Jacqui (jacqui) wrote,

113 LBS Gone, Paypal Dickishness, Beau, HGTV, My Response to Some Hurtful LJ Comments

113 Pounds Gone! Woohoo! My Mental State, Paypal, Beau, House and Garden TV, Halloween Errands, and My Angry Response to Rude Dispassionate Comments Left In My Journal.

This is a perfect example of the kinds of things I love to buy on eBay and shouldn't because I can't afford them, but this is so unique and cute and I'm so nuts about Halloween and want to support a fellow artist gal who is clearly so talented.

Oh thank God I'm in a better mood today. Wow, that was a sad ride there for a couple of days, but I am feeling much better and more like my usual positive and hopeful self. I'm thinking it was somehow chemically or hormonally related, touched off by a few minor circumstantial things. Plus I had my period and my body is still undergoing such tremendous change, annnnd I just got an IUD that gives off hormones. Either that or I am bipolar. Lovely.

Somehow the days always manage to beat me down though. I wake up hopeful and positive, light and full of joy and by day's end all I want to do is take some kind of feel less pill and zone out in front of the television. Somewhere, somehow I am going to have to learn some hard core stress coping techniques. Something more than basic meditation light. Maybe I need an entire personality restructuring, that or zillions of dollars for the best shrinks and therapists I can find, ass kicking therapists who will force my brain to create new and healthier neuro pathways so I can live better in what often feels like a very fucked up world.

I used to indulge in suicidal fantasies, (suicidal ideation, a clinical sign of depression), before I started taking antidepressants, it was my dramatic little psychological escape valve, like letting off pressure and pain as vapor. I could just think, "You know I can always step out of this hard reality any time I want," but having Beau changed all that. I'm trying to remember what movie it was where there was a scene where someone is crying and says something desperate like, "Having children just robs you of your right to kill yourself." Anyone remember the scene or the quote? Could it have been from The Hours? I can just barely wrap my mind around it. I see someone crying while she says it. Anyway ever since I started taking Effexor I became convinced that my own peculiar chemical makeup was what made life harder for me than other people, made me more of a sensitive crybaby, and perhaps more of an artist, because as soon as my system got used to it, things began to hurt less, slights bounced off me more easily, wounds didn't penetrate as deeply, and I rarely if ever even allowed the passing fantasy of jumping off something very tall to enter my thoughts. So it was a big surprise to me the night before last when the pain managed to grapple up the big med wall and heave itself over where it got my attention, leaving me in bed heaving with sobs and thinking about dying.

I know I'm not supposed to be reading Sylvia Plath but I just got her journals and they are so damned hard to resist. There are so many good quotable sentences that I want to share with you but something that struck me was how honest and open she was for her time, how incredibly brave she was, but then these weren't public journals. She might have been keeping them just for herself if maybe with an eye towards editing them for publication one day down the road. The other thing that stood out is what a cryer she is, and so was I, before the meds.

Paypal has decided to be ruthless and wicked and suddenly limit my access to my account. Out of the blue after years of successful transactions, hundreds of successful transactions. All I can think is that they are confused that my Mother and I both have our names and credit linked together on the account. I'm so distressed about it, I use Paypal for everything and we're just gearing up to sell like mad on eBay. Oh well, everything has a reason and this may serve to reign in my credit card debting so it's all for the best despite the panic and anger I feel. Now I have more empathy than ever for my friend ana who just tangled with these faceless corporate jerkmeisters and lost. Poor thing. Now I hate them. Now I see.

Today is going to be a fun errandy day. I have to buy some black tulle to drape the Victorian wicker baby carriage with our wannabe Rosemary's Baby devil doll. I should have dressed his pram pushing mom more like Mia Farrow with short blonde hair instead of as a vampire bat devil spider widow gal but that's what I had on hand, heh. I also have to get some kind of reddish light for the inside of the carriage so he glows, otherwise the whole affect is lost in the dark of night. I need AAA batteries for the baby light up pumpkins and some more AAs for the flying bats. I need some push pins for some of the hanging light trims and some safety pins to fix the wings on the backs of some of the mannequins, oh and I need a good scary latex or rubber mask for the one mannequin who's face is so scary we thoughts we'd just leave him be, but it isn't working, he just looks weird.

I need to go to the pharmacy to refill prescriptions and to the dress maker to alter some of my now too big clothes, and my Halloween dress from Torrid that I got for a great price at either gothauctions.com or ebay, I can't remember which. I love it and I am also loving the fact that I can tie it around my waist. I never wanted to show off my waist before, well at least not at any time after I turned twenty-five or so.

I helped a very reluctant Beau work on his homework last night. He wrote a really terrific ghost story for school but he is in so much need of help when it comes to spelling, punctuation and his use of grammar. We had a meeting with his teachers and he forgot that he had committed to going to an after school homework help class on Monday's, and he also forgot that he has committed to showing me his homework every day so we can review it together and make the necessary improvements. This is going to be so much work, but I love him, and of course we will muddle through this together.

A really nice gal from HGTV's (House and Garden TV) Country Style called me today and we had a fun conversation that lasted ages. They had contacted me last spring but we were going to be in Hawaii when they were going to be in LA so they want to do it this November. Sounds like fun. It might also be helpful for me in terms of promoting my eBay auctions and the website that I have yet to design and put up, and tape of myself is always good for my demo reel. Plus I can be fun, funny and charming and I know my lifestyle will make for a good segment.

Well, I had really better get going if I am going to get anything done today.

This next part is something I wrote earlier and is extremely personal, (as if my writing about depression, my IUD, my period and suicide isn't), and very Live Journal Drama-ish so I'm just going to put it behind the cut to spare your having to scroll through so much text on your friend's pages. It concerns a minor comment someone made to one of my recent posts that just really pissed me off.

