Closet Confessional

In an effort to be more authentic in my life, I am being more open with people about my struggles. My life journey has been fraught with many traumas and problems, in addition to some happy times. I was physically, verbally, psychologically, and emotionally abused as a child. My parents weren't horrible people. They were the product of their generation and their culture. My mother's family were not as demonstrative in affection. They tended to assume one knew of the love that was felt. And they would bottle up issues, and not talk about them with the source. Also, her family culture was to shame each other into doing something. My father was passed through orphanages, foster homes, relatives until landing into his abusive and neglectful biological mother's home. He enlisted in the Army for the Vietnam War because he was kicked out of his home at 18, and he returned with PTSD, which he didn't deal with until his own children were adults. There was a level of instability in my childhood home that made it unsafe for healthy emotional and psychological development. Suffice it to say, I was in fight or flight mode for most of my life.

Physical abuse and emotional abuse were common in my childhood home. Being spanked, slapped sometimes, pushed, the occasional light slam, and of course the psychological stuff. That would include being told I'm a slob/lazy/making excuses, gaslighting, threats of leaving the family from my mother, and the passive aggression/manipulation. There was no "safe haven" to escape to and center me. It was a very lonely time. Being told that I couldn't trust anyone outside the family, that no one would love/like me as much as the family, all while being abused at home. It really messed with my head. To whit, I sucked my thumb until I was 11 years old. Self-soothing with soft stuffed animals and sucking my thumb was my only outlet for release. And school wasn't a safe place either.

My earliest school memory is from kindergarten. I was being sexually assaulted by one classmate whilst another classmate held me down. I told a teacher, who stopped it from happening. But nothing ever came of it. There was no comforting by my parents. There was no therapy. Nothing. Instead, it was left to me to sort out and come to terms with being violated at school. I learned from that experience that most teachers are untrustworthy, that school is not a safe place, and that my parents didn't care enough to protect me. Throughout my entire primary and secondary education, there are maybe a handful of teachers that I felt I could trust. Every other teacher, while I'm sure they were good people, exhibited characteristics to people who had betrayed or hurt me in previous years. One of my middle school teachers happened upon my depression journal. It was a book where I wrote of my despair and longing for the release of death. She asked me about it, to which I obviously lied in response. And then she let it go. She never reported to the administrator, school guidance counselor or even my parents. Instead, it was ignored and the status remained quo. School years were lonely and scary for me. I didn't have the vocabulary, or the ability, to vocalize the twisted labyrinth that was my lived experience. The depression journal was my only tangible cry for help. I did some sports, but every time a coach yelled instructions or to motivate I would cringe and shut down a little bit more. I was eager to please but afraid of what failure would mean.

I was a member of a religious community that was small-ish. I didn't really have friends there either. There were people who knew me, but nobody that I would share confidences with. I didn't have anyone that I would get together with, make plans with... I wasn't one of the "cool" kids. I was too smart, knew all of the answers. I was too stuck up, though, in reality, I was afraid of most of the people I saw at church. I didn't think they were trustworthy because I saw their daily deceptions easily. And they had rejected me every time I made overtures of friendship in their general direction. I had thought that I could trust my adult leaders but was mistaken in that as well.

I attempted to die by suicide in spring of 1996. Years of bottling up my feelings, abuse, and major depression finally caught up, and I tried to die. I obviously was stopped. I was admitted to a teen psychological unit in a nearby hospital for treatment. While I was there, my church youth leader came to visit me. She stayed to talk with me for a while, and I believed that she was offering comfort to me. I later learned that she went back to church and gossipped about my mental health issues. She violated me. My trust was betrayed by someone who was supposed to protect me. She took from me the choice to disclose, all in the effort to be the person who knew salacious details of my problems. The worst part is that she didn't see that she had done anything wrong. A few months after her violating me, she and her husband moved back to Utah... They moved closer to her grandchildren, and her life continued as though nothing happened. The wreckage of my life was a blip on the radar. But I learned a valuable thing from Darla Fotheringham. I couldn't trust any of my ecclesiastical leaders with anything of value or an intimate nature to my life. My confidence would be betrayed, and the person who perpetuates the violation would face no consequences for the damage they did to me.

As a result of my traumatic experiences, I was my parents' least stable offspring. I barely finished my required coursework for high school. It wasn't because I lacked the intelligence. It was because I kept having flashbacks, panic attacks, and bipolar mood swings. Producing homework, taking tests, even being mentally present in classes was very difficult. I was diagnosed with a learning disability in middle school. ADHD, mixed with mental illness, made learning to learn an impossible task. I was miserable, unable to label WHY I was suffering so much. I spent so much energy pretending that everything was okay, perfecting the mask that I presented to everyone. I was exhausted at the end of the day. And nightmares made me afraid to sleep. I still didn't have the vocabulary to label my experiences. But in the future, I would.

