vulnerability

Trust Exercise

/ herismeorg / 3 Comments
(I grabbed these meme from a retweet source unknown)
(or listen here – my voice is waverly todayverly)

Remember in that awesome cinematic wonderment sensation Frozen (copyright Disney trademark Disney forever Disney pretty pink perfect plastic Disneyverse etched permanently into my brainaic Disney) movie where Ana or Anna or braid girl with dirndle says, “that was like a crazy trust exercise!” ?

*sigh*

This post is not about that at all.

In real life I have been telling the people that not only does that man pictured above, use phrases and odd speech similarly to MrexH, but his bodily movements and gestures are similar as well.

I see that it is hard to accept when you have been programmed with targeted gaslighting and abuse.

I know that it is so very disorienting to grasp that someone could be so abhorrent, inhumane and charismatic.

Know this: trusted experts are telling the truth.

How do you know that you are listening to a trusted expert?

  1. They are a recognized expert in their field by a group of their peers
  2. They are making humane decisions
  3. They are honest and appropriate when sharing uncomfortable unpopular information
  4. They conduct themselves in an ethical manner especially in regards to their expertise
  5. Someone you personally know with these characteristics is telling you that this is a trusted expert

Like many of you, I have lived through this kind of relationship in my personal life. As a nation, we are living it now. And while we appear to have enough people rallying to disengage from this particular elected abusive public servant by electing non-abusive public servants, we still have a massive problem. There are still too many of us that are so deep into being abused, gaslit, disoriented, abusive ourselves believing we benefit from aligning with other abusers, that rallying against the abuse is a tiny step – an important and critical one, but still teeny tiny compared to the work which needs to be done for our country, state, city, community.

Who is responsible for this work? I am.

(personal anecdote below or skip to very brief *comments regarding yesterday’s news below)

At first, I could not comprehend why a police officer was asking me if I would be willing to speak with someone at our local domestic violence shelter if he phoned them and handed me his phone. I was in my garage with my 5 year old son locked in our car, per 911 operator instruction, until the officers arrived to give me further instruction. At the advice of my credit card company, I had phoned 911. The credit card company representative said it was a standard question to ask if 911 had been called when a customer phones in the middle of the night to ask if their spouse had cut them off from using the credit card they desperately needed in order to leave the house to a safe space because their spouse was behaving increasingly aggressive with them and their son and they were afraid of him. If the credit card representative had not suggested I phone 911, I would have never known that officers were already on their way because MrexH had already phoned them saying I had kidnapped our son and was mentally unstable. btw – You cannot kidnap your own child (unless there is some court order you are violating in which case you are violating court orders, still not kidnapping) which was clue #1 to the police that something was very not right. And then the story of what happens next, happens…

Fast forward to a conversation with my attorney. I could not comprehend what she was saying about filing for divorce, about domestic violence, about the state law regarding children, marital assets, witnesses, discovery documents etc. I found this attorney through a friend whom I trusted my child to be with in a safe place while I tried to figure out my next scary steps after the 911 calls. When I phoned her from the parking lot of the secretly located domestic violence shelter to beg her to help me find help for MrexH who was obviously in crisis, her response was, “I hear what you are saying about (MrexH) and I see where you are in your thinking. Here is what you need to do right now and then come to my house to pick up (SonHerisme) after you make an appointment.” She then proceeded to give me the name and telephone number of the woman who became my family law attorney from April 2014 until May 2020 (my last billing cycle from her). That’s right, it took me six years with a professional expert highly experienced and very well regarded family law attorney to feel legally safe enough to say, “thank you, I’ve got this unless we’re back in court.” That is a HUGE amount of money. She took her family to Paris a few summers ago. You’re welcome, international economic support.

During one of our conversations at the beginning of this whole process, I was continuing to question everything happening because I could not discern reality (hells to the bells, I still have occasional difficulties with that today), or truly understand that MrexH was not the person I essentially fabricated based on his gaslighting abuse, somewhat influenced by his pervasive mental illnesses. Many of my questions to my attorney elicited the responses, “Are you still seeing a therapist? Remind me who you’re seeing. Oh yes, she is wonderful. When is your next appointment? When was the last time you checked in with (domestic violence shelter)?” She knew that I had no ability to understand my situation, requiring professional support on a far different scale than hers in order to get through the very real, very legal, very potentially lethal processes I was facing. My family had no experience with this, I could not rely on them for guidance. Oftentimes potentially well meaning friends and family would offer up completely harmful misinformation and I took it as truth not quite understanding that they did not have solid trusted expert information themselves.

