If it helps to imagine I've made all this up. By all means. You wouldn't be the only one.
The book I am reading is validating how I could have convinced myself back then that keeping these lies and not hurting everyone else even though it hurt me all the time was the right thing to do. It's not good really. That we always think we are right. That's why I keep the type of people around me who will argue with me when I'm wrong. Some of my smarter friends and wiser family has gotten me this far since I seem incapable of learning the social cues that mean someone shouldn't be trusted.
It explains why I feel really good with the decisions I made even though they were all bad. Because now I am safe and this research proves that it is Very unhealthy for me to see them all the time. I don't know what I'm gonna feel about the house, but with the swing set gone. And the playhouse where Zack and DD played at Nanny and Pop Pop's back yard in as babies and that I was raped in when they were 9 and barely speaking to either of us. I just want it gone. I am trying to tell myself that I am fine. That this has nothing to do with me anymore. But that is really an unrealistic expectation of myself at this point because I think of myself as a cartoon character internet persona super hero and not a broken human being. I don't know if I will EVER heal from what happened and that scares the shit out of me.
But I AM and I always was the hopeless optimist getting made fun of by people like you because I believe that a world where humans care and nurture one another can exist instead of one where we expose and violate people's privacy.
It is the suppression of the word that gives it the violence & the viciousness. Talking about things isn't violence. Violence is violence. And poverty is violence. The ways in which we talk about things or don't has the power to change them. The culture of fear has stopped us from exploring ideas to save the beach during climate change, has overlooked ways that precious metals could be used to make solar panels or hydroponic food towers or MOTHER FUCKING SPEED TRAINS BITCHES GOD DAMN IT. Is anyone listening?
Don't threaten the ones you love. And to anyone afraid of me... I go to work. I go to local music and art shows and I Occasionally but not in TRUMPLAND really go to protests. I is trying to stay off lists these days. I am trying not to be a member. I have pretty much decided I wouldn't want to be included in any group that would have someone like me as a member. We need to start over. We dun fucked up.
Until Next Time...
Love,
Jackie Lane
11/7/17
11/6/17
Waiting
I decided to finally type out and publish the poem that I wrote in the police station. I had already waited over 2 hours for a female officer to come help me, once she read what I had to say it took another good half and hour before they told me a female sex crimes detective wasn't available and that they only had 2 and insisted I talk to the male detective even though he shook my hand, made fun of how I looked, and dismissed me coldly.
Here is the poem I wrote while waiting for her to come back after being the only person at that point to read the worst things I thought were crimes. Like being assaulted while screaming no or while unconsciously drunk.
I have aspirations of reading it in public someday or of making it a song or spoken word art but we will see. For now. This.
Waiting
Why did you wait so long?
Why didn't you say something the first time?
How can any female remember the first time being harassed?
The first time a man "unintentionally" grazed our ass?
As we walk past the graves of those before us
Was it someone who should have cared for us?
Someone who said they loved us?
Just some strange dude on the bus?
When do you know enough is never enough?
When do you stand up and call their bluff?
When do you realize they are not so tough?
You have all the stuff
You can stop them
You can say no
But it is something you have to be told
Until Next Time...
Love,
-Jackie Lane
Here is the poem I wrote while waiting for her to come back after being the only person at that point to read the worst things I thought were crimes. Like being assaulted while screaming no or while unconsciously drunk.
I have aspirations of reading it in public someday or of making it a song or spoken word art but we will see. For now. This.
Waiting
Why did you wait so long?
Why didn't you say something the first time?
How can any female remember the first time being harassed?
The first time a man "unintentionally" grazed our ass?
As we walk past the graves of those before us
Was it someone who should have cared for us?
Someone who said they loved us?
Just some strange dude on the bus?
When do you know enough is never enough?
When do you stand up and call their bluff?
When do you realize they are not so tough?
You have all the stuff
You can stop them
You can say no
But it is something you have to be told
Until Next Time...
Love,
-Jackie Lane
11/5/17
"If you're not angry, you're just stupid, or you don't care."
This is a real photo of the full moon taken yesterday. Credit: Guido Bibra
I almost never remember my dreams these days.
I prefer not to remember them.
It's never worth it.
Last night I had a nightmare. I didn't even want to describe it to my husband when I told him I felt sick after I woke up. Sadists in charge of children really has me sick lately. It's very common. Men who don't hesitate to hurt women are raising another generation of human beings. They think it's their right and freedom to terrorize people into a life of constant fear.
You are The Man, the big brother we are supposed to watch out for.
It is literal.
You are the imperialist if you believe in fear.
Fear of terrorists, fear of violence, fear of Nazis, fear of rapists.
The fear is what controls you.
You just sit there afraid of all the things you're constantly bombarded with when the only thing to be afraid of is wasting the short precious time that human life consists of. I would like to say I'm not angry anymore. To say that being angry lets the bad guys win. But I'm honestly outraged at people's lack of anger.
How can you know any percentage of the child population is trafficked into slavery or raped before they should be old enough to know what sex is, and not be in any way angry at that fact?
How can you know husband's hit their wives for talking to other people, or for trying to look at what secrets they hide in their phone and not be the littlest bit angry?
How can you know indigenous people are barely respected any more these days then they were when we first started raping and murdering their people and their land? How can you know their children were stolen from them and broken to behave like "white" citizens and not be angry?
How can you know that CEO's of major corporations are profiting off the illness and death of millions and not be angry?
How can you know that father's rape their daughters and their daughter's die of overdose or the father dies of health problems and those fathers are lauded as loving doting pillars of their community and not be angry?
How can you see Donald Trump as the leader of "The Free World" and not be angry?
How can you see your rapist walking freely down the street, still never there for his family, still lying his face off to all of society and going to entirely get away with continuing to be the scumbag drunk, addicted to pain pills and sexually assaulting everyone they know, without being angry?
How can you know that the most popular pornography on the internet is violent gonzo rape porn and not be angry?
How can you know that a majority of the human adult male population thinks that it is somehow a turn on sexually to see women humiliated and degraded and not be angry?
How can you know that every day women are choked and displayed like chunks of meat for auction and that society is condoning this as a potentially feminist act and not be angry?
How can you know that society condones the subjugation of the female sex class and not be angry?
Your pacifism is the way in which evil operates. The Fog of War. People can not see the evil right in front of them while using flowery language to explain away the current atrocities of human existence. Loss will always be. Life will never be forever.
Life is not torture.
Life is not beauty.
Life is what we bring into existence.
Life is what we believe.
Life is how we care for the environment that cares for us.
Life is how we call into existence everything that is.
I am genuinely concerned with the lack of care I see taking place among families. Lack of money which is just a representation of how we live, spent on hygiene & health. So much money spent on chasing youth which is not real, as time isn't linear & all life consists of a steady aging as we perceive it. We invest in comforting devices & products instead of realizing what we need is human contact.
I always knew that is what I needed. But time & time again people have told me heaping mounds of lies to my face about what a good friend to me they were while talking shit to anyone else who will listen behind my back, or just never being there for me at all unless it helps them.
The same people who take my money, my time, my artistry, my muse, and my strength kicked me in the face while I was down and told everyone not to trust me. But guess what, it's easy to trust someone compelled to tell the truth. So I've kept and gained a lot of wonderful friends while trying to break free of misogyny. And it's a lot easier to tell who the scum bags are these days now that I've seen what a pill or alcohol addiction can really turn someone into.
Now I see your example in a million other faces.
A monster groping at the light inside of everyone ripping the gentle hearts out of those entrusted to their care.
Taking away everything that makes them feel secure until even spending time with the emotionally riddling addict is better than being entirely alone and isolated.
Eventually you pray for the isolation anyway because even the void feels better than constant pain.
You wish for death often.
Being entirely alone might as well be death.
Nothing is funny when you're always the butt of some assholes sick joke.
The fear can never fully end. Now I see men in charge of children everywhere I go. And I wonder, what the fuck is the patriarchy doing? How do we think men can watch filmed rape and torture porn in statistically significant numbers, see it in a significant amount of divorces and allow them the right to raise children?
Anyone documented as watching gonzo and contributing to the capitalism that enslaves and rapes the female class should be hung after having a firing squad aim only at the dick & limbs, & set on fire slightly before kicking out the barrel.
I am so proud of writing this last paragraph that I show it to Kyle immediately.
His response was so good it's also getting included, "seems too quick."
I have somewhere I am going with this about who Should raise children and some other connecting ideas but I want to end on the seems too quick joke. When it goes on longer than this many words no one is following along and interested anymore anyway.
Until Next Time...
Love,
-Jackie Lane
I almost never remember my dreams these days.
I prefer not to remember them.
It's never worth it.
Last night I had a nightmare. I didn't even want to describe it to my husband when I told him I felt sick after I woke up. Sadists in charge of children really has me sick lately. It's very common. Men who don't hesitate to hurt women are raising another generation of human beings. They think it's their right and freedom to terrorize people into a life of constant fear.
You are The Man, the big brother we are supposed to watch out for.
It is literal.
You are the imperialist if you believe in fear.
Fear of terrorists, fear of violence, fear of Nazis, fear of rapists.
The fear is what controls you.
You just sit there afraid of all the things you're constantly bombarded with when the only thing to be afraid of is wasting the short precious time that human life consists of. I would like to say I'm not angry anymore. To say that being angry lets the bad guys win. But I'm honestly outraged at people's lack of anger.
How can you know any percentage of the child population is trafficked into slavery or raped before they should be old enough to know what sex is, and not be in any way angry at that fact?
How can you know husband's hit their wives for talking to other people, or for trying to look at what secrets they hide in their phone and not be the littlest bit angry?
How can you know indigenous people are barely respected any more these days then they were when we first started raping and murdering their people and their land? How can you know their children were stolen from them and broken to behave like "white" citizens and not be angry?
How can you know that CEO's of major corporations are profiting off the illness and death of millions and not be angry?
How can you know that father's rape their daughters and their daughter's die of overdose or the father dies of health problems and those fathers are lauded as loving doting pillars of their community and not be angry?
How can you see Donald Trump as the leader of "The Free World" and not be angry?
