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We have been in Washington about 5-6 months, now. I have to say, I regret very little.

Three main reasons for the move:

It was time. Better job opportunities. Access to safe and legal weed, both rec and medicinal. Bonus, healthcare is better for me out here.

I must list some of the benefits I have seen since being able to smoke on a regular basis:

Because it is milder, we have our windows open at all times, but that’s really just a health benefit in general.

I can stay out in public longer- my limit used to be three hours.

I have an interest in going out more often, even thinking a little more in depth about the future; maybe a job at some point.

I have a fantastic sense of motivation, even if I don’t necessarily have the energy.

I feel my thoughts for my writing come more fluidly.For example, I can write several chapters in a day now. I don’t feel I have to try as hard.

Pain relief.

It’s helping me control my hunger, and to be more patient with myself.

I am listening to music regularly again. Many songs used to give me panic attacks, even ones I loved.

Less panic attacks.

So, do I believe in legalization? Absolutely.

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It’s easier to say something so tongue twisty and complicated than to say what it actually is.

Hysterical pregnancy.

 

It’s apparently rare, and experienced mostly by women who have been sexually abused, who suffer psychological issues and, of course, those feeling the pressure of Father Time bearing down on their wombs.

 

 

It’s a lonely and confusing time. For months, even years, this can be experienced. And this is my second one. Both times I was absolutely sure I was pregnant even though I was getting negative pregnancy tests. Hpt and hcg.

You worry with excitement. Absolutely positive you’re pregnant because you can’t stand the smell of raw meat, or you suddenly don’t want to eat anything but oranges and oven roasted vegetables or chicken with only salt and pepper. Nausea all day long. Napping at least once a day. Tired, peeing all the time, feeling and seeing signs of implantation.

 

It’s all there. And it’s all real.

But because other people don’t understand it, you suffer alone. The doctors are assholes about it, even if they do the exams or tests you ask.

The berate you and write you off, immediately sizing you up on a glance.

Fine. If I’m not pregnant, help me figure out why I think I am.

 

A conversation for the therapist no doubt. I like my new one just ok- she’s no dr.b

I just hate feeling crazy when something is so obviously happening. Even the bf had noticed I was off.

I don’t know. I guess from now on, until I’m pregnant the way society thinks I should be, I should keep my mouth shut.

 

 

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Finally got our own place!

Got most of my crap transferred from NC; gotta work on ‘scripts now.

Moving in has been a bit of an adventure, with all the cleaning, unpacking and buying new things; even qualified for food stamps.

Not ever have I regretted it so soundly as last night; there was a moment where we were those people in line that hold up everything. That put a link in the entire works.

Not that big a deal really (bf had left his wallet at home), and that wasn’t even what threw me into a panic. It was everything that happened after. It was the tremendous, goddamned, self-entitled bitch who still got in line after our sweet, understanding (she really was, I’m not being facetious) cashier told her, ‘sorry, I can’t help you. Go to another line.’

‘I just want a pack of cigarettes.’

‘You can get cigarettes through the other line.’

‘Well just give them to me here so I can go pay for them’

‘I’m sorry, I can’t. They can help you on 9.’

The bitch JUST STOOD there, and REFUSED to move. on my ass like a fucking leech.

So our cashier, as frustrated as I was, asked if it was OK that we just re-run the groceries when bf comes back. It really was about ten-fifteen minutes round trip for him to get it and return, but I said sure, I suppose. I didn’t really have a choice, did I.

And we really weren’t prepared for how busy that midnight trip run to the store would be. In NC, we were usually 2 of about 6 people in there around that time.

Last night, in Wa though? And not even in one of the more crowded cities, either. It was running pretty much like normal day to day activities, which didn’t help my anxiety levels.

The cashier though, saved all our stuff, got another cashier to help us ring out (for real this time) and had to leave, her shift was over. I think she knew I was having a panic attack, because she reached out to me before she left and sorta rubbed my back quickly in a comforting, unsure manner. Like she knew maybe she shouldn’t be doing it but wanted to make sure I was OK, and to tell me that it would get better and not to worry. Things that the bf usually (well, sometimes) does when he is there.

Also a special shout out to the sweetest little old lady with the cane and the flower hairbows in her hair; we’d been up to Walmart earlier and there were no driving carts. I had become angry and cranky because the day was rough already and I was in pain and just wanted to get our shopping done-

She went and asked one of her coworkers to be on the lookout for a cart for me and actually came to tell me so. Very sweet old broad. Tiny as can be!

So anyway.That’s how I came to once regret our decision to move.

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The worse thing about trying to control your hunger when you are trying to save money, and have no groceries yet, but can’t drive because the panic attacks you get are too horrible to risk anybody’s life; is, with my childhood…?

You start reverting to the self talk and self harm you had at ages too young to know such bullshit. You blame yourself for being a stupid fat ass burden and start to wish that maybe you were dead instead; or wonder who would use you, and how, just so that you can have money to eat. 

Granted I think my bitchy sister actually did those things for us… I was always too terrified to do anything. It was better to be invisible and to suffer silently. Grit your teeth, bite your lip. Don’t say anything until you absolutely have to. Especially when the person you tell sighs with anger, frustration and disgust.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve learned that it’s OK to say you’re hungry.

And that brings us full circle to my original point.

Your thoughts tell you that all you are is a burden and how dare you be hungry, you just ate yesterday.

Trying to find balance in that mindset is null. You have to wait it out.