Despite my multitude of shortcomings(some of which were affecting legal issues), my attorney was determined to do her job. Not very long into our professional relationship, she called me into her office and took me to the conference room. This is not a good sign, just in case you find yourself in a similar situation. Gird yourself if you’re summoned to the office conference room, or the little conference rooms at the courthouse. Actually, gird yourself for all of it if you are going through a difficult divorce, especially those with looming lethal components. After we sat down, she asked me, “do you trust me?” I must have looked utterly confused because she followed up with, “do you trust me to make the best legal decisions for you and to represent your best interests to the court?” I know that I still did not answer because she added, “It is okay for you to say that you do not trust me. I need to know where you stand on this in order for me to proceed. Do you trust me?” In that split moment of clarity I realized that I no understanding of the process of what was happening at all. This woman had years of experience and expertise so presumably did have clarity and understanding of my situation. She had seen dozens if not hundreds of me’s over her professional career. She had been the advising attorney and held a seat on the board for our local domestic violence nonprofit. She had been recommended to me by a dear friend whom I trusted with my child during a precariously dangerous time. I might not understand or agree with what she was saying, but did I trust her? Yes. Yes, I wholly and completely trusted her and told her just that.

At that time, I was unable to comprehend or acknowledge that I was in an abusive relationship – but I was frightened enough to instinctively seek help based on the guidance and support of people I did trust. The credit card person led to the police led to the domestic violence shelter led to my friend watching my child led to our phone call which led to the attorney that then eventually led to us all being divorced, healthy and alive today.

*Listen to the trusted professionals. Allow space for others who can reach that point to listen as well. Set firm boundaries and consequences to know your relationship with those who will test your commitment to healthy truth. I believe as a nation we need to do this as well. I am sorry that we all have to go through this, but in order to be healthy and alive as a country, each of us committing to going through the yuck is the only way.

Good luck us

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

ps. this post was written early on January 6th, before the attempted coup on our democracy by white supremacists emboldened by and under direct orders from our president. Disgustingly predictable. The most lethal time in an abusive relationship is when the victim draw boundaries. Fellow Americans, we have drawn our boundaries rightfully and appropriately with our votes and commitment to calling out truth. We must now wholly support our representatives to administer the consequences for those abusers violating those boundaries.

What I explained to my vulnerable Mr12, SonHerisme is to focus on his personal boundaries and understanding of humane based rights and wrongs. Support and listen to trusted expert helpers. Embrace civil discourse and philosophical discussions with those having a fundamental humane moral compass. The others, those who incite/commit atrocities, deserve only to know your absolute boundaries, the consequences of their inhumane actions, basic humane consideration, and nothing else from you. I then provided SonHerisme with concrete examples from our real life. Adulting is hard. Parenting is hard. Drawing boundaries with abusers is so very terrifying and hard. We can do hard things, and on days that we cannot, there are helpers who will pick up the slack and even pick us up as needed so that we can all #carryonpeacewarriors.

One Never Knows

/ herismeorg / Leave a comment
(or listen here)

She’ll never know

She’ll never know what it feels like

To be loved

To be wanted

To be anticipated

To be listened to

To be known

To have a touch on the shoulder

She’ll never know

She already knows

She already knows to be aware

That stars are magical

That sunrises/sunsets are breathtaking

That babies are miracles

That music and books are soul comforts

That optimism is a privilege

That barefoot is best

She already knows

Knowing things is abundance of gratitude.

The absence of knowing is painful.

Awareness of absence is forever grief.

She already knows she’ll never know, yet

She carries on with her life of awareness.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Hue Amour

/ herismeorg / 3 Comments
(perhaps too soon, too much. mostly a bunch of us are idiots)
(or listen here)

Today I thought of a color which does not exist… it was just a pigment of my imagination.

Not mine, but funny in a sweet mommy joke kind of way. At least in my house it is classified thusly. Mommarificous Sweetiness Funniceums Totalis Occulus Reparo and all that jazz.