How can you see your rapist walking freely down the street, still never there for his family, still lying his face off to all of society and going to entirely get away with continuing to be the scumbag drunk, addicted to pain pills and sexually assaulting everyone they know, without being angry?
How can you know that the most popular pornography on the internet is violent gonzo rape porn and not be angry?
How can you know that a majority of the human adult male population thinks that it is somehow a turn on sexually to see women humiliated and degraded and not be angry?
How can you know that every day women are choked and displayed like chunks of meat for auction and that society is condoning this as a potentially feminist act and not be angry?
How can you know that society condones the subjugation of the female sex class and not be angry?
Your pacifism is the way in which evil operates. The Fog of War. People can not see the evil right in front of them while using flowery language to explain away the current atrocities of human existence. Loss will always be. Life will never be forever.
Life is not torture.
Life is not beauty.
Life is what we bring into existence.
Life is what we believe.
Life is how we care for the environment that cares for us.
Life is how we call into existence everything that is.
I am genuinely concerned with the lack of care I see taking place among families. Lack of money which is just a representation of how we live, spent on hygiene & health. So much money spent on chasing youth which is not real, as time isn't linear & all life consists of a steady aging as we perceive it. We invest in comforting devices & products instead of realizing what we need is human contact.
I always knew that is what I needed. But time & time again people have told me heaping mounds of lies to my face about what a good friend to me they were while talking shit to anyone else who will listen behind my back, or just never being there for me at all unless it helps them.
The same people who take my money, my time, my artistry, my muse, and my strength kicked me in the face while I was down and told everyone not to trust me. But guess what, it's easy to trust someone compelled to tell the truth. So I've kept and gained a lot of wonderful friends while trying to break free of misogyny. And it's a lot easier to tell who the scum bags are these days now that I've seen what a pill or alcohol addiction can really turn someone into.
Now I see your example in a million other faces.
A monster groping at the light inside of everyone ripping the gentle hearts out of those entrusted to their care.
Taking away everything that makes them feel secure until even spending time with the emotionally riddling addict is better than being entirely alone and isolated.
Eventually you pray for the isolation anyway because even the void feels better than constant pain.
You wish for death often.
Being entirely alone might as well be death.
Nothing is funny when you're always the butt of some assholes sick joke.
The fear can never fully end. Now I see men in charge of children everywhere I go. And I wonder, what the fuck is the patriarchy doing? How do we think men can watch filmed rape and torture porn in statistically significant numbers, see it in a significant amount of divorces and allow them the right to raise children?
Anyone documented as watching gonzo and contributing to the capitalism that enslaves and rapes the female class should be hung after having a firing squad aim only at the dick & limbs, & set on fire slightly before kicking out the barrel.
I am so proud of writing this last paragraph that I show it to Kyle immediately.
His response was so good it's also getting included, "seems too quick."
I have somewhere I am going with this about who Should raise children and some other connecting ideas but I want to end on the seems too quick joke. When it goes on longer than this many words no one is following along and interested anymore anyway.
Until Next Time...
Love,
-Jackie Lane
10/31/17
Raising Lazarus from the Dead
My mom has had to work almost every single one of Zack's Halloweens except this one. So this is the first year in 11 that I get to hand out candy. Except I can't open the door because the kitten is going INSANE! So I have the lights on and my front screen door open so I can talk to people and a giant basket full of candy. It's so fun. I got to see Jack and Matilda dressed up. I don't know why she came this way. She turned at our house. I wouldn't have said anything. She could have walked past or even taken candy. I wouldn't say anything more or less than I would say to anyone else. "Happy Halloween! Take as much as you want... Have a good night." Over and over. Zack trick or treated at our old house where Sara lived a couple months after we moved out with Janet's kids, like he was used to then, it's hard to even remember now how much he missed our old life even though he loves his new one so much now and 3 years went super fast. My cousin didn't even say hello to him. Someone who had helped me raise him since he was born and I was always working and always a screw up so Errrbody helped.
I can't pretend people don't exist. It just feels cruel. I'm not angry with them. I never was. It isn't easy knowing I am doing the right thing by never talking to them again. I feel better every day all the time. So they must as well.
I knew I was going to write a blog post today. I have all these other experiences to get out. To get down. I feel like I am in limbo but I don't know what I am waiting for. I guess I am waiting for them to leave. There's so much more that probably hasn't spilled out. Someone asked me if I knew Joshua Fink and I said yes, I have his poetry book. I didn't read it yet. I started to but I related more to Skylar's at the time and read that chapbook multiple times. I got The Bones of Madness at Jon's Addam's memorial show at The Saint. I was supposed to go to the diner but instead I went to see some more really loud music somewhere else with myself. I could barely talk to people in June. I had to go to court in June. I was so afraid all the time. I threw up all the time from the winter to the spring even when I quit drinking. Constant fear and anxiety until I owned my own story. On some level though in my mind I am still protecting them. I haven't read my own 4 full journals from those years since we moved back here. I had forgotten about them even while they are always at the back of my mind. Until someone asked me about Fink. His poetry book is in the sparkling sequined Star Wars backpack with Zack's Pop Figures Joker and Harley Quinn key chains on the zipper pulls that has the journals in it behind my living room recliners. Nothing for me is a coincidence. Everything is part of this larger puzzle I will die trying to figure out. But really today. I skipped smoking my bowl and fell into a deep moment of zen under a giant soft pink sweater and my "cat Tea" as Zack and Kyle call it [a microwavable heating pad that smells like tea] with the cool wind from after the storm whipping through the house.
I saw him sitting on the wood that I spent hours walking back and forth on today waiting for someone to get there, facing the other direction. Always pretending I do not exist. Which is how I would prefer it. Just pretend I don't exist in somebody else's neighborhood. I hear Alaska is really nice this time of year. 26 degrees and the runway that should be frozen is thawing. Nibbler (the kitten) finally passed the fuck out. She was RUNNING non stop from the time the trick or treating started until just now when she passed out in the chair next to me. It's dark and pretty damn cold out now so I doubt I will see too many more kids. Even the older kids don't stay out late in this world. It's a crazy thing. We wouldn't even want to go out until it was dark out when I was a kid. Only one trip right after school maybe. I always went on the Island in Lavallette at Gram's and in Toms River as a kid. Never in Lakewood when I moved there. In Island Heights weirdly in 7th and 8th grade. That's when I saw my first hairy pimply male ass. At night trick or treating in I.H. at like 13 years old. I'm sure it was a big deal at the time. Looking back I'm glad they just mooned me and I wasn't one of the girls who had to either A. See or B. Suck their little child dick's.
I went to a Halloween costume required party. I was too afraid to wear my aggressively feminist costume. I dressed like Wednesday Addam's in honor of Jon (in my mind cause I'm weird like that) and said, "this is my costume, I'm a homicidal maniac. They look just like everyone else." Let's help Rachel Bloodgood (way to be the first person I am calling out by name in my blog for a good reason) get her hands on Jon Addam's Art and have a show for him with it. Cause when you're an artist you're never really gone, you live on in the hearts and minds of all of the people you connected with and intertwined roots with. Also being a good friend is neat.
Shout out to the friend who had to walk me to the outside, Almost to my car even though I didn't actually let him, I just hauled ass walking the well lit block to my car by myself because I INSISTED I not be afraid even though I was terrified after being leered at and then after finally deciding the inside was full of mostly drunk men looking for the last lonely drunk women to escape with FINALLY going outside to have someone yell, "it's cold out here, sweetheart!" or something equally meaningless and insane to yell at a human being from a distance and then stop and turn back and watch them from the direction they were supposed to be going. Thanks secret super strong man friend, hahaha, who I CREEPILY lurk around when I feel unsafe in social situations at shows because I feel like you Are safe. He's not the only one. I met a pretty decent spread of "good men" on my merry travels about the art scene this year when I needed to be busy because I lived alone for a year. Sleeping with Christmas bells on my door.
If Jon hadn't died I don't know if Kyle and I would get along as well as we do. If we would have had the talks we needed to have as soon that brought us back together right away. At that point, seeing someone we knew of and their partner split prematurely was enough to make us feel the foolishness of a year apart with stark remorse of lost time.
Right as I was starting to give up on my sociopolitical life. On my quest for the end of rape culture. The #metoo hashtag exploded onto the social scene. Blazing through even the mainstream news coverage. Making old women in my salon recall the many times at jobs and in organizations they were made to feel sexualized by men in authority over them who they could only get in subtle jabs in at, if say anything at all. In a world where that pussy grabbing behavior was legal and the socially acceptable norm. Nobody ever adds that into their hipster nostalgia for the 50's. That women couldn't speak at all let alone speak up. I almost gave up and then the cult of the feminine lifted me on it's wings. Almost everyone in capitalism should be metoo-ing. We are conditioned to sell ourselves lest we be left behind. I never really understood fame seekers. I always had a hard time keeping my circle small enough that I had enough energy to go around and focus on the important people and things. I recently figured out where I fit into this world better than I knew before and it feels very good. I know I believe no ones deserves to be forgotten. I don't believe in a traditional afterlife being an atheist. But I believe that everyone we encounter leaves a little bit or a lot of themselves with us. That is very important. There is no collective consciousness without the collective.
Interestingly I don't even know if Jon would remember who I am. It's not important. He was important to someone I met at a crucial time of my life and who I really needed to meet and a lot of other people in my community who are important to me. I regret all the time I allowed someone to make me afraid. I regret all the years I wasted being depressed and allowing other people to judge who I am as a mother and as an artist.
I've been doing amazing work lately. Humans make the best canvas. They are so beautiful and unique. I never ask people what color hair they want. I always ask what is their favorite color. What colors don't you like for some reason. The internet allows for much greater communication and creativity among the masses. Without nearly enough people having read and shared my blog and my ideas. The hair and the chalk and the things that I dreamed and put out there into the universe have come to be. I have found, or built or called to into being the community I once dreamed of. It's strange to be around people who are kind after all this time. It was strange at first to be around people who care. People who love me. People who listen. I still miss my old life every day even though I know that this new life is right. Even if I hope that feeling doesn't linger but fades quickly once I can't see them anymore in my view.
