LADY GODIVA: The Naked Truth

My grandpa had died recently.  I found out via a Facebook post and I’m proud of myself for demonstrating some grace as I wasn’t too thrilled to have discovered this information second hand through an electronic social media platform.   I was successfully able to control my emotions (ended up having a severe unanticipated reaction to Wellbutrin back in May 2021) and it was refreshing.  I didn’t let that Monkey Mind get the upper hand this time.  #Accomplishments A lot has happened in my personal life— again —dear readers and albeit I really prefer to actually type, I may start to resort to writing/posting in my blog via my thumbs.  Which isn’t ideal at all but wasting pointless hours on Facebook doesn’t really sound appealing anymore either.  Nor being seated in front of my tv, or hell, seated at all period.  But I apologize, my life seemed to completely go haywire even independent of covid.  I fell off, and in all s...

Growing up as a child there were some strict arbitrary rules I was obligated to abide by - no makeup, no pierced ears, only white underwear.  We had a secret knock when I was left home alone and was too short yet to peek through the spy-hole, various code words exchanged to be used in a variety of circumstances (specifically, on the phone , this will become important again later), and there was an antique ladies hat pin, an extremely deadly type of hat pin , a literal hairpin dagger about 11 inches long my father instructed me how to use in the living-room of Mentor Square Apartments, when he was still employed at Ohio Rubber, he showed me how to use it as a skillful weapon. All afternoon in the living room.  Teaching me to stab testicles, eyeballs, and windpipes.  With an antique hatpin.  I was maybe 6 years old?  7?    As soon as my dad got custody of me, he put what was basically an extension of himself, because he's a Malignant Narc...

T his is supposed to be like therapy or something so, read at your own risk.  I was thinking about joining a blog community specifically on abuse survivors, but it's moderated and edited, plus I read some of the hosted entries already - most of which are short, brief, mainly one time or occasional  acts.     Not to downplay one traumatic rape or two. I always told myself, it wasn't that bad, what I experienced.  Downplayed it.  But this week my PTSD was borderline disruptive.  Hate to say it but the rebirth or reboot of one of my greatest loves the 'X-Files' probably was a trigger... Anyway I just want to burp up one terrible or traumatic memory for me, whenever the compulsion drives me.  There's no sitting shotgun in this car, so climb in the back seat. My mind is Swiss-cheese.   No one I know even knows the extent.  Life is madness, disease, a wriggling mass of wormholes, my...

Just got done reading Nancy Kilgore's book 'Girl in the Water', it's about sibling abuse.  Her sister Sherry sounded awful and so many parallels were present between them that were present between my father and I it was a discomforting comfort.   Someone once told me to read 'A Child Called It', I did and it struck me as a very insincere memoir.  I didn't identify with that person in the manner I did with Nancy Kilgore (excluding her descent into insane-o fairyland) and unlike Nancy, I did ultimately assert myself and stood up to my father.  But I did that about 12 years too late. I don't recall being molested.  I know I had a real fear that it could happen, mainly because of my mother.  Her angle in the divorce proceedings was the--false--accusation of child molestation against my father.  But you can't really blame my mother for thinking the way she was, quite frankly, there was some compelli...

SCROLL DOWN TO TITLE TO SKIP The Disclaimer: I promised myself that this wouldn't become a personal blog, I had one of those on MySpace.com that I was actually particularly proud of until Myspace devolved into the cesspool it is today.   I actually had considered this a "gutter-blog" for awhile, being exceptionally ill for a time with an unknown cause that I was terrified was colon cancer.  It's not colon cancer.  Or cancer.  Yet. So my gutter-blog was for poetry posts.  I was scared I was dying and I just wanted to shoot my spiritual flare into the ether void that composes the interwebs and the multiverse. Then I angrily linked it one day to a Facebook Admin page I had created, outraged that some Facebook Admin pages glorified Creepshots, candid shots of YogaPants, and even more infuriatingly the FB page dedicated to hating on "12 Year Old Sluts", so I had made a page in response called "12 Year Old Rapists" - which basically showed a fe...