Often the things I am writing about are uncomfortable and may lead you to believe that I am full of gloomy doomy heaviness. Which, of course, I am because I am an adult human lady single parent who has had life experiences outside of the plastic Disney picture we like to sell y’all not in the know irl. Instagram much?

I do wonder sometimes how I missed the boat with falling into massive amounts of self destructive behaviors. It seems like it might be cathartic to throw oneself down into those depths of experience IF there is an opportunity to climb out triumphantly and continue walking on a NewPath of generally satisfying life experiences. That’s how it works – right? Was it the time I almost got us murdered? Perhaps I am doing self destruction and I am unaware. But, I have seen those movies: wife dies, husband goes on drinking/sex binge until he accepts grief and moves forward; husband abandons wife, wife goes glam/workaholic ignoring kids until she accepts grief and moves forward getting her groove back etc. Or my favorite (generous eye roll) the new blended family struggles of love and acceptance while the absent parent(s) possibly self destruct. We watched a family movie with the blended family element last night at the request of SonHerisme. It turned out to be a chest gut punch for me. I just cannot seem to move into a realm of possibility as far as establishing any movement with personal relationship. Maybe that is my self destruction, maybe it’s COVID. Well, anyway, who knows… I cry, mentally beat myself up while cleaning/obsessive list making, refocus on what needs doing (single parents doing the things), and, when I have the energy to, find something funny for comfort.

There is a lot of funny out there. A lot more accessible funny since we have been globally COVIDed.

David Sedaris, Mindy Kaling, Ken Jeong, Amy Poehler, Will Ferrell, Sarah Silverman, Burns and Allen, Wanda Sykes, Ricky Gervais, Amy Schumer, Ali Wong, Patton Oswalt, Katherine Ryan, David Letterman, Tina Fey, Tig Notaro, Stephen Fry… and so many more… added the next day: Greg Davies and Kristen Wig and Kristen Bell and all the Gregs and all the Kristens!

My go-to atm are Graham Norton clips with comedic guests – quick giggles, done. I recently stumbled on Man Down on Netflix. FUNny stuffs. Some of the comedies are hard for me because they’re all, “oh my silly adorable husband/boyfriend/wife/girlfriend did this silly adorable thing! Love makes the world go ’round! Smoochy smoochy!” (uh-oh, beast boy AGAIN) Yes, Teen Titans Go! is a very hilARious show, and does not pretend to be Spanish or Spanish adjacent for all of you hopped up on that ridiculous non-news news. The power of Teen Titans is great (for me, at this time in my wacky life).

I’m also up for funny podcasts. There is a British podcast where the comedians have people on to describe their ideal meal components. I cannot remember anyone’s name (host or guests) because my brain is broken and I am too lazy to look them up. You can google it if you’re into the ridiculousness of choosing appetizers, main course, drinks, desserts etc. There was one guest who refused to choose an appetizer because they thought appetizers were unnecessary. I am in complete agreement with this UNLESS you are a parent with a young child just trying to survive a meal you did not have to think about, prepare or clean up. Then, it’s appetizer order as you’re seated to keep that sweet baby satisfied and engaged while mommy gets a damn solid minute – maybe. Children going to restaurants is a whole other discussion. Appetizers in general – not for me unless it’s ordered as my meal. Didn’t you all see that South Park with the appetizers years and years and years ago? It really drove home the ridiculousness (as humor often does with hard subjects) of appetizers. You can google that too if you are interested, Kenny.

I love funny things. I love to laugh. I think we all do. I think we could all do with a good laugh right about now. What is your favorite funny person/show/podcast? Do not bother saying Talladega Nights because that is everyone’s funny already.

The illustration at the top is from a book gifted to me which I have carried from move-to-move-to-move-to-move for over 25 years. Uncle Shelby’s ABZ Book, by Shel Silverstein (Light in the Attic, The Giving Tree etc). Every so often I pull it down, read it through, and laugh out loud because it is so very stupidly middle school humor funny. On the last page of the book he writes, “P.S. The paper in this book is not really paper… It is made from candy. The End.”

Perhaps this is my appeal to funny people to please make more funny if you can muster up the energy to do so. I subscribe to Netflix, Amazon and Hulu – so please let them pay you bazillions for your work. I will watch it and then send you a lovely thank-you note!