Worse than the bodily autonomy and confidence I used to have that you stole from me is the relationships I had with others. The fact that I can never again be trusted the way I once was, even though I seemed trustworthy before I told the truth, truly empathic people always knew I wasn't. If I lost my mind to the control of a psycho once everyone thinks it can happen again.
My cousin who used to bring her breast milk to you while your wife was at work during the day called me Borderline. Implying there is a Type of woman who deserves rape and asks for it. I'm sorry for her life and her marriage that she believes in that version of modern psychology. Her and 2 other women I know who have children similar to our children's ages have suddenly become clearly influenced by him over these past years. It makes sense because he and his wife said terrible things about these women and now I recognize them as earlier members of the cycle of abuse we all got swept up into with them. It feels good to know that the only people in life who don't like me aren't going on what I have actually been like to them in person and are instead basing their views of me on my abusers opinion. It basically feels like there is nothing not to like except for his existence in my life, and now he's fucking Long gone.
More and more people believe me or are leaving me and that feels good. I have had people say they are sorry they didn't know, I have cried to people who seemed to genuinely care. I have had people buy me a drink who weren't trying to fuck me. I have friends that have nothing to do with any of the worst things that happened to me, who came into my life and saved me carrying around a heavy burden I do not want them to bear. I am making it my point to only bring people up from now on instead of dragging them down with my old lie.
Until Next Time...
Love,
- Jackie Lane
I can't pretend people don't exist. It just feels cruel. I'm not angry with them. I never was. It isn't easy knowing I am doing the right thing by never talking to them again. I feel better every day all the time. So they must as well.
I knew I was going to write a blog post today. I have all these other experiences to get out. To get down. I feel like I am in limbo but I don't know what I am waiting for. I guess I am waiting for them to leave. There's so much more that probably hasn't spilled out. Someone asked me if I knew Joshua Fink and I said yes, I have his poetry book. I didn't read it yet. I started to but I related more to Skylar's at the time and read that chapbook multiple times. I got The Bones of Madness at Jon's Addam's memorial show at The Saint. I was supposed to go to the diner but instead I went to see some more really loud music somewhere else with myself. I could barely talk to people in June. I had to go to court in June. I was so afraid all the time. I threw up all the time from the winter to the spring even when I quit drinking. Constant fear and anxiety until I owned my own story. On some level though in my mind I am still protecting them. I haven't read my own 4 full journals from those years since we moved back here. I had forgotten about them even while they are always at the back of my mind. Until someone asked me about Fink. His poetry book is in the sparkling sequined Star Wars backpack with Zack's Pop Figures Joker and Harley Quinn key chains on the zipper pulls that has the journals in it behind my living room recliners. Nothing for me is a coincidence. Everything is part of this larger puzzle I will die trying to figure out. But really today. I skipped smoking my bowl and fell into a deep moment of zen under a giant soft pink sweater and my "cat Tea" as Zack and Kyle call it [a microwavable heating pad that smells like tea] with the cool wind from after the storm whipping through the house.
I saw him sitting on the wood that I spent hours walking back and forth on today waiting for someone to get there, facing the other direction. Always pretending I do not exist. Which is how I would prefer it. Just pretend I don't exist in somebody else's neighborhood. I hear Alaska is really nice this time of year. 26 degrees and the runway that should be frozen is thawing. Nibbler (the kitten) finally passed the fuck out. She was RUNNING non stop from the time the trick or treating started until just now when she passed out in the chair next to me. It's dark and pretty damn cold out now so I doubt I will see too many more kids. Even the older kids don't stay out late in this world. It's a crazy thing. We wouldn't even want to go out until it was dark out when I was a kid. Only one trip right after school maybe. I always went on the Island in Lavallette at Gram's and in Toms River as a kid. Never in Lakewood when I moved there. In Island Heights weirdly in 7th and 8th grade. That's when I saw my first hairy pimply male ass. At night trick or treating in I.H. at like 13 years old. I'm sure it was a big deal at the time. Looking back I'm glad they just mooned me and I wasn't one of the girls who had to either A. See or B. Suck their little child dick's.
I went to a Halloween costume required party. I was too afraid to wear my aggressively feminist costume. I dressed like Wednesday Addam's in honor of Jon (in my mind cause I'm weird like that) and said, "this is my costume, I'm a homicidal maniac. They look just like everyone else." Let's help Rachel Bloodgood (way to be the first person I am calling out by name in my blog for a good reason) get her hands on Jon Addam's Art and have a show for him with it. Cause when you're an artist you're never really gone, you live on in the hearts and minds of all of the people you connected with and intertwined roots with. Also being a good friend is neat.
Shout out to the friend who had to walk me to the outside, Almost to my car even though I didn't actually let him, I just hauled ass walking the well lit block to my car by myself because I INSISTED I not be afraid even though I was terrified after being leered at and then after finally deciding the inside was full of mostly drunk men looking for the last lonely drunk women to escape with FINALLY going outside to have someone yell, "it's cold out here, sweetheart!" or something equally meaningless and insane to yell at a human being from a distance and then stop and turn back and watch them from the direction they were supposed to be going. Thanks secret super strong man friend, hahaha, who I CREEPILY lurk around when I feel unsafe in social situations at shows because I feel like you Are safe. He's not the only one. I met a pretty decent spread of "good men" on my merry travels about the art scene this year when I needed to be busy because I lived alone for a year. Sleeping with Christmas bells on my door.
If Jon hadn't died I don't know if Kyle and I would get along as well as we do. If we would have had the talks we needed to have as soon that brought us back together right away. At that point, seeing someone we knew of and their partner split prematurely was enough to make us feel the foolishness of a year apart with stark remorse of lost time.
Right as I was starting to give up on my sociopolitical life. On my quest for the end of rape culture. The #metoo hashtag exploded onto the social scene. Blazing through even the mainstream news coverage. Making old women in my salon recall the many times at jobs and in organizations they were made to feel sexualized by men in authority over them who they could only get in subtle jabs in at, if say anything at all. In a world where that pussy grabbing behavior was legal and the socially acceptable norm. Nobody ever adds that into their hipster nostalgia for the 50's. That women couldn't speak at all let alone speak up. I almost gave up and then the cult of the feminine lifted me on it's wings. Almost everyone in capitalism should be metoo-ing. We are conditioned to sell ourselves lest we be left behind. I never really understood fame seekers. I always had a hard time keeping my circle small enough that I had enough energy to go around and focus on the important people and things. I recently figured out where I fit into this world better than I knew before and it feels very good. I know I believe no ones deserves to be forgotten. I don't believe in a traditional afterlife being an atheist. But I believe that everyone we encounter leaves a little bit or a lot of themselves with us. That is very important. There is no collective consciousness without the collective.
Interestingly I don't even know if Jon would remember who I am. It's not important. He was important to someone I met at a crucial time of my life and who I really needed to meet and a lot of other people in my community who are important to me. I regret all the time I allowed someone to make me afraid. I regret all the years I wasted being depressed and allowing other people to judge who I am as a mother and as an artist.
I've been doing amazing work lately. Humans make the best canvas. They are so beautiful and unique. I never ask people what color hair they want. I always ask what is their favorite color. What colors don't you like for some reason. The internet allows for much greater communication and creativity among the masses. Without nearly enough people having read and shared my blog and my ideas. The hair and the chalk and the things that I dreamed and put out there into the universe have come to be. I have found, or built or called to into being the community I once dreamed of. It's strange to be around people who are kind after all this time. It was strange at first to be around people who care. People who love me. People who listen. I still miss my old life every day even though I know that this new life is right. Even if I hope that feeling doesn't linger but fades quickly once I can't see them anymore in my view.
Worse than the bodily autonomy and confidence I used to have that you stole from me is the relationships I had with others. The fact that I can never again be trusted the way I once was, even though I seemed trustworthy before I told the truth, truly empathic people always knew I wasn't. If I lost my mind to the control of a psycho once everyone thinks it can happen again.
My cousin who used to bring her breast milk to you while your wife was at work during the day called me Borderline. Implying there is a Type of woman who deserves rape and asks for it. I'm sorry for her life and her marriage that she believes in that version of modern psychology. Her and 2 other women I know who have children similar to our children's ages have suddenly become clearly influenced by him over these past years. It makes sense because he and his wife said terrible things about these women and now I recognize them as earlier members of the cycle of abuse we all got swept up into with them. It feels good to know that the only people in life who don't like me aren't going on what I have actually been like to them in person and are instead basing their views of me on my abusers opinion. It basically feels like there is nothing not to like except for his existence in my life, and now he's fucking Long gone.
More and more people believe me or are leaving me and that feels good. I have had people say they are sorry they didn't know, I have cried to people who seemed to genuinely care. I have had people buy me a drink who weren't trying to fuck me. I have friends that have nothing to do with any of the worst things that happened to me, who came into my life and saved me carrying around a heavy burden I do not want them to bear. I am making it my point to only bring people up from now on instead of dragging them down with my old lie.
Until Next Time...
Love,
- Jackie Lane
9/29/17
The Ground Hog
You know it's something I Have to say when for some reason I'm 2 paragraphs into and almost done with telling a story and for some reason blogger doesn't save it and I still am typing this out somehow again.
Last week Leo was hit by a suburban. Zack swore he couldn't hear as well but he otherwise seemed fine. Went to the vet. Got his vaccinations cause he's been outside a lot more lately since we got Nibbler the black kitten. I felt that we should be keeping him in at night because he wasn't young and agile like he used to be and was acting stupid in the road even in the daytime. But last night he went out like he always does. He's usually asleep on the porch most of the time he's outside.
This morning Zack woke up 20 minutes early and saw a ground hog in our side yard. Much like Alice he climbed down his loft bed and ran outside to see the adorable creature only to instead see our old man cat Leo had been run over right at the edge of mine and my neighbors property. Easily enough space for someone tdeclaw gone around him. I can't believe he wasn't fast enough to get away this time. This was at the opposite corner of the property from where the dead bird was.
