Just got back from one of those cult meetings. This one was in a little building on the Eastside. Smoking was permitted which made the drone of the same old stuff different day easier to bear. I feel like my skull has been peeled back and its contents have been messed with. I often feel this way after said function. I'm tired. If there was anything else that worked, I would do it. Probably. I guess I'd have to stipulate what that was. I guess going to a meeting is better than shoveling elephant shit. I feel a little fucked because it seems that in order for me to get on with my life in a manner conducive to life, the universe and everything else, I have to deal with certain snakes in my head that make me want to fuck up everything good. Okay, well hmmm.... Having been around people completely unsupportive of any recovery program (i.e. the prissy goth boy I shacked up with for three months) I figured it was kind of unimportant. I was heavily involved in cult activities. I secretaried, treasured, worked in a fellowship hall, worked steps, and started to sponsor. Hmmm... I'm just not sure about all this. I'm really scattered right now. It was suggested a long time ago that I keep a journal. Now that I am, I find there is so much I could write about but just... Okay I'm going to jump around for a bit. New topic.
Apr. 12th, 2002
A bit of history: the Rocket Queen is a girl who, like many in the gothy community has and has had an affinity for prissy goth boys. I'm not sure where this started. I'm sure Johnny Depp didn't help (Anybody see him in Sleepy Hollow? MMMMM....Yum.) Was it Oscar Wild? Was it all the PBS my mother watched? Was it the equation of sports and manly type activities with the boys that used to pick on me, throw stuff at me and call me names? Perhaps. The prissy boys in school, like myself, were the target of much hatred and disdain and, while perhaps not attracted to me would leave me alone and read. Intelligence is a big turn on for me and, having gone through the dark, suicidal, poetry-writing, classmate mutilating phase more acutely than some, I perhaps thought that only a sweet gentle nutcase would me the man for me. Many of the men(?) I have dated have exhibited quite a few feminine qualities excepting maybe my ex-husband who you couldn't necessarily call prissy or he'd kick your ass, was certainly pretty. On the other hand was co-dependent and whined a lot. I've found myself in relationships where for all intents and purposes, I wore the pants. Paid the rent or was the aggressor, staying out all night playing pool and swearing chasing women and coming home to a man who just wanted to be held. AGGGGGNHHHHHHHH!! Enough already!!!!! Lately I have been seeing a GUY. There is nothing feminine about this man. He does NOT have long silky hair that takes longer to fix than mine. He does NOT buy fancy soap. He HAS a sex drive. (Thank God. I thought I was going to crazy there for a second.) He has an extensive collection of firearms. He can pick me up. He doesn't sit around and talk about his FEELINGS. He likes WAR MOVIES. And KUNG FU. He owns good old raunchy plotless porn. He is NOT a pussy. Or a pandering eunich. He could care less whether the colander is plastic or metal. In point of fact, he doesn't NEED a stinking colander. He can use a PLATE!!! He does not kiss my ass nor let me walk all over him in hopes of getting laid. To top it off, he makes no demands of my time or my commitment or tell me what to do. There's no guilt, blame or judgemental passive aggressive, pandering crap. This is way cool. I don't have to be the man, I just have to be myself even if I'm acting like a GIRL. (I do this sometimes. My friends know it and give me lots of shit about it.) This was quite a serendipitous find seeing as all I was looking for was to GET LAID. Something about living with someone who refuses to put out even when they have an erection because sex makes them want to kill themselves WILL lead one to not only madness but all attempts at monogamy will FAIL. Thankfully the depressed one with the sex drive of a gnat is somewhere in Miami, diametricly opposed to Seattle, and I am still here putting up with the rain enjoying the company of a good-old red blooded, meat-eating, sex-loving male. Thank god I'm finally getting what I deserve. I really have simple needs: sex, meat, friends, recreation, and a place to sleep. The only unfortunate part is when you are not seeing someone who looks to you to be their savior, and falls apart at the drop of a hat, consumes your life, drains you and bogs you down in their intense depressive episodes which they refuse to get help for and then doesn't understand why you want to get away from them, well you have to start dealing with yourself. Dealing with myself gets really uncomfortable most of the time when I'm not distracted and well, when the person you're with causes you no problems and gives you nothing to bitch about, I find I'm dealing with my personal demons quite a bit. Well, I guess it had to happen sooner or later. Better sooner than later. The only way for them to go away is to deal with them. Sigh... At least I'm feeling okay about myself right now. Every minute I'm feeling good about myself is a good fucking minute. I just hope there are more minutes to come. Having friends who tell me I rule and people who like me definitely helps. So anyway, my eyes hurt and I think I'm going to wrap this before I go blind. DEATH TO ALL WHO OPPOSE ME!!!! Goodnight.