Sincerely, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps Substitute your device instead of TV as a fitter ending for this missive and possibly much more dignified than my selfish plea for funny content to distract me with moments of giggle fits from my reality…

T is for TV.

See the nice TV.

The TV is warm

The TV is funny

The TV is sad

The TV loves you

Did you know there are little elves who live inside the TV

The Elves can dance

The Elves can sing

The Elves can tell jokes

If you take Daddy’s hammer and break open the TV you will see the funny little Elves.

What will you name them?

-Uncle Shelby

pps my favorite (favourite) color (colour) is green (verdant)

ppps please, please, please wear a damn mask in public

Lanterns

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment
(Or Listen Here)

I cannot tell you how we moved. I had rather not remember. I believe my “effects” were brought in a bandbox, and the “deathless me,” on foot, not many moments after. I took at the time a memorandum of my several senses, and also of my hat and coat, and my best shoes – but it was lost in the mêlée, and I am out with lanterns, looking for myself. Emily Dickinson letters

As we move out of this Gregorian calendar year 2020 and into Gregorian calendar year 2021 (shout out Pope Gregory XIII matching the Easter celebrations with Spring equinox!), it seems as though we will all need our very best lanterns to find each other, to find ourselves and our paths wherever they may lead. Many of us have lost precious people, precious things, income, health insurance, our own world order where we defined ourselves, and more to 2020.

At this time last year, the meme was “How do I know what to expect next year, I don’t have 2020 vision.” Damn, that seems like a dark foreshadowing omen now. Not the wicked cool Gaiman/Tennant/Sheen Good Omens kind of omen, more the creepy fucked up serial killer psychotic orange clown kind of omen that nobody wants. Now we’re all going to be, “hindsight is 2020 yo!” (apparently we are all beast boy now)

The vaccine is coming of course, but it will be some time before it reaches most of us (myself included). This is right and proper, for me, since I am okay to stay at home for the time being. Vaccines should be going out to front line COVID medical workers, all other healthcare workers, grocery/gas station/essential living workers, teachers and school staff, vulnerable populations (including children), then finally people such as myself. Currently there is not a vaccine for children at all. There are recent medical reports that question what we have been thinking about children, schools, and covid. DUH seriously every single bacteria/virus spreads like wildfire through childcare/school institutions. 1 kid has lice/pinworms/ringworm/flu/cold/bronchitis/etc = everyone gets lice/pinworms/ringworm/flu/cold/bronchitis/etc in every family with even little to remote contact with that child. WTF were we thinking that somehow this particular virus was just going to skip that ripe environment. The ol’ HH (human hubris) strikes again!

In the meantime, we are all mentally exhausted. We have reached a space where the realness is hitting very hard and direct. Even those entrenched in the conspiracy world can no longer deny the effects of COVID-19 whether they “believe” in the existence of the virus or “believe” in mask wearing/social distancing or “believe” in a vaccine – the world has changed for everyone. Far too many of us have allowed too much space for persistent lack of empathy. We are literally killing ourselves for a truly fucked ideology which says it is a noble individual’s right to purposefully inflict defined potential lethal harm on others in the name of personal freedom!

This is taking a serious toll on our mental health. Those of us who have experienced relationship with narcissistic abusers have already gone through the excuses, denial, numbness, shock, grief cycles innumerable times. We have coping strategies, not all of them healthy of course, but we have them. Again, this ain’t our first yo-yo through the crazy rodeo.

As we see everyone else moving through these same emotions with us, we are in pain. We are all in pain. This is a deep collective grief.

Those unhealthy coping strategies are cropping up as the pain is too great. We may choose not to remember anything from this year or how we landed where we are in this lifetime. I can feel the mental distress rising and I am sure that you can too, if you are able to feel anything beyond grief at this moment. This is where the rest of us, despite having lost our navigation as well, grab our lanterns (as we can and when we can) and go out into this deep darkness to look not only for ourselves but for you as well. Even if only through prayers, ringing bells, texts, memes, delivering cookies and meals, fixing coffee for a peaceful moment, lighting candles, burning sage into a New Year’s Fire, opening doors letting the old ways pass and the new ways in – we are out there with each other trying our very best.

I am not sure that I can light your lantern for you – most likely that is an unhealthy fool’s errand and I cannot. But know that I am trying very hard to light my own and will gladly share it with you.

