ME TOO! PART TWO

I'd like to thank Brett Michael Kavanaugh for inadvertently tearing through my rather tough scar tissue and causing some ugly wounds to reopen. I remember a time when I couldn't be in a room if there was something on TV about sexual assault or molestation or if the topic happened to come up in a group of people I instantly became invisible in fear I'd be asked to contribute something to the conversation. God forbid, if someone made a tasteless joke about the subject...I'd die a hundred silent deaths without anyone knowing I was in pain. I think it's common for people with any deep wound to eventually learn how to skillfully mask any visible pain they have.

So here I sit wide awake in the middle of the night alone with my thoughts recounting my episodes of sexual abuse. That's not a good thing for anyone to do, but as the old saying goes "you can run, but you can't hide." Do you remember how I once wrote that I'm an emotional cutter? I guess this is one of those times. So consider this an invitation to stroll down memory lane with me as I cut away and have an emotional blood bath.

Before I get started, I'd like to make a few comments regarding Judge Kavanaugh. The first comment is that everyone is innocent until proven guilty. He knows that better than anyone. The second is that it's far too common for people in power or people who lead a privileged life to abuse their power or their status in life. The last thing I'd like to say is that I hope justice is served in this instance and I hope if Judge Kavanaugh did what he's being accused of doing that he does the honorable thing and helps his accuser, Christine Blasey Ford end her years of torment. If you're guilty, admit it, make a sincere heartfelt apology to Professor Ford without any justifications or excuses (oh, but I was young and drunk...as if that makes anything okay) and step down immediately!

Like so many other women I, too have a story. Mine isn't unique, but it's mine to tell. It's mine to remember and it's mine to deal with in the way that works best for me. When I was just a child I was repeatedly molested. This went on for several years. I could write a dissertation or more on this alone, but I won't for many reasons. Regardless of what my molester tells himself or others, he knows the truth and so do I. He permanently altered my life and helped me form some twisted thought processes and behaviors. For that, I want to thank him! [Please pardon my Maine sarcasm...it's just a lovely little defense mechanism I have.]

My next experience was getting my bare bottom spanked by the good Preacher I Like Young Bare Butts and for what? I didn't memorize some Bible verses! The holy man of God, the good Pastor may have enjoyed the experience immensely, but I didn't. I can definitely say he helped sour my views on organized religion and God in general. For that, I want to thank him! I have no belief in God at all. 

When I was in Junior High School/Middle School I had stayed after school to watch some wrestling matches. It was already dark as I made my way home carefully watching each step I took because the sidewalks were slippery from the snow and ice. You see, I wasn't smart enough to wear boots so the price I paid for being "cool" was that I walked like a drunken sailor on my way home hoping I wouldn't fall.  As I approached my house, I passed a nondescript man bundled up in dark winter clothing walking in the opposite direction. Before I knew it, he had turned around and pushed me into the snowbank and quickly ran his hand up under my dress and grabbed my crotch. I was stunned and the only thing I could do was to yell at him to "get the fuck off me" as I pushed him as hard as I could to get him off me. As Mr. Let's Grab A Young Pussy went running away up the street, I gathered my composure and made my way inside my house. I never said a word to anyone about what had just happened several yards from my front door, but I never went without boots again in the winter. For that, I want to thank him!

The next thing that happened on my chronological list of scars was a year or two later when the guy who I had a mega crush on got a little carried away one evening while we were all high at my house started tickling me. He got a little rough and carried away with what he was doing. It took a few people to pull him off me. Yes, I wanted his attention, but not like that. My close friend and partner in crime, Joyce and I talked about it afterwards because she knew I was really upset. We both came to the conclusion that he hadn't meant to hurt me. We were both high and things just got way out of hand. Maybe that was true...maybe it wasn't, but thank you, Jimmy Crane for teaching me a valuable lesson. 

Next, came Mr. I'll Make You Wicked Hot who decided while having me tied up for some sexual brouhaha that burning my breast with a lit cigarette was a what needed to be done in order to get him off. That little adventure not only caused me emotional trauma, but it caused immense physical pain as well along with a nice well-placed scar now long since healed and faded, but still quite visible to anyone looking at my breasts. Thank goodness, these days that scar is only visible to me as a reminder of what a fool I was at times. For that, I want to thank him.

When I was in my early 30's I became the first female member of a volunteer fire department in Gulf County Florida. One evening during our weekly training session, the assistant chief, Bobby Pliar sent everyone off to do various jobs and had me stay behind to show me how to change the oil in one of the fire trucks and how to man the pump on one of the trucks. As he begun showing me all of these things, he motioned for me to come over to where he was and when I did, he grabbed my breasts. I usually have a quick comeback for everything but I was so stunned and absolutely speechless I just didn't know what to say. All I did was stand there and look at him while he had both my breasts in his hands. It took me a few days to tell my significant other who was also on the fire department. He was furious and was the type of person who believed in revenge, but revenge wasn't what I wanted. I didn't want it broadcasted it because I knew I'd get a"I told you so" from all the people who didn't feel it was a woman's place to be on a fire department. That was small town good ol' boy thinking for you at its finest! After thinking it through, I felt my worth as a fire fighter was much less than his worth because not only was he assistant chief, but he was a EMT as well. I did get an apology from Bobby, but shortly after that I quit the fire depatment. My heart was no longer in it. For that episode, I want to thank him!