I finally went to university when I was 31 years old. While I was there, I was sexually assaulted. Because I was attending a conservative religious school, in an extremely conservative town, I didn't press charges or even report being raped. I had known too many women who had reported sexual assault and their educations' put into jeopardy because they were blamed for being assaulted and the assailant seemed sorry anyway. I had waited too long for an education, so there was no way I would start over in a different university system. So instead, I kept it to myself again.

Flash forward to the present day. I am married to a military officer and want to get treatment for my mental health disorders. My psychiatrist didn't want to treat my ADHD without a current diagnosis. So I scheduled a testing session with my psychologist. As we went over the results, she was straight forward and didn't ease me into her diagnoses. I have ADHD, Bipolar Disorder, and PTSD. Actually, she was surprised that I hadn't been diagnosed with PTSD earlier. Apparently, multiple car wrecks, being sexually assaulted, physical/mental/verbal abuse, and ecclesiastical abuse DO result in psychological damage. And now I can better identify why I have had some of the reactions to different stimuli.

I am learning how to learn to trust people. I am learning how to identify a panic attack, versus it being a heart attack. My counselor made the suggestion of getting a service dog. Little did I know how expensive that would be. I created a gofundme campaign to crowdfund the cost of obtaining a service dog. I'm hoping that people will help me to feel safety.

I know that I may have given the impression of someone who has her life together. But that couldn't be further from the truth. I am a work in progress. Some days, everything seems to come together and there is stability. And some days, my goal is to remember to eat meals. Mental illness is a hidden disability. People with mental illnesses don't wear their disability in a visible manner like those who cannot walk or see. They are most often harassed for not having a tangible disability. The problem is, mental illness affects physical health, and sometimes the ability to be in public spaces. I have hope in the future. It is all that I can claim.



The weather is cloudy, with a chance of rain. There are small peekings of sunlight between clouds. Fog has rolled in but may burn off in the afternoon. All in all, this forecast is up for any interpretation.


The Tallgurrl

Love, and the Memory of Days Past

Today is the three year anniversary of my engagement. My husband officially proposed via Skype, since he was still working on his doctorate in Illinois and I was living in New Hampshire. It took a lot of heartache and unrequited infatuations.

The song "I Can't Make You Love Me" just played on the radio. It reminded me of playlists of the past. I would create playlists for every mood and activity. I had several exercise playlists. Relaxation songs for meditation, yoga, and sleep. I had a playlist for studying, and one for dancing it out. I had a playlist for every time I developed an infatuation. And I had a melancholy playlist for when my heart got bruised and broken.

Looking back, it has been interesting to see how I have developed and evolved in my emotions. I used to become angry and feel entitled to the affection or circumstance that I desired. And my playlists would reflect the frustration and pain from feeling overlooked and forgotten. There was a level of immaturity to my choices in music.

Then, the middle time period's playlists started to be created. They still reflected pain, but there started to be an air of hopeful healing to the music. I was beginning to understand and accept the relationship concept of "he's just not that into you." I was focusing more on being engaged in personal development, activities, hobbies. Interest in dating was still present, but it wasn't my primary focus. The biological clock was still ticking, but I didn't want it to determine my actions.

This middle time period was very important. I experienced some life altering things. I was attending a university and graduated. I had a level of physical fitness that I hadn't experienced since doing sports in high school. I was sexually assaulted. I made some important single serving friends. And I experienced heartbreak over someone who was so completely not my type that to this day I am bewildered that I had convinced myself to have feelings for him.

After that middle time came a much more confident period, musically and relationship-wise. I was much more discerning in relationship perceptions. I was open to love, but not actively seeking it. My music choices were still varied by genre and artist, but now they showed a greater maturity. They were less about making other people comfortable, and more about what I enjoyed.

And all of that leads up to meeting my husband and becoming engaged 6 months later. When we got married, we decided to create an ongoing procurement playlist. We call it the "us" playlist. We put songs that make us think of each other, songs reflecting our love experiences, songs about our relationship, songs that make our hearts melt. It is a very happy playlist, and it is one that is my favorite. I hope everyone makes a list that brings them as much joy as this one brings me.


The weather is sunny and warm. Spring has beautiful colors and sweet smells. The growth and new beginnings are inspirational.


The Tallgurrl

Women's March

On Friday, the USA inaugurated their 45th president into office. He is not someone I ever wanted to see in that position. He ran his campaign on a platform of division, bigotry, misogyny, bullying, and playing on the fear that so many Americans are feeling right now... Fears of people that are different from themselves, fears of losing employment, fears for the future. By stoking those fears, people were distracted from the important questions that he never answered. He never showed the integrity and compassion that are needed to lead so many people. He never shared his tax returns. He did show that he cannot handle having negative things said about himself. He showed that his compassion only extends to those who support him. He showed us that despite not liking being the butt of a joke, he has no problem with openly mocking other people. This man is not my president.

