Werewolves.

    I like to think that I have a pretty good pain threshold. It's not often that something hurts too much for me to deal with, but every couple of months, that pesky condition I have crops up and beats the shit out of me.

    I have a standard level of pain that I deal with every day. My hands, as they deteriorate further, are usually the biggest daily toil. Easy to deal with, however. I know that I can't open jars or give firm handshakes, and I've dealt with the fact that I will drop fifty percent of all things that I pick up.  I fucking hate that of course, I miss my dexterity. I can handle it, though.

    What I can't handle, however, is twelve to fourteen hours of feeling like my insides are being ripped out with a red-hot poker. I play a game with the animal savaging me inside, trying to fight down enough painkillers to put me to sleep before I'm forced to throw up everything in my stomach again. At least three or four times a year, I am right on the verge of killing myself, taking that ten too many pills and never waking up again. Not on purpose, mostly, although I've certainly contemplated it. Since I already feel like I'm dying, killing myself presents itself as an easy alternative.

 I cannot walk when this is happening, I have to crawl on my hands and knees, the dizziness is so severe.  After eight hours or so of the intense muscle spasms, I don't even have the energy to writhe in pain anymore. I just lay there and stare glassy eyed at the ceiling as my organs rearrange themselves into new and horrific shapes, trembling, sometimes praying, telling whatever deity will listen that I would do anything to just make this stop.

    So that's been my day. No energy left for the witty ending line. 

    

    

A forced perspective on relationships, and a small stroll through already discussed topics.

Since my customer service mask is firmly in place before I arrive at work, various coworkers and regular customers have come to the vexing conclusion that I am capable of, and inclined to, give advice on romantic mishaps.
    I can't even begin to describe how irritating I find this to be, but I digress. This maddening situation did inspire a blog post, after all. Anyway, let's get to it before the spite turns this into an angry diatribe on the gall of people.
    So, related to a previous post, we all have a list of attributes that we deem necessary in order to invest in a relationship with someone. We make our own lists with our own criteria, and we get to decide when and how we score it. Yada yada yada. Check the Nice Guys post if you need a refresher. What I'm talking about today is after the scoring, when we enter into what I shall call the Contract. Whatever your particular provisions may be, the essence of the contract is the same for every relationship.
    I will give to you, Relationship Applicant, my time and emotional support so long as you give me your time and emotional support in return. Pretty basic, one size fits all. Both parties have the right to terminate the Contract, at any time and for any conceivable reason. What you do not have is the right to terminate and then still expect the other party to fulfill their end of the bargain. That, ladies and gentleman, is one surefire way to make me call you a selfish asshole. Loudly and publicly, and boy, does my voice carry.
    If you are unsatisfied with a friend or partner, then do whatever you need to do to fulfill your needs.           Renegotiate your terms, terminate, even bitch endlessly while doing nothing. Whatever. Deal with it. I will never advocate staying with someone you don't want to be with. What's the point of freedom of choice if you can't exercise it? But once you have terminated, that is it. This person now owes you nothing, regardless of which end of the termination you may have been on. Any culpability you may have for someone ends as soon as the relationship does. Whatever you give them beyond the breaking point is emotional largesse.
    Maybe this is a capability that only the overly pragmatic person has, but when someone tells me they no longer want to be my friend or lover, I take them at their word. I assume that if there was something I could do to fix the relationship, they would have brought it up before that point. Breaking up, to me, is absolutely literal. Our relationship is broken, and I am not required to fix it. I can certainly try if I am so inclined, but I have been relieved of duty. Any further action is on my own time, and by my own choice.
    Termination is not a form of punishment, either. If you are breaking up with someone, or ending whatever relationship you have, and you are doing this in the hopes that you will scare them into doing whatever it is that you want them to do without any attempt at negotiation on their part, then that is flat out abuse. If you crack open a psychology textbook and look for the definition of emotional abuse, you will find a picture of your asshole face, looking out all asshole-like.
    I hate bullies. I always have, and likely always will. When I see manipulative, emotionally damaging behavior, I can't help but to call it out. Breaking up with your partner in an attempt to control them is bullying. Threatening isolation and eviction  from a peer group to make someone comply with whacked out wishes? Also bullying. I don't much care what super secret motivation one may have for acting in this way. I don't really give a flying fuck about feelings in general. The emotions of others are never, ever my business, not even with my husband or my best friend. Anything ever shared with me, feelings wise, is just insight into an action that has already taken place, and I measure the worth of a person based upon their actions. It may soften my heart a little to know that you act the bully now because you were the bullied way back when, but the behavior itself is unacceptable. I myself have worn that mantle, I'm ashamed to admit, but I don't believe it is somehow excused by the fact that I've been on the receiving end more often.
If you have the ability to be better and you aren't, that's what I see.