During my 40's, I had a few incidents of men who felt because they bought me dinner that I needed to repay the favor with a blow job or a hand job guided rudely and forcefully by them and strongly deferred by me. Nothing says "hell no" quite like someone trying to force you to perform sexual acts in a parked car or in a movie theatre while they lean back and digest their dinner. Needless to say, I never accepted a second date with any of these men. It always puzzled me why anyone would assume sex was repayment for the cash they dropped on dinner. What I really want to know is do I really look like an after dinner mint? For that, I want to thank them.

Now, I stay my ass at home and out of the line of fire! That may be the wrong thing to do, but it works for me. I'm sure many people wonder why I gave up on men and put myself in permanent time-out. All these things combined with a few relationships from hell made me see that a troglodyte's life is for me. Nothing in my cave will ever hurt me except maybe the cave itself...

*reposted from 9/19/2018

FOREVER YOUNG

I just realized something. The thought really did just pop into my head from out in the cosmos somewhere floating amongst the galactic matter that I, Mildred Ratched have gotten old.  How this happened I don't quite know. I'm puzzled! Confused! Vexed! Flummoxed! Just good old plain mind-blown. I have become THAT OLD WOMAN who bitches and criticizes and complains. When did I start disliking people so much? Is it everyone that I dislike? Am I becoming a crabby troglodyte again? I'll really start to worry if I feel the urge to paint my bedroom Bohemian Red like my previous "cave" was painted. When did I get old? It seems like it happened overnight. Yesterday, I was young and vibrant and today, I'm The Sea Hag. My body doesn't seem to know what muscle tone and tight flesh means anymore. Things grow where they shouldn't and stuff falls out that I wish would stay put. I'm the female version of Archie Bunker, except I'm more pitiful because I don't have anyone to call "Meathead" and unfortunately, Mildred doesn't have a "Judith" or a "Jack/John/Joe or who really cares"...that is, unless one of you dear creatures want to fix me up so I'll have someone of my very own to love, honor and abuse.  I'll bring my own recliner and remote control, of course. Geez! It sounds like a righteous deal to me and on a good day I might even cook a meal. What more could anyone dream for or expect from a relationship? 

QUARANTINED AND BEYOND

No, I'm not stranded on some tropical island! That would be nice, but I'm still here in good old Pensacola, Florida. Well, I never got my test results and I don't know who to contact to get them so I just said fuck it. Lately. I've said fuck it to lots of things. I feel fine and just chalked it up to another amazing clusterfuck. Go figure! I've just been hanging out in my backyard and doing lots of hard physical work weather permitting and when Mother Nature drives me inside I have lots of inside projects. 

I'm slowly redoing my upstairs cave, but I promise this time I won't fall downstairs and fracture a vertebrae.  Another change to my cave is that it's in a different room and it has 8 windows in it so it has plenty of wonderful natural light. I guess it really isn't much of a cave compared to my last cave that was painted a deep Bohemian red and rarely saw the light of day blinds closed and heavy drapes drawn. I look back on that rather long period of my life and I really was a hermit or a "troglodyte" as the dreaded Psychedelic Pariah used to call me. I guess none of you remember him and that's a good thing! 

Another change to my cave is that my cave now is strictly for creative use and I won't be sleeping there. Now my bedroom is downstairs. So, in my cave I'll be able to paint, write, sew, do crafts, wood burn when the kit arrives in the mail (if it ever does) and probably talk to myself and my dogs and cat, listen to music and wish the world was a better place to live and so forth and so on...

Several weeks ago I witnessed a butterfly emerge from its cocoon. I held the new butterfly in my hand before it flew away. My fence and area around it was covered with chrysalis waiting to emerge with beautiful butterflies. Other than hating fire ants, I feel like a real nature's child.  I feed the birds. I talk to the birds. I swear at the squirrels and the various insects. I talk to my flowers. My dogs started to eat the suet that I give to the birds. I swear they'll eat just about anything. I better watch out they might start flying around with the birds. I think I'd like to see that just as long as they didn't poop on me when they fly around. Martha talked about cutting down trees and the next thing she knew she had birds pooping on her. I'm thinking that they knew what she was talking about and was just giving her their opinion on the matter. 

Also on the whole bird situation...I have a ton on baby cardinals that are ravenous. I swear they can empty a birdfeeder before I walk back to my chair. I keep telling them to go get a job to pay for the bird seed! Or better yet I think mom and dad need to get a second or third job to pay for the dozens of babies I'm feeding. Does anyone know how many babies a cardinal has?

So that's about it. I have good days and bad days like everyone else.  I hope all of you are safe and well and staying sane throughout all this madness.

