Preface: I still haven't decided what warning signal or sign to use for potentially offended readers. I want to retain those readers (if they'd like to hang around), even though I intend on writing posts with curse-words and somewhat (or very) offensive language or ideas. I will not stifle myself in 2010 (and you will find out why). So, what mark shall I use? I disavow the "X" of obscenity. How about this (a wall of crosses?):
I'm done. I've stuffed enough feelings into this sick body of mine for too long. Gee, the non-western view of psoriatic arthritis is that one of it's root causes is the holding and and witholding of natural functions. Yeah, I've not pooped, peed, or farted when I've needed to, just like anyone else in our so-called civilized nation. Neither have I freely expressed my sexuality or my feelings. How many people actually do? Are we all suffering from auto-immune disorders? No, but they sure are on the rise.
I'll be blunt: I'm angry as hell. Compared to the average person (whoever that may be), I eat a far healthier diet. I rarely drink, and if I do it's usually a natural beer. I haven't had a soda in over 10 years. Junk food? A rarity. Sweets? I hardly ever have any, and when I do it's something pretty pure like Haagen Daz vanilla iced cream or a butter cookie. I quit smoking (finally) at least six years ago (though yes, I do chew nicotine gum still). So, what's the deal? I've more than annoyed about being overweight what with the mostly vegetarian, two-meal a day diet I live on, but now I'm almost downright furious to learn that my body "believes" that I am being poisoned. Okay, I take some prescription medications, but so does everyone else in America, don't they? And they're not all swelling up, itching to the point of insanity, and in terrible pain. Oh, they actually might be pretty sick, judging from all the ads for medications on TV and in magazines. And if one is drinking, one is less likely to notice how one feels. Damn. Why can't I get on the moderate drinking band wagon? I really don't like to drink unless I'm hanging out with others, chatting and whatnot; otherwise, the stuff makes me feel sleepy and uncreative. Oh well.
One more thing: maybe more people don't feel well than are telling (in public). Just look around you in a grocery store. Most everyone looks exhausted and pissed off. At work, people are acting out their miseries with passive-aggressive behavior. Sure, there are good people out there, and happy people, too, but I'm just thinking aloud. Maybe I can't accept that I'm so sick when I've done so much to remedy myself. But then, I've also done my body a lot of damage when I was young. And, though I have been diagnosed with PTSD, I've never really believed it. But the evidence is there. Damage in childhood shows up later. I'm really pissed off. It was so much easier being angry when I was in my late teens and early 20's. Now, I haven't the slightest idea how to express myself appropriately. Become a performance artist? Actually, I could go for that. . .
That last paragraph was inserted later, quite haphazardly, so back to my original rant:
I'm sick of being nice. I am really, truly sick of being good. I'm not gonna change much, but anger is something that is also pretty natural. Just because I'm something of a pacifist doesn't mean I can't engage in some healthy anger. Same with crying; just 'cause others don't like it, don't mean I shouldn't cry. Thing is, I really hate crying alone. It makes me feel sad. Kind of a conundrum, eh? I'm wary of crying 'cause it's going to make me sad? If I'm crying, I must be sad! I've never quite gotten the cathartic effect of a good cry. And, I've gotta admit, when I've been in communities where crying was accepted, a part of me saw all the weepers and thought, "what a bunch of pussies."* Yep, that's my inner teenaged boy, who's quite a bit of an asshole. He'd kick me in the ribs when I'm down. He's pretty pissed off at me right now for being such a wimp and not listening to enough head banging music. Now, that stuff is cathartic. Whatdya think driving is for? Hey, maybe I forgot how screaming along to Godflesh or other aggro music feels just soooo fucking good. Yep, I've internalized society's call to become a normal middle-aged woman and become a sick and tired middle-aged woman. This is just not working for me.
Wait a minute. I've been here before. Assimilating has always made me ill. Why can't I get that through my head?
It looks like those Buddhist vows are gonna go flying out the window. It's cold out. The window is shut, and I'm not gonna open it, so watch out for the glass. I really do not want any innocents to get hurt (even though my inner boy is saying "let's do some ass kicking!"). Oh, I do wish he'd shut up, but he's taken care of me well for too long. Really. Sorry, boy, I've not been listening to you much lately.
And no, I do not have multiple personality disorder. Saying I have an "inner boy" is the same as having an "inner child", and it's perfectly okay, only less new-agey sounding. At least that's what I like to tell myself.
Rant's over. Now I wish I could go take a long walk in a loud neighborhood. Ha! You should see where I live. That ain't gonna happen.
*I once told a few young men that calling wimps pussies was rather stupid 'cause "pussy is strong." Asked to explain myself, I did, saying: "Pussy gives birth. And, more importantly, you guys'll do anything for pussy, won't you?" They loved that, and they never used the word without great deference in front of me again. I have nothing against the word pussy, used correctly. Nor cunt. Unfortunately, only a very few people use either term the way they should be used, with power.
Y'know, not having the job of tattoo artist has deprived me of the one place I could talk freely and without judgment. No wonder I'm overloaded with toxins. Repression is very bad for my health. Yours, too, most likely.
Image note: Diamanda Galas, a woman who will be heard. Listen to "Cunt" here, if you dare.
Addendum: The last few times I've ranted here, I think about my having told someone that "I am more conservative than you probably realize." And that's true, too. None of this is much of a conundrum, in my mind. But this is the stuff for a more serious post, and I'm done for the night. It's been (mostly) all about me, me, and more me (and my inner boy child). But, whenever I talk about me, I'm also talking about all of us. I hope that by my speaking my truth, even if it's seemingly whiny resentments and bottled up crap (yes, that's what's ailing me), I give you all license to do the same. It's not just about me spilling my spoiled beans.Next post: why pearls and diamonds are nice. Or something like that.