(It looks as though i went too long and it did turn into an angry diatribe after all. Oh well. Magic edit button is my favorite.)

Hmmph.

Another paper, this time for American Civilization. Topic is 'How would you fix America?'

I believe one of the biggest issues facing us today in America is what we are taught both inside and outside of the classroom. My problem isn’t necessarily with the organization of the public school system, although I do know that there is room for improvement there. I worry more about the content of the lessons that we are taught as children, the lessons that we then take and pass on to our own children.  The overarching problem that I see when I witness our society’s failings, the common theme, is our interpretation of power.

            This message that pervades every facet of our lives is the reason behind a few of the most unsavory elements of our American culture. Racism, sexism and any other ‘ism’ you can think of all stem from it. Human beings as a whole are incredibly insecure creatures. The majority of our lives are spent attempting to carve out our little piece of the world, trying to find and flaunt our own power. The problem with Americans specifically is what our idea of power is. From the moment we are capable of understanding words, we are drilled with the idea that power is something that is taken from others, and it is shown by exerting it over others.

The sociological definition of power is literally that. “Power is the ability one has to make others do what they want.”  If your business makes more money, or you have the right skin color and genitalia, then you are a step higher on the social ladder and you have the right to use that leverage over others. The KKK member doesn’t believe that the color of his skin makes him superior based on any kind of evidence. He believes it because he feels powerless, and denouncing a large percent of the population based upon physical attributes gives him a sense of superiority that he doesn’t know how to gain elsewhere.

Cutthroat capitalism is centered around this ideology. The definition of a successful business in the good old US of A is different than in other places. Breaking even or meting out a meager profit margin isn’t success. Multimillion dollar CEO bonuses and stocks topping out the DOW define success here. Unfortunately for the majority of the population, the best way to reach the end of that rainbow is to marginalize hourly employees, and to cut corners with safety and product.

 Ensuring a hostile work environment for all but the highest ranking employees means high turnover and a low rate of raises, a system that has served giants like McDonalds and Walmart incredibly well. Since corporate entities operate in this manner, American society is filled with people who feel the machinations of power being exerted over us, and also feel stripped of all ability to fight against it. Join a union and get yourself fired. Fight for better pay and benefits, become so stigmatized that no company will hire you. 

The natural reaction to a feeling of powerlessness in a society that teaches us to relish it above all other things is, of course, crime. The crime rate in America is one of the highest in the world. Whether it is vehicular theft or assault and battery, a criminal act is used to assert agency and claim power, even if that power is as small a thing as not starving to death this week.

 Men especially are susceptible to deviation because of this lesson. The idea of machismo, its effect on crime rates and the effect it has on society as a whole is astonishing. It’s no coincidence that the more rigid the idea of gender roles are in a given area, the higher the violent crime rates are. In this country, 86% of violent crimes are committed by men, and 53% of those men are between the ages of 15 and 29, an age range when they are under the most societal pressure.

Once a young boy hits the age of sexual virility, overbearing masculinity stops being something they are being taught how to achieve and turns into something that he should have and display at every opportunity. Pattern predators are even categorized based upon whether they are seeking or exerting this elusive thing. A perpetrator of violent crime is either Power Reassurant/Anger Retaliatory or Power Assertive/Anger Excitatatory.  The media does no one any favors by spreading the message that such acts will gain you notoriety and attention. Every time a news anchor gives the name of a killer and not their victims, they put them above the victims, and they teach anyone watching who is seeking their own slice of power that there is a quick and easy way to attain it. This glorification of offenders, descriptions of intelligent snake charmers who masterfully evade police, of alpha wolves hunting sheep, assures the continuation of such instances. It is also not a coincidence that one mass shooting hitting the media assures more shortly after. 

