Ten Speed

I'm in the middle of moving right now. Most things are packed and we're getting the moving van tomorrow. I'm currently in the process of cleaning the house and getting rid of a bunch of stuff because it won't fit in the moving van. 

No, I'm not at the point where I could star on Hoarders, but I do have a pack-rat problem.

Anyway, I was upstairs cleaning and I...fell. And broke something. Unfortunately it wasn't my leg, which would mean I could just overdose on morphine and kill myself. I'm in incredible pain right now and am seriously considering just setting the whole fucking place on fire.*

So. On to Cute Overload! So I can look at goggies and feel better!

-Katje

*This is sarcasm. I am not seriously considering setting the place on fire. I am just frustrated and in pain. 

Don't let it bother you.

There is something that's been bugging me for a while, and I feel it's time to talk about it on my blog, as it and similar issues have been referenced recently in the feminist blogosphere.

I'm a victim/survivor of abuse. I say both, because I have been victimised, and I have survived said victimisation. I don't wish to go into details about it, but it was mainly emotional and verbal. I'm still working through a lot of it, but some of it is ongoing, and that's more difficult to overcome.

So, I have triggers. We all have triggers. Some should be obvious to most people (ie, a scene in a movie or play that involves a rape is likely to be a huge fucking trigger for many people), and others are going to be a bit more obscure (closing down discussion threads in a forum, frex).

I can have any number of reactions when triggered. These reactions vary from having a hyperventilating panic attack, curling up into a little ball and crying, playing video games or engaging in some other escapist activity designed to numb me, yelling at and hurting someone I care about, drinking myself into a coma, or any other activity based in acute anxiety.

When dealing with these reactions, either to triggers or continued abuse, what I need most is support. I get it, a lot, from most of the people who have to deal with me when this happens. What I also get is a phrase that really bothers me.

Don't let it bother you.

I understand this is meant to come off as trying to help me through, to help me 'cope', but usually it comes from someone who hasn't gone through abuse and couldn't possibly understand what I'm going through. While the intent behind may be good, intent is not magic.

Telling me to not let the abusive behavior get to me is putting the onus on the victim to not get upset when shit is being flung at her, when it's really the burden of the abuser to stop abusing. Revolutionary idea, I know.

Not only that, but it invalidates my experience and my emotions as a survivor of abuse. Don't let it get to you! Grow a thicker-skin! You're so fucking weak!

Basically, they all say the same thing, and when you say "Don't let it get to you," all I hear is "Why the fuck can't you be stronger, you weak bitch?" Which triggers me.

It's not that simple. It never will be. And by saying it constantly, you're adding to the cycle of abused and abuser. As the latter.

So. You want to be an ally to abuse survivors and help to end the cycle? Respect their own agency to deal with it in their own time. Offer the support of a shoulder to cry on, and repeated affirmations of their worth as human beings. Instead of talking, listen. Don't try to 'fix it' with phrases of 'support' like "Don't let it get to you" -- you cannot 'fix it', and those five words make it known that we cannot trust you with our experience, as you  have adopted the guise of the abuser.

I know you want to fix things. But you can't. You can just make sure it doesn't get broke more.

Karma Slave

So a few days ago I finished my version of Zeeby's Bag, which is a pattern from Stitch'n'Bitch. I say 'my version' because I used different colors and put the inside pocket on the outside; otherwise I followed the pattern exactly.

I'm fairly satisfied with it. Next time I'm going to use a sturdier yarn; the one I used causes too much slouch and stretch, so the bag is really only suitable for knitting projects and not, say, my sketch or notebooks.

here you can really see the slouch.

Anyway, it was a big project, and I finished it, so I'm proud of that. Now I'm working on the Patchwork Baby Blanket for Fal. It's my own pattern. We'll see how that goes. 

There will be a rather large hiatus in my knitting and crocheting life, unfortunately -- as I mentioned, I am in the process of moving up to Powell River right now. Between the move and the time my house up there is ready (read: built) and organized, I will not have time to knit or crochet -- and all my yarn and stuff will be in boxes. 

Le sigh. Ah, well, it will prompt me to build the bungalow and get unpacked and cleaned up as fast as possible, so I can start knitting again! 

I need you now

JV introduced me to Lady Antebellum and India.Arie today. New music loves. 

Well, I talked about EAT in my last post; I won't be going, because money is so tight. I'd really like to have a life where I can do the things that are important to me and not wonder where my next meal is coming from. I don't want to be rich. I just don't want to be so mind-numbingly poor. (I didn't go to Spring Mysteries, for the same reason and more -- difficult to explain here, so I'll save it for later, and Innocence and Immanence).

I've been sick for a while, and depressed off and on. This is standard for me. I just need it to be summer already. 

Regarding summer: moving back up to Powell River, and mom is planning on getting a bungalow built in the backyard for me, so I can have my own space. I already have a job lined up as a barista at a local new cafe. I shall wear my Questionable Content shirts and become a real-life Faye. (Though not really, cause I have to not drive away customers.)

In September, after labour day weekend, I'm going to move down to San Francisco. For school -- going to apply for a transfer to SF State for their theatre program -- but also because I just feel I have to. Intuition and tarot cards are all telling me to do it. 

Anyway, I'm off to design the bungalow using Google SketchUp, and perhaps do my homework. Or sleep, as it's 3 am.