Healthier 2021 Wishes to you all

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

#carryonpeacewarrior #carryonhealthwarrior but whatever you do, please do #carryon or let someone else carry you for a bit by phoning one of these Mental Health Hotlines:

Mental Health America and National Suicide Prevention Hotline 1-800-273-TALK (8255)

Substance Abuse and Mental Health Services Administration 1-800-662-HELP (4357)

Noetic Noel

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment

Read below or listen here:

Circular talking power philosophers know stuff that we mortals can only digest in bite sized banal platitudes.  This is my way of saying, “I am not a philosopher and only dabble in grabbing potentially resonating pithy wordsies, so STOP JUDGING ME when I make inevitable errors in interpretation of which you, of course, will know infinitely more than I.”

Am I jealous of super clever philosophers?  Yes.  Yes, I am.  shhhhh wraskely wrabbit

I am most definitely a dreamer with an overactive imagination which sounds like I could be drawn to understanding and engaging in adept philosophical convo… sadly, no.  Or perhaps, lucky for all of us, still nope.

Despite the above, I am drawn to this Noetic Noel season where it seems we are all brought together by knowledge we’d rather not have. 

We’d rather not know hundreds of thousands of people have/are dying from COVID-19, or know another hundreds of thousands of people infected, some with long-term consequences, due to our collective disregard for basic science and humanity.

We’d rather not know what it is like to be governed by abusive, misogynistic, gaslighting, treasonous, criminal narcissists.

We’d rather not know what it feels like to see friends lose income and worry about their mortgages, rent, food, electricity, water, schooling etc.

We’d rather not know that a significant number of our neighbors continue to be in the initial spiral of textbook victims of abuse: denying its very existence, lashing out at helpers despite vast evidence that their own suffering is brought on by the abusers. (The awful bit of autonoetic consciousness, I suppose – cue philosophers for correction on this)

We’d rather not know how awfully deeply painfully lonely and despondent this holiday season feels while we muster whatever cozy happy Christmas we can find for our sweet only child who is feeling the pangs of isolation from his buddies too – and at the same time immensely grateful that we are so far healthy, so far still able to get our mortgage and bills paid, so far still plugging away with the everyday to feel grateful for the things we are dumb lucky to experience in this life (oh, wait, that might be just me). 

thought break side note:  It JUST started snowing a beautifully magic lovely gentle lush snow outside which is predicted to transform into a full-on winter storm of inches and feet later!  I love weather – all weather.  I love that it changes and makes up something different as the seasons change, or the day, or even the hour.  Weather is pretty amazing when you have the stupid lucky privilege of enjoying it in a safe way. 

Sending warmth and safety wishes out to all and I’ll pack up donations again today to deliver tomorrow when I can safely leave my crazy steep mountainside driveway in humble acknowledgement. 

But, of course, now I cannot wax on about our collective painful Noetic Noel because the snow has enchanted me.  Tea break and then I’ll be back. Stash brand Licorice Tisane. FYI, I am American, therefore I soak the hell out of the bag before plopping the soppy thing out and into the trash.  You’re welcome for that visual!  Oh, but yummmmm soothing hot liquid (not of the G-ds, though – that distinction is only for smooth silky so dark I will take over your life coffee).  Unless I am out and order a chai, I take all of my tea straight up (no milk, no sugar), altering the bag soak depending on the tea with black tea soaking the least amount of time.  It is possible that on certain days I drink vats of tea.  My kettle is a trooper to put up with me knocking that “on” button over and over and over throughout the day. 

And now you know something about me irl other than my wandering brainiac and bumpy history. Huzzah!

aaaaand back to Noetic Noel…

We do have some peek into hope here with the upcoming presidential change.  Of course even that is tainted as the gaslighting abusers continue their rhetoric and intimidation tactics, stirring up those who are already prone to doing their dirty work. 

Nothing mentioned here is difficult for some of us to understand (too many, really).  Many of us predicted all of this with uncanny accuracy since this is not our first time at the gaslighting abusive narcissistic mental illness yo-yo rodeo.  It is quite painful for us to watch you all experience this too.  We would not wish this mindfuck on our worst enemy. 