In order to fix this, we have to burn it down and start from scratch, figuratively speaking. There’s nothing inherently wrong with teaching people to be powerful. We will, after all, seek out such a feeling ourselves without any sort of guidance. What we need to do is change the perception of what power means, and how one attains it. Schools, parents, magazines and news outlets need to stop perpetuating a bad message. 

A CEO using money denied to his underlings to buy a yacht isn’t powerful, he is an asshole. The union representative fighting for a living wage and the ability to stay home from work when you have a broken leg is the one with power. Serial killers and spree killers aren’t powerful. Someone who has those same impulses and seeks out help is.  Power isn’t something that you gain, or even that you can take. It is something that you build up inside of you, and you do that by resisting selfish impulses, controlling yourself and trying to make the world better for having you in it. A country of people who are the captains of their own souls is a country that has no limits.

Ramble ramble responsibility ramble. Also, I hate myself a little today.

   If there is no other good thing to be said about me, and it's possible that there isn't based upon the large amount of people who vehemently dislike me, then it is this. I am well aware of my shortcomings.
   My ego walks through a door ten minutes before I do, at least when it comes to my intelligence.
 I am so bad at social interaction that I can't even tell anymore when I'm being rude or overly sarcastic. I don't care about people. "Oh, you and so-and-so are about to have your one month anniversary? That information is absolutely meaningless to me and I have no idea how you would like me to respond."
 I have a hard time faking conviviality beyond my limited repertoire of scripted and rehearsed subjects of small talk.
 I am utterly lacking in tact, and terrible at lying to make up for it. I can't even manage the harmless white lies that polite society runs on.
 I am argumentative, and hard headed, and I reach compromises only with the begrudging contempt usually only seen in small children.
 I am not now, and have never been, a nice person.
Nor do I really aim to be. There is a difference between being nice and being good, but that is a conversation for some other day.
   Despite all these things, I consider myself to have one other good quality. I have an almost obsessive need to admit when I have done wrong, even when it is to my own detriment. I believe very ardently in personal responsibility.
  Every choice that I have made, whether good or bad, has been completely my own. There is no evil twin, or devil on my shoulder that urges me to do some of the shitty things that I do. The me of the past is the me that sits here today. I am still violent and capricious. I am still manipulative and scornful. The only difference between then and now is that I control these parts of myself better now than I did then.
  There isn't a secret piece of me that is benevolent and virtuous, kept locked away by the darker aspects of myself. I am the sum of all of my actions, and I cannot discount the bad ones in order to make a better overall picture. Even when my decisions have been born of opposition, being justified isn't the same thing as being right. Good intentions are not magic spells, absolving you of the consequences of your misdeeds.
 I was responsible for those decisions then, I am responsible for them now, and I will be responsible for them until the day that I die. If I was drunk when I did something terrible, I still did something terrible. If I lashed out because of systematic abuse or antagonism, I still did something terrible. If I manipulated a situation in order to meet my own ends at the expense of other people, I still did something terrible.
   My 'recovery', so to speak, is based upon looking at myself in the mirror every day and weighing my soul against a feather, metaphorically speaking. I look at my actions and I ask myself if the person that I want to be would do the things that I do.
 I've come a long way. A lot of the time, the answer to that question is yes, and I get to feel the satisfaction of living up to my own standards, one of the best feelings in the world.
 However, there are those times when the answer is no. I don't know what law of the universe dictates that the weight of mistakes is thrice that of any satisfaction, but there are a few failures haunting me currently, staring at me from the mirror and waiting to be properly addressed. I have apologies to make that I don't think I have the stomach for, and I feel that they will be seen as yet another wrongdoing when I do get around to them.
  I'm having a hard time with my reflection at the moment. I see the strides that I have taken and my continuing progress, but still I don't know if I like who I'm looking at right now.


I guess I can add another bullet point to my list of shortcomings.
Extremely melodramatic.

Feedback?

Posting a paper I wrote for class. Do you have any critiques or comments? ( Am I the only one who thinks that blogs are perfect for beta-editing?)

    Our society, and many others worldwide, perpetuate the institution that is rape culture. There are many reasons that such an abhorrent social structure has continued to thrive, even in the face of broadening enlightenment about the widespread damage that rape and sexual assault cause. Our media is inundated with flawed perceptions heavily influenced by rape culture. Movies, magazines, books and even educational programs trivialize the ordeal of victims by portraying it as a desirable sexual act, and our opinions change as these messages are broadcast.