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bf and i have been sort of discussing having children. we both agree that it might not be the best idea, given that i am on disability and that said disability may impede my abilities as a caregiver. (we still want them though)

no doubt that he would make a great father (though i admit i would prolly always be the bad guy!), and it’s not against him.

but i have problems thinking about bringing children into this world- not just because it’s a horrible, everything-phobic, terrorist driven world, but because i have seen some of the monsters first hand. i have been ‘treated’ to the worst the world can offer.

when we are children, our world is small, but it is our world nonetheless. we know very little of the grand scheme of things, so we don’t know what else to believe and cannot see what good might come of it. if we see bad, that is all we see, and vice versa.

i know that i don’t want my child to come to any of the same harms i did, and god/dess knows i never want them (or anyone) to suffer. I know that things can be unpredictable, especially in an increasingly police-like state. people who don’t even know you can ruin your life just as much as your close friends or next door neighbors.

not only do i not want them to suffer, i don’t want to suffer anymore either. i don’t want my child taken away because somebody felt my spanking was abuse, when i know goddamned well that a spanking isn’t even close. abuse is when you are huddled in fear. abuse is when you scream and cry and nobody fucking hears you, or gives a damn. when nobody tries to help you. a spanking is a mere punishment for a wrong doing. you KNOW why you are being spanked.

Abuse has no rhyme or reason.

i don’t want to lose my child to death. i don’t want my child to experience homelessness or hunger.

i know that many of these things are normal thoughts and fears for anybody considering children. so what makes me so special? nothing, other than the fact that i feel like i feel it that much more powerfully.

The thoughts of these things happening have actually stymied my progress as an adult, and in the natural order of things, i just don’t want to listen to that goddamn biological clock.

i have always wanted to have kids- it was never a question in my mind. i didn’t care if i had to adopt them. babies, teens, whatever. hell, i’d even adopt an adult, if they needed it.

but the actual process is not only a trigger for my ptsd, it is also such a life-changing event. yes. i know this- it’s normal. but think of EVERY SINGLE THING you are responsible for as a parent.

oh, yes, babies and kids are fun. you get to play and watch them grow and learn (yes, i have done enough damn babysitting in my life to know this- even at the ripe old age of 8 i was fucking baby sitting, but not because i wanted to-)

but they are also fragile. they are helpless, and all of the people you normies depend on to keep your child safe? i see them as predators. i don’t want them near my babies. those who abuse are the ones closest to the child. the ones given access. and until your child can actively understand how to defend themselves, they. are. helpless.

it fills me with joy to think that i could one day grow such a magnificent, glorious being inside me… but, can’t i just keep it in there?

even Q looks like a predator- i know, logically that he would never, ever hurt them, but… in my eyes? fuck- better leave that thought unfinished. i triggered on it, the moment i tried to type it out, and froze. only when i forced the thoughts from my mind could i continue.

how can i allow myself to trust anybody but myself with this sweet, delicate child, when i know very little of the word? of what it entails?

how could anybody ever be good enough? safe enough?

i don’t want to be the kind of parent who hovers, or micromanages- i want that child to know that i love and support and will always be there for them, but how can i if i can’t even get to the pregnancy stage?

i want for their life, what i never had in mine, and i know i can provide it. i can give them safety, love and security. a part of parenting is knowing that your child will have his/her heart broken, and being able to lend a shoulder when they ache and sob.

that’s a lot different from protecting them from the people who would abuse them, and take advantage of them. from rapists and pedophiles. you know you are automatically putting them at risk, the moment you get pregnant. (no, i’m not saying abort- that’s up to each and every single couple/mother).

what i am saying is this… perhaps maybe i’m asking:

is the only, and best, way to protect your child from the horrors of the world, simply not to have them?

i started feeling like… maybe there was a way. to create a scrapbook of sorts, of lessons i had learned along the way- lessons learned the hard way.

things like cooking tips- or knowing when you should seek legal council, or talk to a cop. to never let the world get you down, and draw strength from yourself.

Lessons that maybe i had learned, but not been able to apply for whatever reason *cough ptsd/anxiety/bipolar disorder cough*.

things like, how to stay warm and soft in a tough, bitter world. how to stand up for yourself and to fight for the things you believe in. how to handle abusive situations. to walk… to run, to just get the fuck away.

to not be jaded like dear old mom.

that’s one thing i love about q- he has had his share of abuse, but he still wants kids, and wants them with me. he wants to give them a better childhood than he had, and he doesn’t want anything to stop him. he respects my thoughts and feelings on it, and is very patient with me. another reason i know he owuld be a great father. he hasn’t become jaded or broken by what happened to him.

i am doing other things, too- like i am crocheting blankets for my friends babies, as well as my future ones. i am collecting things that i can make into heirlooms, like cool eclectic rings. most important, though, is this scrapbook, which i hope they will take out and look at throughout their life.

so, in this project, i have been collecting different pictures and memes that could accurately describe the things i want to teach them, but don’t know how. things that i may never get around to teaching them. things that people never teach, or that people in my situation never learned. i have been thinking and racking my brain for these lessons, because in my childhood, you have to learn for yourself.

people are temporary in my world. you take what you can get, when you can get it and move on until you can’t move any further. once you’ve stopped, that’s it. you’ve collapsed from exhaustion and can barely wriggle and crawl to your next destination. but it’s important to keep moving.

i want to impart this ill-gotten wisdom to my child. i want them to know, and to be smart about life. i don’t want them to be afraid. not the way i am.

Life isn’t about fear- it’s about living. it’s about the joy and rapture you can extract from every goddamn moment. about the feelings you get when you fall in love and touch nature, and when nature touches you back. when you believe in something so wholly, that nothing can waver that belief.

i suppose, in all of this, the biggest lesson that i have yet to learn, is that love can be that belief in child-rearing. that my love and hope for their future, can be enough.

simply because i want to take the time to teach them all the things i never had the chance to learn. and all of the horrible lessons i did.

isn’t that what it’s about? teaching our children to be better humans than we could ever hope to be?

 

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