Zack was hysterical and Kyle ran outside first. Saw Leo, and pushed me back inside. I tried to go back out but he really wouldn't let me. I'm over sensitive about normal shit. So he was mutilated. And my 11 year old saw. And I hate people who are so careless they run over animals. I can't tell you how many animals I've stopped for and swerved to avoid in my driving life but it's hundreds and it's not that fucking hard to pay attention while you're driving something that kills children or animals or old people if you don't pay
Attention.
I ran inside and grabbed a drink of water from the counter. Looked out through the Peace Lily through the sunny eastern window and saw my abuser standing at the mailbox pretending to get the mail (he gets the mail every day as soon as it comes) and watching my hysterically crying son and very upset husband clean up Leo from the road.
I'm thankful he died nearby and we aren't left always wondering what happened to him. Nibbles is never going to be an outside cat. She's also never getting declawed.
Rest In Peace Leo.
I yelled from the door because I couldn't see the cat being blocked by the one tree in my front yard that they were being watched. But I didn't dare run outside. What impeccable timing.
Until Next Time....
Love,
Jackie Lane
8/6/17
The Handmaid's Tale
Last year I had a birthday party. I had a lot of nightmares last night, except I didn't wake up until 5pm so that is A Lot of nightmares. My "best friend" came and wanted to fight with my actual Best Friend over a woman who has been dead since 2010. *mind you he is married and was having a 6 year affair with me at this point... I never want to have a birthday party again. And I've had one every year for almost my entire life. I may have only missed a few when Zack was a baby and we were so broke. But I was assaulted at my birthday party last year. I told him to stop and to either join the rest of the party and leave. He told me he wanted to anally rape my best internet friend who had driven for 2.5 hours to see me. Then he tried to rape me and when I wouldn't let him he got really upset berated my friends some more. Took some beer and left walking.
7/31/17
Premonitions: Time Is Not Linear; This Has Already Happened
I decided for once today not to take my coffee and food To Go. I brought my laptop with the implicit purpose of writing this weeks blog post.
A friend of mine owns my favorite coffee place and it has an apartment upstairs and is a block from the Bay and the ocean. It reminds me of my family's business. Without all the personal stress.
Before I left my house I was having more anxiety than usual. I had a massive panic attack from when I left work Saturday until this morning. I still have the brain fog and embarrassment that accompanies them but I think it's over now. I kept thinking it was over yesterday and it was not.
I spend a lot of time after panic attacks obsessing over if anyone other than Kyle or my mom has heard me. I suppress them successfully around everyone I don't feel safe around now. Which is almost everyone else. I let them out when I was with the police. Hoping that my symptoms would make perfect sense as a response to what I am claiming my life has been like.
I can't remember what I wanted to start this about. I think it's about a lot of things. It started with a post on my Facebook about lesbian erasure. I lost my Facebook for 7 days a week ago for posting something positive about lesbians that used the word dyke. I then used the word dike in a negative way on my mirror Facebook page Jack Lane where I present as a male with no ban. Then retyped the post that got me banned verbatim on a page where I claim to have been born a male and say horrifically misogynist things that I have heard grown men to say about women to women, that flood my mind all the time. The things women think when they put their keys between their fingers in a parking lot at night. Things the "good men" they know have said. Our fathers, brothers, best friends, lovers. Still no Facebook ban for saying horrific shit about women, as long as I do it as Jack Lane and not Jackie Lane.
My cousin is coming home from college in August. I am not talking to anyone lately. No one makes an effort to talk to me unless they are in a crisis. I am okay with that. I want people to reach out to me when they are in pain. But I don't have anyone I consider a close friend at this point except for my husband. Everyone else seems to have a rape wall built around them since I realized what happened to me was wrong. Since I realized and opened up about the fact that what I did was wrong
I have had multiple people accuse me of not accepting responsibility for what has happened in my life. I in fact accept whole responsibility. As I expect other people to do. Most adults are just semi evolved poorly educated full sized children. We have a culture that makes reading seem uncool and learning only for a chosen elite.
This post is about women like me. The handmaid's. The ones who see full well that we are participating in grooming and enabling the abuse of other women and keeping them also entwined in domestic violence culture.
My husband asked me what it was, what made me trust and want to be around my abusive ex friend. I was entirely isolated living with my future mother-in-law at the time. I missed my family but I also thought if I never talked to anyone ever again then I would never have to tell anyone in my family what really happened to me. Even if I committed suicide to me it was better than my parents or cousins or aunts and uncles, grandmothers who were still alive, having to live with the fact that my behavior has always made perfect sense if I was being emotionally abused by my father and then physically and emotionally abused by my step "brother". Men and women who have suffered child abuse would often rather die then talk about the things that have happened to us. We think that owning the things that have happened to us and admitting they were wrong is humiliating. We are brainwashed to believe it makes us weak as opposed to the fact that is makes the people who took advantage of power they had over another person weak.
His mom, his mom who I accused of being a pedo enabler. When I met her, she hugged me and acted like I was part of their family. Now looking back it seems like really poor desperate boundaries for a grown woman, then I just missed my mom and my own family and a more fucked up family didn't seem bothered by the little bit of fucked up I was. They were entirely unfazed and now I know it was for good reason. There are definitely levels of abuse. It's a common phrase of emotionally abusive parents to say, "oh cause you had such a bad life?" When adult children try and discuss the painful memories of our childhoods. It's dismissive.
The worse realization, the hardest thing to deal with while processing all of this new feminist literature and knowledge I've taken in, has been coming to terms with the ways in which I helped groom and abuse women. Just like his wife gave me presents and invited me to things and into the family in the beginning, I gave a flower, and other gifts to new women around us. How do we create a culture that doesn't groom women into abuse before we are even adult enough to know what that word really means?
Why does every woman I know assume they're saving anal sex for their husband. That if they do it, it will be while married. Why is that a thing?
Why do I hear women every day say, "he's always on the computer. Who knows what he's doing on there." There's a lot of internet gambling going on, which makes no sense to me, pushing fake buttons to earn fake money that quantifies nothing really because nothing has been accomplished to earn it. It didn't contribute anything to society. It's a waste of time to keep you locked into the screens and not in the streets.
But mainly it's internet porn. I don't need to argue with anyone about this. Because I've read all the statistics. I don't need to argue with anyone that we need feminism more than ever because I've seen the data on how much work we do for society vs. how much of the money we take home or are in possession of. I've seen the data on how much porn there is. I've seen the data on how many people are watching violent porn. You can not say it doesn't have an effect.
I never wanted to watch porn. I remember my mom and step dad fighting about it too much for the thought of it to have been a turn on to me mentally. I can name the 3 times I intentionally watched porn other than the pop up advertisements which were just traumatic stills of women that all computers had when we first got the internet, that are burned into the retinas of all the teenage girls I knew.
The first time I was alone in my room. It was the month I tried to kill myself because I was withdrawing from anti-depressants. I would have tried anything to make me want to live again. All my friends looked at porn. My boyfriends watched porn. My friends talked about it constantly. I looked at a few free things. It didn't serve any purpose towards masturbation really, I had never had a problem with that on my own. It's only effect was to make me feel gross and have more objectifying thoughts about women in general. But I never even experimented with it again.
I had a porn addicted boyfriend the following year and his obsession with women as sex objects cemented for me that I would never watch porn by choice. He had me watch moments of the Paris Hilton DVD that was so infamous when I was in High School but I was too prudish to have seen. All my peers had seen 2 girls 1 cup and I hadn't even seen the most mundane porn out there. I didn't watch it with him but I know he was always watching it without me, or whenever he had a moment alone. He is the only boyfriend who has coerced me into taking naked photos that he could keep and I was happy to find out years later that his computer crashed entirely because of his addiction and I hope those photos are long gone but they might not be. For all I know they are on revenge porn sites somewhere. Someone like me would never find out since I never look at porn.
The second time I intentionally watched porn was at the bachelorette party for Tess. Earlier that day I went and had my vertical labret pierced. To replace the one I had previously needed to remove, because to this day it's still promoting the rotting of my gums in the front of my bottom teeth. I had slept with Greg 3 times, I can't be sure exactly what happened because I was blacked out all the times. Each time I had drank at least 3 Long Island Iced Teas that I know of. Not to mention shots or other drinks people gave me. I got the piercing through my lip to remind me not to say anything or break down the day of the wedding. Pain. A painful reminder not to tell the truth. Plus it made me look tough. It made me not want to talk to anyone ever again. I started using the internet to talk to people a lot more.
The 3rd time, some time after my husband and I moved back next door to my parents. I still hadn't told anyone what I was recovering from. I had read all my old journals, and figured out why I have my panic disorder. Or at least that I had been abused by my brother. There were all these family videos of my siblings and cousins at my old house in the house we moved into. My abusive "best friend" Greg lived only blocks away now. He found out about my brother threatening to kill my mom and that he abused me. I felt pressure from him and Stan Bummer about my relationship to my husband not being sexual enough. Mainly my husband never abused me and never made me react porn scenes, which will get you called Vanilla by people who promote Bondage and Domination, Sadism and Masochism.
My abuser and other men constantly act like my husband is not a REAL MAN because he never wants to hurt me. He never wants to grab me when I don't want to be grabbed. He never wants me to be afraid of him. He FINALLY believes after years of trying to explain it that all females are inherently afraid of males. They are stronger. They are the perpetrators of violence. And until we live in a society where that is never the case we will remain afraid of all men even though we hope and pray to god it is #notallmen.
Will we ever live in a society where to be a grown man means to be a protector? Will we ever live in a society where only those who are children and haven't been taught properly how to be a human enact their rage upon others? Will we ever stop belittling men with the phrase "boys will be boys" and allow them to show their true colors? Allow them to show that they can be the bones of our society that we need them to be.
Feminism ain't about women. That's not who it is for. It's about a shift in consciousness that will bring an end to war. So listen all you fathers. Listen up you sons. Tell me which side are you on now? Which side are you on?
Right now we allow the unregulated internet to teach our children. We allow massive amounts of violence to happen to women and children so that men can retain their freedom to abuse. Why is it Any man's right to watch the filmed prostitution and violent degradation of women? How have they manipulated language so much through double speak that we don't even question it? Why do we think that people who enjoy to the point of sexual completion the violence enacted on women deserve to have us respect their opinion on anything?
