Fuxing bullies

Getting through this cold hard month of darkness and irritation. Scrub cow-orker thinks she's better than anyone at anything, loud and making stupid power-plays. She's not a good scrub, still new, does not see her own failings, makes up words, super confident based on nothing much. Worked with her yesterday, with one of my more high maintenance surgeons on a very long day. At least the resident and PA were helpful and appreciative.

What I don't understand is people who think everyone should like them, and are offended when it isn't true. I've always assumed most people were neutral or didn't much like me, and I'm always so touched and amazed when anyone does like me. Despite the underlying damage that causes my view of the world, it does mean I'm far less susceptible to being shocked with comeuppance when my assumption is proved wrong.

I'm done with bullies. Damn them all.

Dealing with the roiled up crap.

Gaslighting.

I'd never considered that my mother was gaslighting me. And yet.

"Of course he loves you, he's your father!" "Oh, you can't think that!" "How could you think that, that never happened!"

Reframing is a powerful tool. Not that I think it was, mostly, on purpose. She was deeply in denial. But, she had to know, however deep down. She had to know, and not want me to cotton on. She denied my truth, any truth, when it suited her comfort.

not because they value or even like their children (though they’ll use the word “love” like it’s going out of style) but because they want the outside appearance and validation of “We’re Good Parents™, right? And that’s what Good Children™ Do For Good Parents!”

Another one from Captainawkwardcom.


My father used to say he treated me like he did, because the world would be so much harsher on me.

I

have been hungry, I have been cold, I have been sick, and I have been scared but I have never, ever been as unhappy as when I lived under my folks’ roof as a kid and had to just sit there and take whatever it was. Never.

It's hard to see abuse, so call it early and often.

Another gem from the Captain Awkward comments.

You don’t need to be an Abuser to act in abusive ways, and you don’t have to be at the extreme end of abusive behavior to be an Abuser. I think CA’s commentariat has been immensely helpful at validating things we gloss over as “not a big deal” actually being insidious, controlling, and manipulative. But then those things become normalized and minimized which only furthers the victim’s perception that they are the ones being the problem or being unreasonable. People in abusive or toxic relationships often can’t see what is happening to them. It’s important to have people on the outside point to things and say “that is abusive.” Because we’re trained not to use that word unless it’s physical and extreme.

It took me until my mid 20’s to realize my dad was abusive. Because he “just” was controlling, manipulative, argumentative, and threw tantrums. Society told me that stuff wasn’t abuse because it wasn’t ~that bad~. Even once I recognized his behavior was abusive, it took other people naming those behaviors “abusive” out loud for me to start using that word to describe it myself. Before that he was just an asshole. People don’t like the “a” word but it needs to be said, and I’m grateful to CA’s community for being so level-headed and blunt about it.

Cat boundaries

Via Captain Awkward comments.


Agggh – that reminds me of the dim and distant days of my Family of Origin, and the abuse and bad stuff that both parents used to unleash on me through my childhood. One of my Mum’s favourite sayings, to show that we were expected to put up with the crap, was “A dog, when it’s beaten, always comes back for more.”
That was the family ideal. Seriously.
My advice to anyone else in that situation? Be a cat.


I’ve often said that the reason a lot of people hate cats is because they suck at respecting boundaries. They get mad and offended when the cat they’re chasing runs away, or wants to sit next to them on the couch instead of on their lap, or walks away when they’re done being petted. So cats are mean and jerks because they set and enforce boundaries (as well as anything that weighs 8 pounds can, at least).


I know a cat who is actually pretty good at respecting my boundaries – her owner is fine with bitey and scratchy play, I am not, if Cat wants to play with me she has to use Soft Paws or play stops. I’d say her level of success in this is about at that of a little kid, in that she starts well and usually gets over excited, but I’m okay with that.
I mean she also yells when it rains and keeps trying to eat my food, so I’m not sure she’s a great role model.


Cats will respect the boundaries that you enforce. If you don’t consistently enforce your boundary, the cat knows it’s not really a real boundary. 🙂


I had a cat who was an excellent boundary setter who escalated consequences perfectly. Get in his personal space too aggressively? He’d squawk. If the offender didn’t back off, he’d swat with claws in. If they still kept at it he’d swat with claws out and leave. We introduced him to many puppies since he was so great at communicating and enforcing appropriate boundaries. I try to channel him often, although I am not always successful.


My parents’ cat hasn’t let me touch her since 2012 when I put her in the cat carrier. Which annoys me, but I respect the hell out of it.

Rage inheritance

My father's rage, my mother's anger.

It’s like a liver, or a starfish: if she cuts off a piece of that feeling and gives it to you, it will grow back to full size, in both of you.

I want my fuckin' money, Lebowski.

I want it over.

How much longer?

I have these days when it all seems too much and I wish my mother had aborted me, or I'd ended it all long ago. Before Dylan, though, not since, never since. Promises have been made.

Still, the weight.