In an effort to protest his inauguration, and to show the world that we want change, women arranged marching demonstrations in the major cities and US capitol. All told, more than a million women marched in the US alone. There were demonstrations and marches in other nations as well, and their solidarity was moving. 

My sister marched in Washington, DC. My aunt marched in New York City. I had planned to march in Las Vegas. Unfortunately, my bunged up foot makes walking a serious problem for me. I was in too much pain to more than hug my couch for the day. But I was still there in spirit.

I was going to march for many reasons. I have pre-existing conditions, and with the repealing of the Affordable Care Act, I am ineligible for insurance. And I have no desire to go into bankruptcy while seeking medical care. I am bisexual. I will not tolerate having basic human rights denied to members of the LGBT community, under the guise of religious freedom or protecting children. I am a sexual assault survivor. And I don't want to go backwards in the work of protecting survivors and prosecuting the perpetrators. I am a woman. And I refuse to allow myself to be identified based on how fuckable some man finds me. I am not a number on an attractiveness scale. I am a human being. And it is unacceptable to vilify anyone based on gender, religion, sex, sexuality, language, skin color, or nation of origin. I am an American. And though this nation was founded on genocide and slavery, I will not allow us to slide back into the old patterns. That is not the atmosphere I want to live in.

I have several acquaintances who took it upon themselves to post something so tone-deaf that I am not sure I want to continue the connection. 

"I am NOT a "disgrace to women" because I DO NOT support the women's march. I do not feel I am a "second class citizen" because I am a woman. I do not feel my voice is "not heard" because I am a woman. I do not feel I am not provided opportunities in this life or in America because I am a woman. I do not feel that I "don't have control of my body or choices" because I am a woman. I do not feel like I am " not respected or undermined" because I am a woman. 

I AM a woman.
I can make my own choices.
I can speak and be heard.
I can VOTE.
I can work if I want.
I can defend myself.
I can defend my family.
There is nothing stopping me to do anything in this world but MYSELF.
I do not blame my circumstances or problems on anything other than my own choices or even that sometimes in life, we don't always get what we want. I take responsibility for myself.
I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a sister, a friend. I am not held back in life but only by the walls I choose to not go over which is a personal choice.
Quit blaming.
Take responsibility.
If you want to speak, do so. But do not expect for me, a woman, to take you seriously wearing a pink va-jay-jay hat on your head and screaming profanities and bashing men.
If you have beliefs, and speak to me in a kind matter, I will listen. But do not expect for me to change my beliefs to suit yours. Respect goes both ways.
If you want to impress me, especially in regards to women, then speak on the real injustices and tragedies that affect women in foreign countries that do not get the opportunity or means to have their voices heard.
Saudi Arabia, women can't drive, no rights and must always be covered.
China and India, infantcide of baby girls.
Afghanistan, unequal education rights.
Democratic Republic of Congo, where rapes are brutal and women are left to die, or HIV infected and left to care for children alone.
Mali, where women can not escape the torture of genital mutilation.
Pakistan, in tribal areas where women are gang raped to pay for men's crime.
Guatemala, the impoverished female underclass of Guatemala faces domestic violence, rape and the second-highest rate of HIV/AIDS after sub-Saharan Africa. An epidemic of gruesome unsolved murders has left hundreds of women dead, some of their bodies left with hate messages.
And that's just a few examples.
So when women get together in AMERICA and whine they don't have equal rights and march in their clean clothes, after eating a hearty breakfast, and it's like a vacation away that they have paid for to get there...
This WOMAN DOES NOT support it."

It is so tone-deaf, because it shows such an ignorance and a lack of compassion for the real problems many women are facing HERE in this country. There are women in this country that receive third-world healthcare, because that is all that is available to them... Or else that is all that they can afford. There are women in this country that are getting a substandard education, because they live in poor neighborhoods. There are women in this country that are sexually assaulted, and the first thing that the police ask them is what they were wearing. Followed closely by asking what they were drinking. There are millions of untested rape kits sitting in warehouses, or being destroyed. There was an epidemic rise in HIV cases in Indiana after Vice President Pence defunded and closed down women's health care clinics. This is AMERICA. We are supposedly meant to be setting some kind of standard for how well we take care of our people. But instead, people are distracted by political power plays and the blame game. For a First World nation, the government is failing for about half of the population. And the leaders would have us focusing on effluvia, rather than realizing that we can evoke change here ourselves.

Martin Luther King Jr Day recently passed. I have been reading his words and believing in his message. Here are a few of his words that mean much to me.

"The ultimate measure of a man is not where he stands in moments of comfort and convenience, but where he stands at times of challenge and controversy."