A Bohemian Style Revival

What comes to your mind when someone brings up Freddie Mercury? The first thing that comes to my mind is that I share a birthday with Freddie and since the mid 1970's, I always eat one piece of birthday cake for me and one piece for him. When I think of Freddie, a quote from The Who's lead singer says it best. Roger Daltrey called Mercury "the best virtuoso rock 'n' roll singer of all time. He could sing anything in any style. He could change his style from line to line and God, that's an art. And he was brilliant at it."

When I first discovered that a movie about Mercury's life was made and being released this fall, I immediately wondered who would play the part of Freddie. Who could play the part? When faced with portraying a legend, any legend how does a person prepare to undertake such an enormous endeavor?
My original thought was that Adam Lambert would have been a logical choice for the Freddie Mercury role, but apparently I wasn't consulted before the auditions began. I'm sorry, Adam! No one ever listens to me.

Although Rami Malek has been working as an actor since 2004, I never actually "noticed" him until he played the lead role in the television series, Mr. Robot. Now, portraying the legendary Freddie Mercury (Farrokh Bulsara) in the film, Bohemian Rhapsody, Malek is challenged to resurrect Mercury on the big screen. I hope the spirit of Freddie fills every pore in Malek's body and what we witness is not a mere portrayal of a dead superstar, but a true rebirth of someone who may be gone but was never forgotten.

One source claims, "Rami Malek as Freddie Mercury is the gift that Queen fans deserve." Being a true hermit limits my social outings, but I think Miss Troglodyte USA, will put on her glad pants and venture out to see this movie instead of waiting for it to hit Netflix, Hulu or Amazon Prime.


Is this the real life?
Is this just fantasy?
Caught in a landslide
No escape from reality
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see
I'm just a poor boy, I need no sympathy
Because I'm easy come, easy go
A little high, little low
Anyway the wind blows, doesn't really matter to me, to me...

THE MAMMOTH CAVE

When I first started Mildred Ratched Memoirs, it was as an assignment from my therapist who I always lovingly referred to as a "yoyo inspector". She wanted me to keep a daily journal and the only stipulation she made was that each journal entry had to end with a gratitude statement. The topics could be of my own choosing. Instead of doing a conventional hand written journal, I decided to do mine in blog form since I had been blogging since 2004.

Although I've kept Mildred Ratched Memoirs alive long after stopping my visits to the yoyo inspector, somewhere along the way I stopped doing my gratitude statements. I have to be honest and admit that I miss them. They made me end each blog post on a positive note. When a person is struggling with an emotional upheaval or maybe just tying up some loose ends that have been dangling for far too long having to find things to be grateful about isn't always an easy task. I remember I ended one post with a gratitude statement about being grateful I didn't have hemorrhoids. That one made my therapist laugh.


Reposted and edited from CAVE LIFE 101 (February 22, 2010)

People with alternative lifestyles or who have a different sexual orientation than the rest of mainstream America may reside in a closet until they decide to emerge, but depressed people dwell in a dark, dingy cave many times filled with items of convenience so they won't have to ever emerge. A few years ago, I purchased a small refrigerator and a microwave to put in my bedroom, so I wouldn't have to leave it. That was around the same time as I bought a 52-inch HDTV for my bedroom. I should have seen the writing on the wall, but like most things, I ignored the warning signs until the damage had been done. I simply didn't care that I was a cave dweller.

Hey, people I live in Florida and in an area where the beaches don't suck. As described in the following quote: "The gentle breeze is still soothing just as the crystal-clear waves roll in from the emerald sea. The flawless white sand is just as soft as before, and the sea oats still dance for a glowing sun". Pensacola boasts to have the whitest beaches in Florida. So why does a person who once was a sun worshipper no longer even venture out into the light of day? No, I haven't joined the ranks of the undead! Not yet, at least!

I think it has to do with having an addictive personality and being self-destructive. I always loved to binge and then I'd grow bored with the object of my addiction. This behavior held true in every aspect of my life even the small ones. For example, I loved to read, but unlike a normal person who would read a book and then go onto the next or perhaps take a break between books, I would read 10 books in 2 weeks and then be done for 6 months or more. I buy books now and never read them. I sit and look at the cover or maybe read the first page a few hundred times, but I never finish reading the book. I guess the same holds true with the beach. I burnt myself out on being sun burned beach bunny. Actually, that's probably a good thing!

Tomorrow, I have my next yoyo appointment. I know she wants me to start dealing with issues I'd rather just leave in the cave. I'd rather discuss how I've spent the last 2 days cleaning and rearranging my cave and how good that made me feel...physically drained, but mentally better. I'd rather talk about why I feel the need to throw something away if I haven't used it in 6 months and why I have so little in which I assign sentimental value. Material objects have never meant very much to me...easy come, easy go! I'd rather discuss anything other than sexual abuse and being self-destructive. I think I may be in a horribly foul mood tomorrow!

Gratitude statement: I'm thankful it's today and not tomorrow.

I read my words now and ask myself, "What’s changed?" and I have to admit that I'm still a troglodyte and the rut I was in has widened over time. I really don't know where or how to begin to stop this abyss.

Gratitude statement: I'm grateful for the self awareness I possess and hope that it eventually kick starts some motivation to change my life while I still can.