Leave the rubber on, idiot

I had character shoes with rubber grips on. For one class, I had to have taps. When I got them put on, I was told to take the rubber off from the place I bought the taps. Next door, the shoe place, I did not tell them to take the rubber off because I DID NOT WANT IT OFF, since I would be removing the taps after one semester. Picked them up, and they'd taken off the grips because the tap place called to tell them to. My mother was with me, the wimp. I was furious, but did not argue, because Mother there.

To this day, I want to say "FUCK YOU, I am the one paying you, put the grips back on and make it right youfuckers."


I HATE tap dancing.

MY SHOES.

MY CHOICE.

He was borderline, she 'forgave' me, so...

If you write to me for help because someone is bullying you, I, Jennifer Captain Awkward Rodham Leigh Peepas, do not give a single fuck if your abuser gets into Heaven someday or how they feel about their lives or what possibly caused them to behave this way or if they are a good person at some imperceptible deep down “Schrödinger’s Good Intentions” level. If you want to forgive them someday, great, do it for you. Save all that for after the harm is over and you are safe.

via Captain Awkward.


I am safe. She never considered needing my forgiveness, so I can't force it on her, anymore than I could accept her forgiveness. Him? too damaged, I just don't wish him in any further hell than the life he made for himself. And for her. Let it all end here.

No it was not better then, ever.

One of those Monty Python reunions, they talk about how they used to be able to make ethnic jokes, but now they can't people are so touchy no sense of humor. Can't abide them now, because civility and the people being joked about didn't have the voice or volume to say, Nope, not funny, stop it. They are educated elite white guys complaining that they can't insult POC and women anymore.

Crocodile tears in buckets, the wankers.

SOB

My eldest brother is more smarter than kid sis.

Let not your heart be troubled I would love some pictures I can not write a lot right now but will be back later I do not live on my computer so my mail tends to backup bye for now David

yeah.

Not what I expected, although they say...

My mother is dead, and the sense of relief is swamped by an overwhelming physical reaction. I can't seem to stop sobbing, even when there is no thought in my head. I'm not perseverating.

My whole body is in a kind of shock.

No, I'm not kidding.

Obsessing last night about my last day before retirement, and not being there for it. I don't trust that enough people will do what we did for Greg, and insist that No, it is not Wanted by the Guest of Honor. I plan to be a no-call, no-show on my last day, only letting my manager (if that person can be trusted) know ahead of time.


Fuck that shit.

We process pain and grief.

Healing will happen. It takes time and effort. The scars will remain.

Loss is eternal.

The gory photo - don't look if you can't take surgery.

This is inside now. Hutch really screwed it down tight. Healing well as a result.

Getting it done so quickly probably helped.

"Duuuude, hand me 'nother beeeeer!

My right hand is a drunken gym rat. Wild and uncoordinated. Always flexing and stretching and lifting weights.

Can't stop.

Of course I did

In no mood to go up just to get splint adjusted. Too loose for security, which is much like comfort. So, I got Dylan to trim it, since Lefty is still iffy with scissors, with a bit of steam I moulded the elastic-plastic.

So much better, snug and secure.

What a swell time

Mad strong twinges, weirdly painful, but short acting. Therapy accomplished, progress emphatic, still swold-up. Walked well, did stuff.

Pulled weeds and planted seeds, one handed sitting my butt on the ground.

All the colors of dead cells

Orthoglass splint off, plastic on, exercises assigned. First set of today done, hand scrubbed of dead skin. Derecho eager to get stronger, dismayed at the amount of damage.

Staving off fear and despair.

am I made of crackers now?

broke my right arm. when I try to sleep I keep experiencing that moment.i feel fragile and overwhelmed.

crumbling before my very eyes.

Boston feet, again.

Yup, toe broke left. Fasciitis right, point heel pain. Taping, exercising, icing, heel pads.

I needed a diagnosis more than a prescription, once I know what it is, I know what to do.

Heel, heal, real.

A week or so of increasing right heel pain, along with sprained little toe left, eased finally by capsaicin patch application. Why didn't I think of this earlier? Probably pain interfered with thought.

As it so often does.

visual field loss

Wobbly, scintillating letters as I looked at the crossword at work, migraine aura. Finished the case, got help from coworkers to clean, I hurried home before I lost vision. About a third of left field smeary by the time I got home. Cocktail of drugs to forestall a full fledged attack.

With good care, doing better now.

Inconsistent skills, consistent pains.

Going bowling was going to create aches, I knew hand and foot back and shoulder.

On top of what I already have, hand and foot, back and shoulder.

And so I tend to hands and feet, back and shoulder, glad to have been among friends.

Got a few strikes, a few spares, a few gutter balls, I am content.

The right sort of healing

Free floating anxiety, the urge to sob for no reason, like a chill. A simple lack of downtime for too long. Lacking other, focused reasons, my body simply reacts as it always has.

So, I put my head down as though I had a flu, and listen to the wordless anguish.