Changes, or, My Life in Pictures

I've been thinking a lot lately about the changes that have happened in my life lately. I'd like to walk through these changes in pictures.

Here I am at 11 months old:Wasn't I adorable? Don't you wish you had one just like me? No? Ok, moving on.

I think I'm about 3 in this picture:


That's me and my bubby in front of my Grandparents' house, going to church one time when we were visiting them. I don't do that anymore, go to church OR visit my grandparents.

Here's me in a play in 7th grade. Note: I did not choose to look like a psycho Prussian girl scout.

This one is from the morning after prom. I don't know why I look so happy in this pic, since my head was throbbing and.....stuff.

Here's one taken by my good friend, M, one night when we were all out drinking and doing karaoke...



That brings us to J. She has become a very important part of my life. In fact, she is the most important part of my life. Here's a couple of shots from our commitment ceremony (you will please note how happy I look in these pics. This is not a mistake. I'm actually *happy.*):


Here's us at Hogwarts (no, not the school; we were at the "Wizarding World of Harry Potter" in Orlando with her family):


So that's my life, kinda, in pictures. Do these capture every moment? Of course not. Pictures don't generally show us when we're lonely or depressed, or guilty, or whatever. They usually just show us being happy.

So are pictures truth or lies? Do they just show what we want people to see? Or do they show an inner truth that can only be captured on film (or a memory card)?

I don't know the answer to that question. I know, that I, for one, won't be trying to capture images of truth. My emotions are too plain to begin with. Why would I want to have those emotions captured for everyone to see?

Crowded

I pretty much never leave the house anymore. My car's been out of service for a while, but I haven't minded too much, simply because of all the really scary stuff outside my door.

People, for instance.

I don't know that I could classify what I'm feeling as agoraphobia, because I'm not afraid of being outside, per se. I prefer to call it "hermitting" or "nesting." Call it what you want.

Mostly, I just don't have the energy to deal with the outside world.

At home, I can sit in MY space, eat MY food, listen to MY music, hook MY projects.

I'm still connected to the world via the net, and I still occasionally leave the house to go be with the world.

But it's really too much effort. All of it. I feel...crowded. By everyone.

There are people in the world. Truly stupid people. Truly hateful people. Sarah Palin. Glenn Beck. Bill O'Reilly. Not that I come across these people in my corner of Ohio, but the Palinites, the Beckians, and the O'Reillese are there. I live in a conservative place while holding extremely liberal views. This sometimes gives me a headache.

There are people in the world. Rude people. Inconsiderate people. Intolerant people. Either in action or in deed, they make the world a little bit worse for the rest of us.

Sure, I know that for every pontificating dudebag on the planet, there's at least one decent plodder who doesn't make waves. And for every hundred million or so of those, there's someone I care about personally.

Doesn't mean that I want or am even able to deal with the arseholes to get to the people I love.

So, fair warning. I'm not coming out unless it's something 1) I can't avoid doing, or 2) I really, really want to do.

It's not that I don't love you anymore. It's not that I don't want to see you. But seeing you means that I have to see people I don't want to see, and that is physically causing me pain at the moment.

And if your suggestion to me is that I have people over to socialize without having to go out into the world, my answer is no. I have to have a space that is all mine. I found the one person I am able to successfully share my space with, and I (in a totally non-legally binding sense) married her.

So if I feel up to it/can't get out of it/need to do it, you'll see me around. Otherwise, I'll be back to you later.

Is This Home?

Home. What does it mean? Where is it?

In my life, I have lived in 4 cities. Three in Indiana, and now one in Ohio. None of them have felt like home. I've lived with family, with friends, alone. Alone, a lot, by choice. And none of those places ever felt like home.

I've traveled a bit, but not as much as most people I know. I've seen New York City in the spring, Louisiana and Texas in June, and Wisconsin in January. I've never left the country. I've wanted to, but circumstances have just never jelled so that it has happened. I want to travel. I want to see Ireland and New Zealand, Wales and Australia, but not in that order. I want to see the canals in Venice, the monoliths on Easter Island, and the moose in Alaska. (I know I could see a moose in the zoo, but I'd really like to see one walking down the main street of some tiny Alaskan town, ala Northern Exposure.)

But none of the places I've traveled have felt like home.