Porn hurts.
Porn hurts the women in it.
Porn hurts the women who are in relationships with the men who watch it.
I am not even convinced it really makes men feel as good as they say. I think it might be rather humiliating to find you ejaculated to women with cum, food, or even worse feces smeared all over them. It might make you want to commit suicide.
It definitely creates a barrier between you and your real lover if you hide from them what you get off to. It definitely causes erectile dysfunction because it programs people to want graphic visual stimulation instead of physical.
Many people have sex or cum in the dark. Because sex is about feeling and being. Porn is about watching someone be humiliated because they were filmed while they had sex.
Until Next Time....
Jackie Fucking Lane
A friend of mine owns my favorite coffee place and it has an apartment upstairs and is a block from the Bay and the ocean. It reminds me of my family's business. Without all the personal stress.
Before I left my house I was having more anxiety than usual. I had a massive panic attack from when I left work Saturday until this morning. I still have the brain fog and embarrassment that accompanies them but I think it's over now. I kept thinking it was over yesterday and it was not.
I spend a lot of time after panic attacks obsessing over if anyone other than Kyle or my mom has heard me. I suppress them successfully around everyone I don't feel safe around now. Which is almost everyone else. I let them out when I was with the police. Hoping that my symptoms would make perfect sense as a response to what I am claiming my life has been like.
I can't remember what I wanted to start this about. I think it's about a lot of things. It started with a post on my Facebook about lesbian erasure. I lost my Facebook for 7 days a week ago for posting something positive about lesbians that used the word dyke. I then used the word dike in a negative way on my mirror Facebook page Jack Lane where I present as a male with no ban. Then retyped the post that got me banned verbatim on a page where I claim to have been born a male and say horrifically misogynist things that I have heard grown men to say about women to women, that flood my mind all the time. The things women think when they put their keys between their fingers in a parking lot at night. Things the "good men" they know have said. Our fathers, brothers, best friends, lovers. Still no Facebook ban for saying horrific shit about women, as long as I do it as Jack Lane and not Jackie Lane.
My cousin is coming home from college in August. I am not talking to anyone lately. No one makes an effort to talk to me unless they are in a crisis. I am okay with that. I want people to reach out to me when they are in pain. But I don't have anyone I consider a close friend at this point except for my husband. Everyone else seems to have a rape wall built around them since I realized what happened to me was wrong. Since I realized and opened up about the fact that what I did was wrong
I have had multiple people accuse me of not accepting responsibility for what has happened in my life. I in fact accept whole responsibility. As I expect other people to do. Most adults are just semi evolved poorly educated full sized children. We have a culture that makes reading seem uncool and learning only for a chosen elite.
This post is about women like me. The handmaid's. The ones who see full well that we are participating in grooming and enabling the abuse of other women and keeping them also entwined in domestic violence culture.
My husband asked me what it was, what made me trust and want to be around my abusive ex friend. I was entirely isolated living with my future mother-in-law at the time. I missed my family but I also thought if I never talked to anyone ever again then I would never have to tell anyone in my family what really happened to me. Even if I committed suicide to me it was better than my parents or cousins or aunts and uncles, grandmothers who were still alive, having to live with the fact that my behavior has always made perfect sense if I was being emotionally abused by my father and then physically and emotionally abused by my step "brother". Men and women who have suffered child abuse would often rather die then talk about the things that have happened to us. We think that owning the things that have happened to us and admitting they were wrong is humiliating. We are brainwashed to believe it makes us weak as opposed to the fact that is makes the people who took advantage of power they had over another person weak.
His mom, his mom who I accused of being a pedo enabler. When I met her, she hugged me and acted like I was part of their family. Now looking back it seems like really poor desperate boundaries for a grown woman, then I just missed my mom and my own family and a more fucked up family didn't seem bothered by the little bit of fucked up I was. They were entirely unfazed and now I know it was for good reason. There are definitely levels of abuse. It's a common phrase of emotionally abusive parents to say, "oh cause you had such a bad life?" When adult children try and discuss the painful memories of our childhoods. It's dismissive.
The worse realization, the hardest thing to deal with while processing all of this new feminist literature and knowledge I've taken in, has been coming to terms with the ways in which I helped groom and abuse women. Just like his wife gave me presents and invited me to things and into the family in the beginning, I gave a flower, and other gifts to new women around us. How do we create a culture that doesn't groom women into abuse before we are even adult enough to know what that word really means?
Why does every woman I know assume they're saving anal sex for their husband. That if they do it, it will be while married. Why is that a thing?
Why do I hear women every day say, "he's always on the computer. Who knows what he's doing on there." There's a lot of internet gambling going on, which makes no sense to me, pushing fake buttons to earn fake money that quantifies nothing really because nothing has been accomplished to earn it. It didn't contribute anything to society. It's a waste of time to keep you locked into the screens and not in the streets.
But mainly it's internet porn. I don't need to argue with anyone about this. Because I've read all the statistics. I don't need to argue with anyone that we need feminism more than ever because I've seen the data on how much work we do for society vs. how much of the money we take home or are in possession of. I've seen the data on how much porn there is. I've seen the data on how many people are watching violent porn. You can not say it doesn't have an effect.
I never wanted to watch porn. I remember my mom and step dad fighting about it too much for the thought of it to have been a turn on to me mentally. I can name the 3 times I intentionally watched porn other than the pop up advertisements which were just traumatic stills of women that all computers had when we first got the internet, that are burned into the retinas of all the teenage girls I knew.
The first time I was alone in my room. It was the month I tried to kill myself because I was withdrawing from anti-depressants. I would have tried anything to make me want to live again. All my friends looked at porn. My boyfriends watched porn. My friends talked about it constantly. I looked at a few free things. It didn't serve any purpose towards masturbation really, I had never had a problem with that on my own. It's only effect was to make me feel gross and have more objectifying thoughts about women in general. But I never even experimented with it again.
I had a porn addicted boyfriend the following year and his obsession with women as sex objects cemented for me that I would never watch porn by choice. He had me watch moments of the Paris Hilton DVD that was so infamous when I was in High School but I was too prudish to have seen. All my peers had seen 2 girls 1 cup and I hadn't even seen the most mundane porn out there. I didn't watch it with him but I know he was always watching it without me, or whenever he had a moment alone. He is the only boyfriend who has coerced me into taking naked photos that he could keep and I was happy to find out years later that his computer crashed entirely because of his addiction and I hope those photos are long gone but they might not be. For all I know they are on revenge porn sites somewhere. Someone like me would never find out since I never look at porn.
The second time I intentionally watched porn was at the bachelorette party for Tess. Earlier that day I went and had my vertical labret pierced. To replace the one I had previously needed to remove, because to this day it's still promoting the rotting of my gums in the front of my bottom teeth. I had slept with Greg 3 times, I can't be sure exactly what happened because I was blacked out all the times. Each time I had drank at least 3 Long Island Iced Teas that I know of. Not to mention shots or other drinks people gave me. I got the piercing through my lip to remind me not to say anything or break down the day of the wedding. Pain. A painful reminder not to tell the truth. Plus it made me look tough. It made me not want to talk to anyone ever again. I started using the internet to talk to people a lot more.
The 3rd time, some time after my husband and I moved back next door to my parents. I still hadn't told anyone what I was recovering from. I had read all my old journals, and figured out why I have my panic disorder. Or at least that I had been abused by my brother. There were all these family videos of my siblings and cousins at my old house in the house we moved into. My abusive "best friend" Greg lived only blocks away now. He found out about my brother threatening to kill my mom and that he abused me. I felt pressure from him and Stan Bummer about my relationship to my husband not being sexual enough. Mainly my husband never abused me and never made me react porn scenes, which will get you called Vanilla by people who promote Bondage and Domination, Sadism and Masochism.
My abuser and other men constantly act like my husband is not a REAL MAN because he never wants to hurt me. He never wants to grab me when I don't want to be grabbed. He never wants me to be afraid of him. He FINALLY believes after years of trying to explain it that all females are inherently afraid of males. They are stronger. They are the perpetrators of violence. And until we live in a society where that is never the case we will remain afraid of all men even though we hope and pray to god it is #notallmen.
Will we ever live in a society where to be a grown man means to be a protector? Will we ever live in a society where only those who are children and haven't been taught properly how to be a human enact their rage upon others? Will we ever stop belittling men with the phrase "boys will be boys" and allow them to show their true colors? Allow them to show that they can be the bones of our society that we need them to be.
Feminism ain't about women. That's not who it is for. It's about a shift in consciousness that will bring an end to war. So listen all you fathers. Listen up you sons. Tell me which side are you on now? Which side are you on?
Right now we allow the unregulated internet to teach our children. We allow massive amounts of violence to happen to women and children so that men can retain their freedom to abuse. Why is it Any man's right to watch the filmed prostitution and violent degradation of women? How have they manipulated language so much through double speak that we don't even question it? Why do we think that people who enjoy to the point of sexual completion the violence enacted on women deserve to have us respect their opinion on anything?
Porn hurts.
Porn hurts the women in it.
Porn hurts the women who are in relationships with the men who watch it.
I am not even convinced it really makes men feel as good as they say. I think it might be rather humiliating to find you ejaculated to women with cum, food, or even worse feces smeared all over them. It might make you want to commit suicide.
It definitely creates a barrier between you and your real lover if you hide from them what you get off to. It definitely causes erectile dysfunction because it programs people to want graphic visual stimulation instead of physical.
Many people have sex or cum in the dark. Because sex is about feeling and being. Porn is about watching someone be humiliated because they were filmed while they had sex.
Until Next Time....
Jackie Fucking Lane
7/18/17
Death's Too Good For You
Some days I just wake up spinning because the same people who called
the police on me being honest about all the domestic violence in my life
and were watching me for 2 months, on more than one occasion thought
that the police were too scary and too inappropriate to call when people
were actually having violence enacted on them, across the street In My
House. I'm so disgusted and I don't know why I have to wake up with
these thoughts so often. It is probably because I saw him
yesterday. It is because I know he is still doing this to his wife and
other women. Lying and other forms of triggering their panic attacks
because he has sexually assaulted them and then claimed ignorance.