    We as a society allow sexual predators the ability to assault with impunity, by excusing rapists, by putting the onus on the victim to prevent their own victimization, and by refusing to reinforce our sexual education to dispel the myths surrounding assault and sexual predators. (I want to take a moment to lay out a disclaimer; I have a tendency to refer to victims as 'she' or 'her', and perpetrators as 'he' or 'him'. I do not do this to demean the experience of non female victims, or to insinuate that men are the only ones that rape, only to allow the flow of the dialogue to go uninterrupted, and as an attempt to keep this to only two pages. I will most likely go over that anyway, but alas, I am pretentious and long winded.) Feminist theory says that these behaviors stem from the subjugation of women, but I also believe that conflict and critical theory play a large part. The fact that our society has decided that men, and white men in particular, are the highest power has created an atmosphere where bodily autonomy is viewed as a myth, or as something that you are expected to surrender. Sex is a good that women can only hold and that exists to be taken from them.

    In popular media, the spectrum of sexual offenses is narrowed down to one specific definition; 'real' rape is the blushing virgin maiden who is attacked while out picking blueberries in the orchard. Any variance of that theme is rejected and labeled as something else. This happens for a variety of reasons, mostly because nobody wants to believe that they know a rapist, although the statistical data makes it overwhelmingly likely. We wish to think that we are good judges of character and that nobody we like or socialize with regularly could be a sexual predator. When someone demonstrates this behavior, we allow it and pardon it, telling ourselves that REAL predators wear long black capes and will make sure to give us the telltale mustache twirl before they savage us. When presented with claims that one near and dear to us is a rapist, the average response is to reject it out of hand.

    Of course the high school quarterback didn't rape anyone, he is such a nice boy. That mother could never have molested her children, she sold cookies at the school bake sale. I don't see a third teat on her anywhere, and we all know that rapists have a third teat. Even when presented with irrefutable evidence, we bend over backwards in an attempt to accommodate. Poor dear didn't know any better than to force themselves on an unconscious person, how can they say no when they're unconscious? That's not 'real' rape. Oh, your ex-boyfriend assaulted you? Well, you two were in a relationship three years ago. How could he possibly comprehend that your sexual relationship was also over and that you weren't just playing hard to get? That's not 'real' rape either.

    This desire to demonize the offender blinds us. A large amount of assaults are never officially reported based on the accurate assumption that the victim will not be believed. One of the most prominent ways we reinforce rape culture is by the widespread victim blaming. We excuse and condone a rapists behaviour by telling a victim she was asking for it. We ask where you were, who were you with, how much you've had to drink, what you were wearing, and every time we do this we give rapists a checklist of attributes to search for when seeking out their victims. When they go after an intoxicated woman wearing a little black dress, the public at large will act as their defense lawyers, free of charge.

    This pervading belief that there is some secret handshake one can master in order to prevent a sexual assault is insulting, and doubly so since it does a disservice to both genders. These messages wouldn't be so insidious if it weren't for the fact that they are widely believed. I can't tell you how many times I have heard someone say 'that's just how things are', as though sexual assault is a meteorological phenomena. "Best bring your chastity belt, it's looking mighty rapey today." These messages are so ingrained in us that most don't even question them. Women shouldn't dare to be a woman in public, obviously every man turns into a boner werewolf at the slightest provocation.

    Nowhere is the element of subjugation more evident than in the education we give women. We tell them to stay inside, to bring an escort, instead of teaching them how to protect themselves. I can't count the times that I've been cautioned not to fight back against an attacker, lest I get myself killed. We teach girls that they need to say no in exactly the right manner, firm and unyielding but never ever mean; just because someone is exhibiting predatory behaviours doesn't mean we should make them feel bad about themselves.

    The act of rape prevention is entirely upon your shoulders, but don't you dare exhibit yourself in a way that we might consider unfeminine while you do it. Nobody likes it when you're over dramatic. We also tell men that they are not men unless they are chasing tail, that they shouldn't take no for an answer, that the best way to demonstrate their manhood is by exerting their power over others. We tell them that they are naturally sexually aggressive, that there is no other way.

No, your first impression was correct. I really don't want you to talk to me.