It amazes me sometimes how much I am willing to disclose here, and am still doing this, continuing to share it all, despite the fact that I will occasionally get a comment from some misinformed, judgmental, asshat of a person who has barely skimmed my journal, and just pops in to criticize me.

It hurts so much when this happens because despite the fact that I am clearly baring all and being very open in a public way about my life, I do think of all of you as friends, and not just passing strangers who would read about me and then have the gaul (apologies to the French here, I never knew this word was derived from Gallic, I thought it just meant nervy, it was my beloved Scott-monkey who clued me in), to comment in some aloof superior way and top that off with a dollop of unsolicited advice.

The most recent example of this being when someone wandered in mentioned that they found it hard to, "scrounge up some sympathy" for me and proceeded to slam me for being "fiscally irresponsible" without knowing enough about me to realize that when I talk about money and my Mother, we aren't talking about her money, we're talking about MY money, money left to me by my beloved Father and Grandfather that she merely manages for me. When I write these things, write so openly, make myself so vulnerable, I always forget that there are people out there who can come along and sling arrows. I forget that it can hurt, even if they may be well intentioned, even if they didn't mean to harm me, even if they did, it still hurts because I am too damned thin skinned.

There was also a little dig about my age, thanks so much, and a clear reference to this person's own resentment that he or she has been self supporting since she was eighteen while I no longer have to work a six to seven job. I hope he or she gets that, the operative words being no longer work a six AM to seven PM job.

I worked so hard for so many years and it just, (uh oh that French word again, let's think of something else here), unnerves me when someone can just stroll in and slam me for being in the position to not have to work the way I once did. Not to be Dr. Laura about it but if you were in the position to be able to be home for your children when they came home from school, and you were an artist and wanted to make a living in a business that requires you keep yourself constantly available, and at weird hours, wouldn't you take this opportunity? Or would you keep working in some cubicle so some harsh critical stranger wouldn't come by and bash you for your good fortune?

Then this person casually asked me if I was aware that there was a connection between emotionality and compulsive spending. No shit Dr. Freud? Really? A connection you say? Why thank you for the tremendous help. I couldn't possibly have strung those two together with a ball of twine and a bag full of laundry pins. The fact that I am in therapy and am seeing a psychiatrist, that I read every self help book and magazine article that pertains to me or my child, went to college, and have been going to twelve step groups for the last twenty years of my life, should have prepared me for this. How did I miss it?

They also completely missed the fact that the majority of what I'm speaking about when I refer to my compulsive spending is money spent on animal care and other people. I take care of two families with six children between them for whom I am their main source of income and stability, and many, many animals who would have been killed in shelters or on the streets had I not taken them in.

Then there is the spending I do on eBay, most of which involves purchasing my Mother's and Grandmother's dresses in a possibly misguided bid to win back their lost place in fashion history. It's a costly and time consuming labor of love for me and since I feel so disconnected from family and so disowned, abandoned and rejected by my birth family, it fills some deeper psychological need. For the rest of it, the stuff I don't need, the excess spending, I was just processing my desire to scale back my spending, while being afraid of my Mother's ability to pull the rug right out from under me, in my own journal.

Then he or she wrapped up his short little burst of criticism or helpful advice, I suppose it depends on how you look at it, by warning me not to pass my bad habits down to my son by saying, "how will he ever learn fiscal responsibility when you have none?", and then impassively asking me, as if from some great anonymous and certainly superior distance, "What will happen when your mother dies? Will the money go into some kind of trust that prevents you from going spend crazy?" Hello? Can you say, I am a cold disconnected selfish bastard who doesn't get that there is a living breathing person here on the other end of his computer monitor? I wasted an hour at least writing back to this person yesterday. And now I'm wasting more of my time and yours writing about it today when I should be focusing on the many loving, kind, and empathic people who come here, read my journal, and comment in supportive ways every single day. What a pity, a very human pity, that it's often the negative that tends to draw my attention.

Listen buddy I care more about my son than you can ever imagine. And as for your "concern" about our financial welfare after my Mother leaves this earth, (how dare you), there's no need to worry about my spending any of my family's money in any significant way because everything is tied up in trusts and controlled by a lawyer who will prevent me from ever being able to access anything more than the interest for the rest of my natural life.

Big huge waste of time and energy sigh, I hate that people can circumvent my decision to ban all creeps, trolls, and bastards, (and please don't take this literally because then this would have to include me), by disabling the anonymous comment feature. I forget that you can create a journal and never write anything in it, thereby essentially creating an anonymous facade from where you can comment at arms length, nicely keeping yourself removed from the consequences of your actions, while you look down from on high at the braver and more risk taking plebes of Live Journal.

So, to recap, I don't care if someone judges me to the moon and back, as long as they keep it to their own damned selves. The comment feature here on Live Journal is a boon and a curse. I see it as being here for my friends, for people who I care about, and who care about me, people I trust enough to allow into my life. My Live Journal is like a book you find on a table, a diary that you are being allowed to peek into, but no one has given you permission to scribble in the margins unless you exercise a bit of restraint and compassion, a bit of grace and good sense, and read the damned thing before you write in it. Who after having read my story and knowing what I have lived through in the last several years, would have the (I'm going to try another one here), audacity, or be cruel enough to rip me up for getting a little off track here. I just had my entire intestinal tract rearranged, PERMANENTLY. I now have two stomachs, an entirely new appearance, and I've lost ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTEEN pounds in just seven short months. This is hard! Food was my biggest coping mechanism, doesn't it seem sort of obvious that other areas of my life will become a bit shaky and imperfect for a while, while I try to get a handle on things? Argh!

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