question if that is me at all…I really kind of think it is my husband-who in weird ways keeps trying to be me. Has it always been that we liked the same things, or has he always tried to show me how much better he is at the stuff I want to learn and do…and like if he IS “better” at things like painting, cooking, writing, massage, parenting, cleaning, this that and the other, does that mean I am obligated to do things his way?  

We are very different people in the way we grew up, in the families, cultures, and ideals that form the foundations of who we are as individuals. We have tried so hard to be that perfect long lived married couple, to not “fail” and divorce-the way our parents did! that not only did we enmesh beyond healthy boundaries, we transposed. 

Sometimes it is an awesome amazing thing when a couple is so insync, so similar to each other, they complete each other’s sentences, they agree on restaurants without a second thought, or attention to detail. 

We wanted that. Too much. First I went his way. Forget who I am, ignore that he picks what we eat because his choices are always better for some reason…and now he forgets his conviction because he wants needs loves me so much and if I won’t bend anymore then he feels he has to. I was young, foolish, and easily let my Self go. He is trying so hard, but I cannot let him do it. Christ may have said, die to yourself that you may live in me; but he also said, LOVE YOURSELF, as you love your neighbor. Live IN HIM, in Divinity, in wisdom,in LOVE for all creation. Die to Self, greed, fear, ego, pain those things don’t have to be a part of your life anymore!  Do not die to your spouse, your spouse’s SELF. LOVE their SELF as you LOVE your SELF. Do I really need to expand on that? Maybe later…I am tired.

Who is she?

So I am tripping I guess. All these faces and masks and neon lights behind my eyes.. I squint to type this but just realised in every scenario…OK almost all? But not quite, my thoughts refers to the body as she…like there is someone else living my life.and I don’t fucking know that person. I know things about her. She was molested. She always loved sex, I feel like that is all I am to her…sex.. but I am so much MORE!!! I WANT TO SCREAM IT AT HER?!  I want to hit her until she wakes up and fucking talks to me!! Tell me what separates us?? Because she is supposed to fill this God awful hole and emptiness inside me!   She is supposed to be my friend when NO ONE ELSE UNDERSTANDS!!! WHERE IS SHE? hey can’t I get her to look at me as she just sits there so happy and smug about all she has done and is doing. Little miss perfect. So happy with everything, thinks she is so clean so much as made her dirty!  But she does care…no one cares.  Because I am just crazy trying to find her trying to understand and get through to her.. I need God. Jesus will give me what I need…hello????? I got him. He is wrapped around my little finger and I kiss his feet as I wash them with my tears. He is MY lover. She can do anything she wants to me but I am whole and worthy and he loves me  and he lives her. I love her. We are both so sad to cut her off like this.  To tell that sweet perfect girl she is not perfect. She can never be perfect. She is just a sorry fucked up human being and she can either love me and God or she can keep feeling that limitless she tries to cover up so well. I know she needs me and misses me and together we play these games but who is she? Why does she hurt me so much?? Does she feel the pain or is it just me??  

Weird I got turned around thinking the camp fire was on my right and then startled when it cracked loudly on my left…thunder to the east gently…eyes tired need sleep.


Sometimes, when getting close to the edge, we tell people things. Ideas, brainstorms, panicked scenarios of how we think we can fix things…people rarely listen, let alone take someone seriously. 

After my last post some thought I was suicidal. Maybe. My cousin hung himself, my dad and I equally wondering if it was cowardess or bravery, or both. Can’t face life, but can face death which most people can’t face. 

I admit that death of my children is uncomfortable to think about. I would miss them terribly, but I would also feel they were probably better off. This world is harsh. I believe there is a next plain, heaven, hell, limbo, reincarnation, the 5th dimension, whatever you want to call it. Unless your existence completely stops, like I felt mine did during a surgical wisdom tooth extraction, whatever it is can’t be much worse, but might be than this place.  

So, I have had enough. The world, the kids, the lovers and the wannabes, no more. I have escaped. I drove as far as a quarter tank of gas would get me into the mountains set up a tent and made a lovely fire. I organised my food, put a can of corn beef hash in the fire and a pot of water on the edge to heat up. As I sat amazed that I had actually got away I made a soup of V8, beef jerky and a special  mushroom. The stars are amazing with lightening highlighting the aspens occasionally. I put all the food away and climbed into my tent to finish my soup and write after I made a good stack of firewood for the morning. A huge log and some smaller ones should still be going gently by morning. Other than the damn phone (which is a good outlet to write on) I am alone. Only nature’s wild sounds. Sparse rain sounds like footsteps. Insects tapping the tent to get at the light sound like rain. The wind through the aspens sound like a water fall. 

I brought my flute to play. I am almost done with my soup, and almost ready to go to sleep. I should. I am hoping if nothing else I have awaking spiritual dreams. Talk to me, God, universe, give me something good. Show me how to over come the obstacles in my mind and life.  Otherwise, why am I living?