Seeing all the children in the neighborhood lured to his wife's front
lawn on the swing set I gave them makes me vomit when it happens. My
brother also is raising children. #takechildrenawayfromrapists #maybehesnotagoodfatherfiguresincehemolestspeople
Blog post will happen today since I already wrote half of it. Haha
I spent a larger portion of the day today than I'd ever want to admit is necessary arguing with stupid assholes on the internet about their personal moral justifications for child abuse. After posting an article listing the 5 decades of conclusive evidence that spanking is just as psychologically detrimental to human development as other forms of corporeal punishment they consider more severe. But the good news is, I love any day I lose a shitty hater facebook friend because I get to post Freddie Mercury singing Another One Bites The Dust. I just so happened to tell my new friend about that on Saturday because I saw a local female singer cover it. We were both relieved and impressed to find a female fronted band. I wish that more than one member would be female. It sucks to hear someone say that a female fronted band is refreshing no matter how good they are. There are so few of them we can not compare for taste or quality because women should just be happy we hear them at all right?
Greg Foss tried to tell me we were having an open relationship. Because he knows I believe in them. I am well aware of my ability to be IN LOVE with everyone all the time. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate that there are lines you don't cross morally when you've agreed to any level of monogamy. That having agreed to any level of monogamy means you are cheating if you act on any of the positive feelings you have towards other people. I have always known and believed in that. As a matter of fact, after befriending my husband for a few months before we started going out I regretted for a long time how open I had been with him. Everyone who kept all their secrets and demons in closets seemed to me to really have their shit together.
Little did I know, the beauty of my husband and I's relationship is that we were truly friends and equals before we were in a romantic relationship. When we met we were not each others type and didn't have a lot of mutual friends, we just got along great and talked constantly and had a great time laughing, playing music, drinking milkshakes, & playing games whenever we were together. Even though there was no pressure on the relationship placed on us there was from outside influences.
I had an ex who I kept having sexual encounters with before I ended that entirely and started dating my husband. But it was only about a month between when one ended and another began and when I got pregnant with my son right away I was terrified I would have been pregnant longer than I thought, like had happened to many friends, and that it was my ex's instead of my future husbands. Luckily I found out Right away. I was only 4 weeks pregnant, which is really like 2 weeks after ovulation when I knew. I was sick immediately being super over sensitive and knowing my body really well up until that point and my life wasn't ruined then. My husband and I got lucky to spend those 4 years we did just hanging out enjoying my son's childhood.
Right before my husband & I officially started "going out" a mutual friend of both of ours, who I barely knew, asked me if I was my husband's girlfriend. I wasn't and in prior experiences with men it had gone poorly if I thought a friendship would lead to more so I said no of course not. This encounter hurt my husband's feelings and mine and confused us both since labels seemed irrelevant to either of us. The man who asked me that and caused a hiccup in my relationship has raped at least 2 of the women my husband & I are mutually acquainted with. He moves away and comes back to the area occasionally and is still widely respected and beloved among our group of friends. Just like the man who raped me will remain unless I continue to come clean about how this happens.
You wanna see the correlation between abused kids and mall goth kid culture? Just look at what Corey Feldman is going through. Porn culture and child abuse is obviously influencing his decision making at this point. He's further objectifying himself AND the women he keeps in his house under contract because he exposed massive amounts of child abuse and literally no one in the media reacted at all. They just made jokes about his best friend's suicide on morning TV. I read his book, he and Elijah Wood should be listened to. If a slew of females with massive public meltdowns isn't evidence enough, can't we listen to the men who suffer the same fate at the idol hands of executives who own their futures and their paychecks?
The week I stopped talking to "my best friend" he told me his wife was abducted and raped by a neighbor when she was the same age our children were at the time. He told me that no one believed her and that she was taught "women make these things up for attention." In my mind that would mean she would want to be free from being raped and abused by a narcissist all the time. I told her he's cheated on her with me for years, including the year I married them to one another. He's cheated on her with every single female friend he keeps around. He doesn't even know how to have another kind of relationship. He even told me he would fuck his male best friend in the ass if he would let him.
That being said. I didn't expect when I told her about the years of sexual encounters and lying he did to her that she was going to tell me "you're making this up for attention." That's actually what she said. Oh and be nice to my husband, even though he's the one who was begging me to tell the truth all those years since our relationship and friendship even had been developed through sharing everything. We wanted to get back to that.
We are starting to get back to that now. I feel finally that I have no more secrets. No gotchas anyone can come out later and say to me that I haven't already said myself. Someone yesterday on Facebook tried to accuse me of not taking responsibility for my actions. When in fact society is set up that it would have greatly preferred had I just never said anything at all. If I hadn't confessed the infidelity. If I hadn't told anyone that "my best friend" was really someone who grooms and rapes women and doesn't have a job or life skill or anything else to offer anyone the world wouldn't constantly be telling me to SHUT UP.
It's weird because while I was begging Greg to tell his wife, for her sake in my mind at the time, and he was promising me he would. He was also telling me that this might happen. That that she might just FLAT OUT refuse to believe that he cheated on her for so long, so many times, with so many women. I just couldn't believe anyone could do that until she said to me verbatim the words that were said to her as a kid, "women make this up for attention" and at that point I hadn't used the word rape. That was in November and it took me until he threatened me in January to realize I had SCREAMED NO and he had anal sex with me anyway while I screamed (during the first encounter in 2016 outside their house in my car) and that was the definition of rape. I just couldn't IMAGINE it happened to me. My brain would not allow for the fact that all those years Tess and I had been in love with a rapist. Someone well aware they get off on rape which was why he constantly told me, "I'm not a good person." I always argued with him. About everything. But especially this. I loved him more than I loved myself. I tried to save his life and his family over and over again and he never once returned the favor.
The two days leading up to telling his wife were the day before the election of Donald Trump and the day of. The night before when my tenant Larry was screaming at me and humiliating my in public. "My Best Friend" didn't even Try to stop him. He didn't say, "hey man". He didn't say "stop." He's worse than a coward. He's an opportunist. He didn't intervene whatsoever, cause he thought he could keep the band and keep the girl he had living in my house to fuck across the street. AND HE DID FROM NOVEMBER TO FEBRUARY because they had legal possession of my house and I had to take them to court to remove them because they are not respectful adults. They are user drug addict squatters who think the world OWES them something. And instead of help me since he got me into that situation and say, "Jackie is right, call the electric company and have them change the lead in line and stop cursing her out in public..."
He claimed it had nothing to do with him. He claimed he couldn't help me and I was on my own.
So I handled things my way. I confessed to my husband and every friend I still had left who would listen the details of my life for the prior 6 years and tried to warn the people around me of how dangerous my ex friends were. I tried to talk to the women closest to him to give them a heads up but it seems as though he has already groomed them by A. the way they talk about him. B. they way they dye their hair. C. the fact that they all start dressing more childlike. That last one is the one piece of information that bothers me most. I noticed that the woman he got high and drunk and fucked after me was ALSO dressing more juvenile and "little girl" like while they were hanging out. That is the same symptom I noticed of the woman who lived in my house. Mocha Coco was using an alias on Instagram that contained the same name as Greg's younger daughter. But his was 999 and hers was 666. HOW CUTE. Also because those women were reporting every word I said back to him. Like he used to try to get me to talk to Mocha Coco and Tess for him and see what they had to say.
Even though I know his wife is in complete denial. I just keep wishing I could tell the kids therapists which I know they still go to. I wish that the people entrusted with their medical care knew they came from a severely alcoholic and drug addicted environment and were treating them with this kind of emotional abuse in mind instead of entirely hidden, with the kids trained to hide it and accept it as normal. I wish that their therapists were aware of how emotionally abusive it is to pretend to them that none of this happened. Oh and how psychologically abusive it is to tell children, that someone who cared for them for a decade wants to hurt them. Telling the truth about the fact that their dad is a raging alcoholic with massive medical and mental problems because of it, isn't hurting them. Kids know. Especially genius kids.
You can decide to stay with your spouse when fucked up things happen. And in fact that is sort of what makes them your spouse. My husband and I while living separate were still inextricably tied. I can imagine for people who want to entirely erase their marriage and prior life this would be an awful side effect. For us it was good because no matter how much I felt a wall between us the more lies Greg made me construct around me, we never stopped talking, we never stopped being friends even when I was being the worst friend ever to him.
I thought I would die. Greg told me that my husband would kill me. He told me that his wife would kill me and kill him. Little did he know, she doesn't even acknowledge it's a real thing that happened to all of us. I honestly thought at the time that he would be the one who killed all of us. Being the only one obsessed with guns and actual violence.
People keep telling me I need counseling. But the internet is my counseling. I went to therapists simultaneously while blogging online actively from age 15 to age 20. The internet helped me, my counseling didn't. I stopped when I had my son and became very afraid of the brutal honesty I had grown accustomed to. Grown ups didn't know how to find my livejournal. They didn't know what a blog was. They wouldn't be bothered to take the time to read it. Now they were all on Facebook telling me to stop being who I had been on the internet since the conception of my adult self.
While I was spilling my guts on the JLaneLove blog from 2011 to 2012 before and after Hurricane Sandy my family knew about it but didn't necessarily read what I said. Not all the way. They didn't take it in, I could tell by the way they responded to me. I was never this honest with a therapist, I can tell you that much.
My husband is afraid of this new iteration of me. Of the new blog. What will his family & friends think. Which is funny because he doesn't usually care what other people think at all of himself, he is afraid for me. Rape though. People want to blame women for that. Talking about sex at all is taboo. But this isn't just sex. It is me recovering from violence and seeing real violence, and being so close to it I could smell it and taste it. I was a sensitive person from when I was born. I have always been told so. I am still can tell on a regular basis that my crying hard is an unacceptable social behavior. I try to keep it to my mom and my husband mainly, but I can tell even they want it to be less. I keep it often to while I'm driving around. Always while I'm in the shower. I cry a lot and I always have. Greg told me that when he was gone no one was going to listen to me anymore. That no one would care that I cry about these things. I know he was wrong.