    Even though I work in customer service, and have for the majority of my working life, I kinda sorta hate pretty much everyone.
    See all the unnecessary words in that sentence? That's how I talk when I'm trying to make the truth sound a lot nicer than it actually is. I hate people, as a general rule. This antisocial behavior tends to wax and wane in its intensity, some months I continually see a handful of very close friends, others I become a recluse leaving the sanctity of my loner den only for work and sustenance. I've been in the former mode for three or four months now.
    I've gone back on my medication on a better combination. As it turns out, treating only the neuroses is a perfect recipe for a backslide. My neuroses is manufactured, meant to temper the evil. Double and triple checking every decision is obsessive for most people, but useful when your first instinct is "Stabby Stabby Kill Kill". I probably would have viewed my ascending hermit level as a sign of more secondary side effects, like the prior all consuming rage, but really I just...function more happily this way.
    I don't dislike any of the people that have managed to achieve the impossible and become dear to me. I would love to spend time with them, go out and see a movie or spend hours in an all night diner. The only thing is that I recognize now that, although definitely enjoyable, those things are DRAINING. I have a very shallow well of social graces, and the damage is cumulative. If I spend a month or two really drawing on my reserves, then they are gone, and it takes a long time for the ground water of small talk and smiles to trickle back in to a usable level.
    Since I have been at low reserves for a while, I've been finding myself doing things that really reinforce my social failings. There have been multiple times that I've seen someone that I know while I'm out and about, and in all but a few instances, I have hidden before I have to speak to this person. I repeat, I don't dislike these people. Most of them have been amiable acquaintances, but a few have been people that I wouldn't hesitate to call up for a social occasion if I were so inclined. But I'm not. And I don't feel like I have anything to spare after the expenditure of work, and the upcoming drain of classes.
    I think school will be very intellectually stimulating, and if I found someone who had the same scholastic concentration I would probably talk their ear off for hours on end, but most people don't want to hear about the chemical imbalances caused by a lack of physical affection before the age of six months, or the correlation between high levels of MAO-A and serial violent offenders.
    However, I am really not looking forward to the less academic elements. I know that people will attempt to talk to me. This fills me with a strange dread. I know that I can just stare someone down until they go away, but I may have to work with someone at some point. Ah well. I currently believe that the social expenditure will be worth it. Here's hoping.
   
   

Wandering weirdo. Bleh bleh bleh.

    I am a creature of the night. I feel as though I should be holding a velvet lined cape over my mouth when I say this, but despite the overly dramatic wording, it is true. I am most active after the sun goes down. If I don't have a job or other such engagement forcing me to keep to a diurnal schedule (which I usually don't, I tend to work nights), I will always revert to my natural rhythm within a week or so. I'll generally wake up early afternoon and then go back to sleep around 8 or 9 am.
    Since Husband works days, and very early ones at that, this means that I'm just hitting my stride as he's going to bed. Husband considers this to be the most annoying thing ever, but when he wakes up in the morning, I am very often sitting alone reading or writing or obsessively annotating a book that I've previously read. Or I am Wandering. I tend to do that a lot as well.
    I walk, or occasionally drive, for hours on end. Sometimes I will create a reason for me to go out. "Oh darn, it looks like we forgot to grab this at the store earlier, I'll just go now. The closest overnight store is only two miles away, it wouldn't be environmentally responsible to take the car." Of course, I will usually add 4 to 6 miles to that simple trip, taking out of the way roads, or visiting favorite destinations that I come reasonably close to. The park, my old school, that spot by the creek, the library...Honestly, I laugh at myself a lot over the last one. Why go to the library, you fool? It's CLOSED, you can't read all the books through osmosis.
    I've been favoring a lake near my apartment recently, a nice little park with a walking path and a playground and lots of wildlife scaring the shit out of me regularly. I saw a black fox kit a couple weeks ago, and I'm a bit crazy, so I took it as a sign that this should become my new haunting ground.
    I get a lot of grief about this habit of mine. My mother and grandmother remind me at every opportunity that I shouldn't be walking alone at night. Admittedly I walk with my music on, possibly one of the dumbest things that can be done, but I know my way around my area. Any place that has previously given me a bad experience is widely avoided. Also, I carry a huge knife and serrated brass knuckles. So, there's that.


Edited to add- As it turns out, sitting in the bowl drop at the local skate park is also really nice.