As I was leaving Wisconsin this January, I finally realized that I was going home. It didn't matter to me that I'd lived in Indianapolis for more than a third of my life, or that for the first eighteen years I'd lived in Evansville. Suddenly, with no more warning than an aneurysm, I realized that a suburb of Dayton, Ohio was home.

And it wasn't because of the house, or the cats, or the weather, or anything else that might've tied me there. It was HER.

I was going home from a blizzard-ridden business trip, because she was there.

She's my home. And it doesn't seem to matter what the street signs say.

So to quote Mr. Joel: "Home can be the Pennsylvania Turnpike or Indiana's early morning dew. Home can be the hills of California; home is just another word for you."

It's Not Okay...

It’s not okay to tell someone that they are wrong because they don’t do things the way you would do them, as long as they aren’t hurting themselves or other people.

It’s not okay to make someone feel bad about themselves for exercising their legal avenues of redress when their rights have been violated.

It’s not okay to re-victimize someone. Ever.

Actually, it’s not okay to victimize someone.

It’s not okay to make this about your own victimization when you are wrong.

It’s not okay to intentionally hurt someone to make yourself feel better. Ever.

It’s not okay to hurt my family or my friends.

It’s not okay to be passively aggressive.

It’s not okay to be aggressively passive.

It’s not okay to be mean to someone just because the relative anonymity of the internet makes you feel safe. What it makes you is a coward and weak.

It’s not okay to force the way you think and feel on other people.

It’s not okay.

Little Things

A while ago, a friend of mine sent me a knitted false breast pattern for women who have had mastectomies. She asked me if I could redesign it in crochet. I did, and it has been well-received. I have gotten numerous comments on it from people who have donated scores of them to cancer centers and oncologists’ offices around the world.

Here is a picture of the one I made:

And yes, I pierced the nipple. I was being silly. Not quite sure now why I made it in teal, though.

Yesterday, I got this comment:

You have saved my sanity! I cannot thank you enough for this pattern. I had a mastectomy 4 years ago after a botched lumpectomy. At the time, prostheses were available free of charge (in Australia), but when I elected to have a prophylactic mastectomy 2 years later, they were no longer free & would have cost $800AUD. Of course, I couldn’t afford this, so have been wearing a liftup bra with a removeable bag which is SO uncomfortable & HOTTTTT. Now, I can wear all my pretty bras again. Again, thanks for giving me my life back. Warmest regards, [Name redacted]

My heart is so full right now. A simple, little thing that took all of an hour to re-work and crochet has given this woman and others like her a second chance to reclaim a piece of their femininity.

I am in awe of all survivors out there.

The Gift of Misery

Ok. This is a song that I wrote the other day. It's depressing, but it's reflective of my headspace when I wrote it.

"The Gift of Misery"

The tears I shed
Have never dried.
The voice in my head
Never lied.
He told me I was a monster,
So I believed it.

He scraped away
Bits of my soul.
Day after day,
I would never be whole.
He told me I was imperfect,
So I achieved it.

For two dozen years,
I crashed and I burned.
I gave nothing
And got it in turn.

The truth in the lie,
The fire in the ice,
The pain in the heart,
It doesn't think twice.

The fear in the dawn,
The hope in the night,
The gift in the misery,
Better end it right.

What is Beauty?

What is beautiful?

An argument could be made that beauty in a person is a combination of physical attributes, assembled in a pleasing manner. A tiny waistline, large brown eyes, full lips.

It could also be said that beauty stems from personality traits. Self-confidence, a sense of humor, compassion.

It could also be that beauty is a combination of those things. A sweet smile, a loving heart.

A friend of mine expressed some concern about finding a woman to be striking, and yet not being physically attracted to her at all.

I pointed out that, in my experience, a “beautiful” face, when attached to an ugly personality, becomes ugly in my eyes.

Likewise, homely features can become more attractive when they are found gracing a kind soul.

So being beautiful is not, I think, a mere matter of being graced with distinctive features or the money for a good cosmetic surgeon. It’s about allowing the good attributes of one’s personality shine through unprepossessing features.

Being beautiful surely has something to do with a nice back side or a pixie nose, but it’s more to do with the light in your eyes or the words from your mouth.

And everyone is beautiful to someone, even if that someone is only yourself.

Be beautiful.