This is my proving him wrong. Someone will care that girls are raped and abused. It can start with one. And in fact since my "Donald Trump has been elected and I officially live in a post apocalyptic society" moment, I have met many people who feel the way I do. They just feel that way more silently. But I can tell in their actions. They want to go to work and perfect their crafts, they want to make art. Small businesses are blossoming. Community centers are opening. Mobile anarcho-library-kitchens are happening. They may be a lot less specific than my art. Blogging is a most raw form of art. It's talking about your only perspective in the present moment, instead of painting something in your mind, or from the past or future.
I got banned from my Jackie Lane Facebook page for 7 days for saying the word Dyke, in solidarity about lesbian erasure, ironically, of all things. Jack Lane on the other hand can say he likes to watch dikes making out, and that she's a shitty feminist cunt, and nobody bats an eye. I have been posting SO MUCH on Facebook since I got it back. Every time someone says they have me hidden I take it as a victory. I know that person also will come look at it all at once periodically. But the protest is that there is a RIGHT way to social media. The protest is that there is a right way to process your traumas in life. If sharing mine for other people's comfort is how I process mine, that is my prerogative. I actually would prefer if everyone would just spit it out and tell me forcefully exactly what they mean all the time at the same time they are wishing I would shut up. The other solution is to find the people you connect with and don't try and force a connection that was never there.
I have a strange perspective. My husband and I's best friend was also the person who hurt me. But I just wish none of that was real. I wish he had just slept on our couch. I had married them. We had raised out kids together. I wish he had never lied to me. I always knew I wasn't his best friend, he's nobody friend, he's just a pile of favors. But I liked him anyway. I miss listening to he and my husband play music in my living room before any of this happened. I eventually loved him. It taught me good things about people and myself. I can find whatever light is left in anyone. I naturally want to forgive. I naturally am compelled to do the right thing. Anxiety comes from living a life you don't want to live. You don't have to. You can do whatever you want. I know it seems like you can't, like you are trapped in a small space. But it's all a choice. You can move.
Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Fucking Lane
Blog post will happen today since I already wrote half of it. Haha
I spent a larger portion of the day today than I'd ever want to admit is necessary arguing with stupid assholes on the internet about their personal moral justifications for child abuse. After posting an article listing the 5 decades of conclusive evidence that spanking is just as psychologically detrimental to human development as other forms of corporeal punishment they consider more severe. But the good news is, I love any day I lose a shitty hater facebook friend because I get to post Freddie Mercury singing Another One Bites The Dust. I just so happened to tell my new friend about that on Saturday because I saw a local female singer cover it. We were both relieved and impressed to find a female fronted band. I wish that more than one member would be female. It sucks to hear someone say that a female fronted band is refreshing no matter how good they are. There are so few of them we can not compare for taste or quality because women should just be happy we hear them at all right?
Greg Foss tried to tell me we were having an open relationship. Because he knows I believe in them. I am well aware of my ability to be IN LOVE with everyone all the time. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate that there are lines you don't cross morally when you've agreed to any level of monogamy. That having agreed to any level of monogamy means you are cheating if you act on any of the positive feelings you have towards other people. I have always known and believed in that. As a matter of fact, after befriending my husband for a few months before we started going out I regretted for a long time how open I had been with him. Everyone who kept all their secrets and demons in closets seemed to me to really have their shit together.
Little did I know, the beauty of my husband and I's relationship is that we were truly friends and equals before we were in a romantic relationship. When we met we were not each others type and didn't have a lot of mutual friends, we just got along great and talked constantly and had a great time laughing, playing music, drinking milkshakes, & playing games whenever we were together. Even though there was no pressure on the relationship placed on us there was from outside influences.
I had an ex who I kept having sexual encounters with before I ended that entirely and started dating my husband. But it was only about a month between when one ended and another began and when I got pregnant with my son right away I was terrified I would have been pregnant longer than I thought, like had happened to many friends, and that it was my ex's instead of my future husbands. Luckily I found out Right away. I was only 4 weeks pregnant, which is really like 2 weeks after ovulation when I knew. I was sick immediately being super over sensitive and knowing my body really well up until that point and my life wasn't ruined then. My husband and I got lucky to spend those 4 years we did just hanging out enjoying my son's childhood.
Right before my husband & I officially started "going out" a mutual friend of both of ours, who I barely knew, asked me if I was my husband's girlfriend. I wasn't and in prior experiences with men it had gone poorly if I thought a friendship would lead to more so I said no of course not. This encounter hurt my husband's feelings and mine and confused us both since labels seemed irrelevant to either of us. The man who asked me that and caused a hiccup in my relationship has raped at least 2 of the women my husband & I are mutually acquainted with. He moves away and comes back to the area occasionally and is still widely respected and beloved among our group of friends. Just like the man who raped me will remain unless I continue to come clean about how this happens.
You wanna see the correlation between abused kids and mall goth kid culture? Just look at what Corey Feldman is going through. Porn culture and child abuse is obviously influencing his decision making at this point. He's further objectifying himself AND the women he keeps in his house under contract because he exposed massive amounts of child abuse and literally no one in the media reacted at all. They just made jokes about his best friend's suicide on morning TV. I read his book, he and Elijah Wood should be listened to. If a slew of females with massive public meltdowns isn't evidence enough, can't we listen to the men who suffer the same fate at the idol hands of executives who own their futures and their paychecks?
The week I stopped talking to "my best friend" he told me his wife was abducted and raped by a neighbor when she was the same age our children were at the time. He told me that no one believed her and that she was taught "women make these things up for attention." In my mind that would mean she would want to be free from being raped and abused by a narcissist all the time. I told her he's cheated on her with me for years, including the year I married them to one another. He's cheated on her with every single female friend he keeps around. He doesn't even know how to have another kind of relationship. He even told me he would fuck his male best friend in the ass if he would let him.
That being said. I didn't expect when I told her about the years of sexual encounters and lying he did to her that she was going to tell me "you're making this up for attention." That's actually what she said. Oh and be nice to my husband, even though he's the one who was begging me to tell the truth all those years since our relationship and friendship even had been developed through sharing everything. We wanted to get back to that.
We are starting to get back to that now. I feel finally that I have no more secrets. No gotchas anyone can come out later and say to me that I haven't already said myself. Someone yesterday on Facebook tried to accuse me of not taking responsibility for my actions. When in fact society is set up that it would have greatly preferred had I just never said anything at all. If I hadn't confessed the infidelity. If I hadn't told anyone that "my best friend" was really someone who grooms and rapes women and doesn't have a job or life skill or anything else to offer anyone the world wouldn't constantly be telling me to SHUT UP.
It's weird because while I was begging Greg to tell his wife, for her sake in my mind at the time, and he was promising me he would. He was also telling me that this might happen. That that she might just FLAT OUT refuse to believe that he cheated on her for so long, so many times, with so many women. I just couldn't believe anyone could do that until she said to me verbatim the words that were said to her as a kid, "women make this up for attention" and at that point I hadn't used the word rape. That was in November and it took me until he threatened me in January to realize I had SCREAMED NO and he had anal sex with me anyway while I screamed (during the first encounter in 2016 outside their house in my car) and that was the definition of rape. I just couldn't IMAGINE it happened to me. My brain would not allow for the fact that all those years Tess and I had been in love with a rapist. Someone well aware they get off on rape which was why he constantly told me, "I'm not a good person." I always argued with him. About everything. But especially this. I loved him more than I loved myself. I tried to save his life and his family over and over again and he never once returned the favor.
The two days leading up to telling his wife were the day before the election of Donald Trump and the day of. The night before when my tenant Larry was screaming at me and humiliating my in public. "My Best Friend" didn't even Try to stop him. He didn't say, "hey man". He didn't say "stop." He's worse than a coward. He's an opportunist. He didn't intervene whatsoever, cause he thought he could keep the band and keep the girl he had living in my house to fuck across the street. AND HE DID FROM NOVEMBER TO FEBRUARY because they had legal possession of my house and I had to take them to court to remove them because they are not respectful adults. They are user drug addict squatters who think the world OWES them something. And instead of help me since he got me into that situation and say, "Jackie is right, call the electric company and have them change the lead in line and stop cursing her out in public..."
He claimed it had nothing to do with him. He claimed he couldn't help me and I was on my own.
So I handled things my way. I confessed to my husband and every friend I still had left who would listen the details of my life for the prior 6 years and tried to warn the people around me of how dangerous my ex friends were. I tried to talk to the women closest to him to give them a heads up but it seems as though he has already groomed them by A. the way they talk about him. B. they way they dye their hair. C. the fact that they all start dressing more childlike. That last one is the one piece of information that bothers me most. I noticed that the woman he got high and drunk and fucked after me was ALSO dressing more juvenile and "little girl" like while they were hanging out. That is the same symptom I noticed of the woman who lived in my house. Mocha Coco was using an alias on Instagram that contained the same name as Greg's younger daughter. But his was 999 and hers was 666. HOW CUTE. Also because those women were reporting every word I said back to him. Like he used to try to get me to talk to Mocha Coco and Tess for him and see what they had to say.
Even though I know his wife is in complete denial. I just keep wishing I could tell the kids therapists which I know they still go to. I wish that the people entrusted with their medical care knew they came from a severely alcoholic and drug addicted environment and were treating them with this kind of emotional abuse in mind instead of entirely hidden, with the kids trained to hide it and accept it as normal. I wish that their therapists were aware of how emotionally abusive it is to pretend to them that none of this happened. Oh and how psychologically abusive it is to tell children, that someone who cared for them for a decade wants to hurt them. Telling the truth about the fact that their dad is a raging alcoholic with massive medical and mental problems because of it, isn't hurting them. Kids know. Especially genius kids.
You can decide to stay with your spouse when fucked up things happen. And in fact that is sort of what makes them your spouse. My husband and I while living separate were still inextricably tied. I can imagine for people who want to entirely erase their marriage and prior life this would be an awful side effect. For us it was good because no matter how much I felt a wall between us the more lies Greg made me construct around me, we never stopped talking, we never stopped being friends even when I was being the worst friend ever to him.