"I refuse to accept the view that mankind is so tragically bound to the starless midnight of racism and war that the bright daybreak of peace and brotherhood can never become a reality... I believe that unarmed truth and unconditional love will have the final word."

"Nothing in all the world is more dangerous than sincere ignorance and conscientious stupidity."

"Human progress is neither automatic nor inevitable... Every step toward the goal of justice requires sacrifice, suffering, and struggle; the tireless exertions and passionate concern of dedicated individuals."

"Whatever affects one directly, affects all indirectly. I can never be what I ought to be until you are what you ought to be. This is the interrelated structure of reality."

"He who passively accepts evil is as much involved in it as he who helps to perpetrate it. He who accepts evil without protesting against it is really cooperating with it."

"An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity."

Though it is raining, the air is clean and growth potential hangs on every breath. I think this is going to be a good day.

The Tallgurrl

New Years and New Experiences

It is 2017, and there have been some interesting changes in my life. My husband, Seamus, joined the US Air Force, to be a captain pharmacist. We moved from our home of almost 2 years (Mesa, AZ) to the Las Vegas area. After struggling for 1.5 years to get pregnant, we tried IVF. I left my job as a phlebotomist, and am considering another career shift. So, here's a dive into the current world of the Tallgurrl.

I've been married to Seamus for 2 years. It has been an interesting time. We rented our first home, did the budgeting thing, adulted. I came out as bisexual to him. (I realize that many people may see that as something that should have been mentioned earlier, but other than him knowing my STI status, it really wasn't his business. I chose not to give him specifics about past sexual partners because he didn't want to know. He only cared so far as he could potentially develop something. But I came out to him in our first month of marriage because he should know.) My coming out didn't really change anything. We both comment on the attractiveness of people in films or on tv. Otherwise, since we practice radical honesty and monogamy, it is a non-issue. {About radical honesty, we call that sharing the honesty, and if we weren't ready to talk about something that means saying "I'm not ready to talk about but we'll discuss it later." This kind of honesty means that we knew what we got when we picked up each other.}

Through the 2 years, Seamus has been dissatisfied with his job as a commercial pharmacist. They were very unclear about expectations, shifted him around a lot, and lied to him, all while holding him accountable for ALL mistakes that he made from not being kept abreast of his company's current standards. I have a family history of being in the military, and so I encouraged him to apply to join. I figured that they'd help with his student loans, he'd get cross-trained to work in every potential PharmD job, and he actually would have upward mobility in his career. With that in mind, he joined the Air Force and his first duty station is near Las Vegas. Our move was largely uneventful, but has me nostalgic for our former landlord. We live in a one story house, 3 bedrooms/2bathrooms, 2 car garage. It is in a quiet neighborhood and close to all of the important shopping. He drives in to work, and gets that quiet time to have his deep thoughts.

Basically from day one, we have been trying to have children. After a year of failure, we decided to see a specialist. After extensive testing and 6 months of failed attempts with Clomid, we did IVF. That means that I had eggs extracted from me, and they were fertilized with Seamus' sperm in a petri dish. Those fertilized eggs were watched for several days, and then one embryo was put into my uterus, with the hope that it would implant and grow to a baby. We also opted to genetically test the remaining embryos, to check for any anomalies that could prevent implantation. The first attempt failed. And of the 9 embryos: 1 was weird and so discarded; 1 failed implantation; 4 were genetically unholy; and 3 are frozen female kid-sicles to be used at a later date. Since we've moved to Vegas, I will need to find a rock star fertility specialist to work with my kid-sicles and get our spawning on.

When we decided to do the IVF, I decided to quit my job. The process of IVF entails a plethora of doctor's appointments, ultrasounds, procedures. Add to that the needed ZERO stress relax time after procedures and you're taking more time off from work. There are few employers that would give the time off that is required to go through all of that. So I quit. I was going to do it eventually. I had no desire to continue working in Arizona while my husband was serving in the military somewhere else. With the downtime that came with both the failed IVF and my husband undergoing his Air Force officer's training, I had a lot of space to think about my next step. I wasn't sure that I wanted to continue working as a phlebotomist. 12 years is a long time for a career that was supposed to be a stop-gap. I have an Associate's degree in Russian. I could go back to school for a Bachelor's degree in ... something. I could go into sales or real estate. I could finally write the book I've always meant to get done. I'm still not sure what I want to do, but the book option is still knocking around my mind. In the meantime, continuing this blog sounds like a good start. I've been lax for a long time, but this year I'm fixing to get some words out at least once a week. I'm pretty sure that the 3 readers who used to follow me have since left me. Who knows? Maybe someone else will start being interested.


The weather is cool and cloudy. Though it is winter, the potential and hope for growth are heavy in the air, like a mist.


Thank you for reading. May 2017 be a year of hope, new beginnings, and love.


The Tallgurrl