I thought I would die. Greg told me that my husband would kill me. He told me that his wife would kill me and kill him. Little did he know, she doesn't even acknowledge it's a real thing that happened to all of us. I honestly thought at the time that he would be the one who killed all of us. Being the only one obsessed with guns and actual violence.
People keep telling me I need counseling. But the internet is my counseling. I went to therapists simultaneously while blogging online actively from age 15 to age 20. The internet helped me, my counseling didn't. I stopped when I had my son and became very afraid of the brutal honesty I had grown accustomed to. Grown ups didn't know how to find my livejournal. They didn't know what a blog was. They wouldn't be bothered to take the time to read it. Now they were all on Facebook telling me to stop being who I had been on the internet since the conception of my adult self.
While I was spilling my guts on the JLaneLove blog from 2011 to 2012 before and after Hurricane Sandy my family knew about it but didn't necessarily read what I said. Not all the way. They didn't take it in, I could tell by the way they responded to me. I was never this honest with a therapist, I can tell you that much.
My husband is afraid of this new iteration of me. Of the new blog. What will his family & friends think. Which is funny because he doesn't usually care what other people think at all of himself, he is afraid for me. Rape though. People want to blame women for that. Talking about sex at all is taboo. But this isn't just sex. It is me recovering from violence and seeing real violence, and being so close to it I could smell it and taste it. I was a sensitive person from when I was born. I have always been told so. I am still can tell on a regular basis that my crying hard is an unacceptable social behavior. I try to keep it to my mom and my husband mainly, but I can tell even they want it to be less. I keep it often to while I'm driving around. Always while I'm in the shower. I cry a lot and I always have. Greg told me that when he was gone no one was going to listen to me anymore. That no one would care that I cry about these things. I know he was wrong.
This is my proving him wrong. Someone will care that girls are raped and abused. It can start with one. And in fact since my "Donald Trump has been elected and I officially live in a post apocalyptic society" moment, I have met many people who feel the way I do. They just feel that way more silently. But I can tell in their actions. They want to go to work and perfect their crafts, they want to make art. Small businesses are blossoming. Community centers are opening. Mobile anarcho-library-kitchens are happening. They may be a lot less specific than my art. Blogging is a most raw form of art. It's talking about your only perspective in the present moment, instead of painting something in your mind, or from the past or future.
I got banned from my Jackie Lane Facebook page for 7 days for saying the word Dyke, in solidarity about lesbian erasure, ironically, of all things. Jack Lane on the other hand can say he likes to watch dikes making out, and that she's a shitty feminist cunt, and nobody bats an eye. I have been posting SO MUCH on Facebook since I got it back. Every time someone says they have me hidden I take it as a victory. I know that person also will come look at it all at once periodically. But the protest is that there is a RIGHT way to social media. The protest is that there is a right way to process your traumas in life. If sharing mine for other people's comfort is how I process mine, that is my prerogative. I actually would prefer if everyone would just spit it out and tell me forcefully exactly what they mean all the time at the same time they are wishing I would shut up. The other solution is to find the people you connect with and don't try and force a connection that was never there.
I have a strange perspective. My husband and I's best friend was also the person who hurt me. But I just wish none of that was real. I wish he had just slept on our couch. I had married them. We had raised out kids together. I wish he had never lied to me. I always knew I wasn't his best friend, he's nobody friend, he's just a pile of favors. But I liked him anyway. I miss listening to he and my husband play music in my living room before any of this happened. I eventually loved him. It taught me good things about people and myself. I can find whatever light is left in anyone. I naturally want to forgive. I naturally am compelled to do the right thing. Anxiety comes from living a life you don't want to live. You don't have to. You can do whatever you want. I know it seems like you can't, like you are trapped in a small space. But it's all a choice. You can move.
Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Fucking Lane
7/14/17
Writing As It Comes To Me Attempt One
Got done telling my assistant how I met my husband at my ex-boyfriend's job. That we are planning an adventure to drive around the neighborhood we left my ex in waiting by his car for AAA to come and change his flat. And Edge of Seventeen was on the radio which always reminds me of my ex since it was on a mixed CD when I was 18 which I wish Now I hadn't thrown out the window when I was mad at him at 19. I had the songs on a playlist at the time. The playlist is long gone. I would probably still have the CDs. I have others from the same era.
Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Fucking Lane
7/11/17
Change Is Strange
I told myself that a blog will be written every week from now on and it will. So far today I have gone to my favorite coffee shop on the island and played a ton of acoustic guitar covers of rock songs. I suppose I have a lot to say. But not today for some reason.
I rest every Sunday. I plan for the week every Monday. For a while I wasn't even sure I was going to survive so now the plans all seem awesome and interesting. Surviving was good.
Now I can get things accomplished, But first I will need more coffee.
I keep telling myself the weeks will get easier. That eventually I'll forget what happened. A roaring ocean will turn into a little creek behind a house that nobody notices floods until there's a storm.
I can erase the bad stuff forever, I wrote it down, I let it go, but I can't stop thinking about the kids, and the other women I helped to hurt. Elsa would tell me to let it go. I want to let it go. But sometimes he's there smoking cigarettes in a green bandana. And I see James Hetfield drive by on rt. 37 while I'm going towards the bridge to go to Lava Java, the bridge I drove so many times just to find Dharma in the clouds and the songs on the radio. And driving the wrong way over the tall bridge and how it's an entirely different view than the one you had for 30 years before it.
One day I saw Larry Croft riding his skateboard near the Elk's. One day I saw him waiting for his sandwich at the Wawa counter. He doesn't see me. I'm actually afraid of him seeing me because he beats women, And I tell people about that. My only saving grace is that I would take the beating and press charges so hard. At least if he killed me he would finally be in fucking jail.
I don't like writing now because all that comes out is not the world I believe should exist. It's all the world I was forced to exist in. I need to expunge it though.
As my best friend Casey can confirm I can spin any horrible thing into some funny optimistic bullshit but I have been having a hard time seeing the humor in anything about this. It will come to me eventually. Maybe once they don't live 3 doors down. But I need it sooner than that.
I thought of so many things to say and write about in the last 2 weeks but by the time I sit down at my computer I just want to let it go. I don't want to focus. I just want to be. To meditate.
I finally feel free for the first time in a long time.
Election night 2016 was a surreal experience for me. I should write about it in every significant detail. I was with some old friends and some really new friends. No one could believe what happened but everyone was complacent in it. I danced to Debbie Harry at the end of the world. My ex's band played Rage Against the Machine. Sometimes peace is unimaginable and yet it happens anyway.
I try not to focus on accomplishing only things I can imagine. Some things are too weird for your imagination. Somethings are unimaginable. I know that it can be in a good way. Because it's been in a bad way far too often.
I did a lot of things this past year. This past summer and winter. I was away from Kyle and every moment of wasted time and anger seems futile and will be regretted someday. We still talked every single day but we didn't sleep side by side for over half a year. I did not realize what I had until it was gone. I will write about that too. I never even faced at the time how painful living without Kyle was. I was very busy telling everyone including myself what a good idea it was to protect him from my panic attacks.
It was so hard to live without him and Zack. I have an album half written, I went a lot of places. Made a lot of new, and saw a lot of old friends. But I spent the in between moments devastated that my family was gone. Knowing that more than anything I wanted to get better so that nothing bad happened to them. I want to write about motherhood too. The thing that made me think I might never write again. Which is a necessary story.
Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Lane
I rest every Sunday. I plan for the week every Monday. For a while I wasn't even sure I was going to survive so now the plans all seem awesome and interesting. Surviving was good.
Now I can get things accomplished, But first I will need more coffee.
I keep telling myself the weeks will get easier. That eventually I'll forget what happened. A roaring ocean will turn into a little creek behind a house that nobody notices floods until there's a storm.
I can erase the bad stuff forever, I wrote it down, I let it go, but I can't stop thinking about the kids, and the other women I helped to hurt. Elsa would tell me to let it go. I want to let it go. But sometimes he's there smoking cigarettes in a green bandana. And I see James Hetfield drive by on rt. 37 while I'm going towards the bridge to go to Lava Java, the bridge I drove so many times just to find Dharma in the clouds and the songs on the radio. And driving the wrong way over the tall bridge and how it's an entirely different view than the one you had for 30 years before it.
One day I saw Larry Croft riding his skateboard near the Elk's. One day I saw him waiting for his sandwich at the Wawa counter. He doesn't see me. I'm actually afraid of him seeing me because he beats women, And I tell people about that. My only saving grace is that I would take the beating and press charges so hard. At least if he killed me he would finally be in fucking jail.
I don't like writing now because all that comes out is not the world I believe should exist. It's all the world I was forced to exist in. I need to expunge it though.
As my best friend Casey can confirm I can spin any horrible thing into some funny optimistic bullshit but I have been having a hard time seeing the humor in anything about this. It will come to me eventually. Maybe once they don't live 3 doors down. But I need it sooner than that.
I thought of so many things to say and write about in the last 2 weeks but by the time I sit down at my computer I just want to let it go. I don't want to focus. I just want to be. To meditate.
I finally feel free for the first time in a long time.
Election night 2016 was a surreal experience for me. I should write about it in every significant detail. I was with some old friends and some really new friends. No one could believe what happened but everyone was complacent in it. I danced to Debbie Harry at the end of the world. My ex's band played Rage Against the Machine. Sometimes peace is unimaginable and yet it happens anyway.
I try not to focus on accomplishing only things I can imagine. Some things are too weird for your imagination. Somethings are unimaginable. I know that it can be in a good way. Because it's been in a bad way far too often.
I did a lot of things this past year. This past summer and winter. I was away from Kyle and every moment of wasted time and anger seems futile and will be regretted someday. We still talked every single day but we didn't sleep side by side for over half a year. I did not realize what I had until it was gone. I will write about that too. I never even faced at the time how painful living without Kyle was. I was very busy telling everyone including myself what a good idea it was to protect him from my panic attacks.
It was so hard to live without him and Zack. I have an album half written, I went a lot of places. Made a lot of new, and saw a lot of old friends. But I spent the in between moments devastated that my family was gone. Knowing that more than anything I wanted to get better so that nothing bad happened to them. I want to write about motherhood too. The thing that made me think I might never write again. Which is a necessary story.
Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Lane
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