Unfortunately, recovery is painful as well.  I have not worn my wedding ring since June 2014 and still occasionally feel phantom weight from it and reach to twist it around.  It is like a gut punch when that happens.  Sometimes I think about taking it out of its storage box and putting it on just to try and distinguish the real weight of it from the phantom weight.  Like maybe that will break the spell of my own disturbing grief/recovery/whatever cycle.  I haven’t done that… yet.  I am not sure if I ever will.  But, I do think about it. As I also think about when my inevitable nervous breakdown is coming. Perhaps it is always bubbling out in bits and I cannot see it – I have no idea really. Tra-la

All of this has me thinking about how very connected we are in this space of abuse exposure compounded with isolation.  I do not subscribe to conspiracy that somehow places blame on our current leadership for the creation of COVID-19, but I wholeheartedly blame them for our current condition/isolation/economic and emotional strains.  Making it not unlike textbook abusers who use gaslighting and isolation to keep victims victim-y.

I am sorry that now we all have this personal experiential knowledge about abuse.

This is hard stuff.

New leadership will help but is not the answer to us moving forward.  If we look there, we will be disappointed and angry with them because they cannot be held responsible for anything other than a helper role. 

I feel that we are our own answer to moving forward. Embracing the knowledge of our situation, our roles with their privileges and limitations, and then using that knowledge as we move through our feelings, I think is the only way to reach our own versions of forward. 

I know it is hard. 

I know we will all feel that soul breaking whole body aching painful loneliness. 

We will all desperately want the comfort of the memory of how we thought our trusted neighbors had our backs with the most humane basics, not realizing that they too were being set up as victims of abuse who’s refusal to recognize it results in them lashing out at others in most inhumane ways. 

We will all feel the phantom weight of the ring and feel for it on our finger before we simultaneously feel it is missing like a hole punched in our hearts and remember what it really represented in our lives. 

We might feel the need to try that ring of abuse back on again and again until we can distinguish it from phantom comfort.

We might live the rest of our lives never knowing what healthy external comfort feels like.

It is a Noetic Noel fuh reals y’all and I am here with you in the thick of the emotions and hard knowledge of needing to recognize the abuses in order to set them down and move forward.

It is lonely out here. 

Hug those you can (even virtually).  Receive what you can.  Give what you can.  All things when and if you can.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Gentle reminder that I am not a mental health professional by anyone’s standards. I am a mommy, daughter, auntie, friend, cousin, neighbor, survivor, dreamer, writer, librarian, reader, shower-singer, giggler, nature enthusiast, cooker of foods, lead gillie, and (first time I am ever saying this) ex-wife. Please do reach out to a mental health professional for support, and linger here for simple-minded musings of a wild haired noetically challenged lady loon.

Behold(er)!

/ herismeorg / 2 Comments

(ps already – this quote is not sent as a demand for you to find joy in service, it is sent as an idea that if you are called to find joy, you might find it in service)

Moving away from the politics of American elections and into the politics of everyday relationships.

I just cannot yet.

We all know that this 2020 general election in the USA was not about politics between conservative and liberal democratic parties.

Our election was about choosing to embrace or reject an ideology which bases all actions and decisions on the premise that many groups of people are unworthy of consideration or being treated humanely, in order that the select premium group of people can elevate themselves and thrive.

We continue to be mired in the blatant fascist hypocrisy which has risen in a terrifying way: whose putrid messages continue to be spewed and elevated by neighbors in our communities, cities, counties and at the highest levels of leadership across our country.

This is vile and should be called out at every opportunity.

If you have not taken a firm stand against the current president and his sycophants, then you are enabling the continued death of thousands of your neighbors and encouraging the blatant disregard of democracy and humanity (for yourself as well, btw).

You may leave now and do some serious self examination along with a total destructive gaslighting media detox.

I’ll be here for you when you find your mea culpa.

In the meantime, I’ll keep fighting for all of our rights as humans (yours too). #carryonpeacewarriors #carryondemocracywarriors

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo

Mea Culpa

/ herismeorg / 3 Comments

For your Consideration: Idris Elba as Aaron from Titus Andronicus (by my historical pretend acquaintance, William Shakespeare):

“Ay, that I had not done a thousand more.
Even now I curse the day…”

When you told me that I should be willing to take the fall because I always get forgiveness… I did it and you cursed at me for being manipulative.

When you told me that I laughed and smiled too much to ease hard things… I tried harder to charm you to smile and spend time with me.

When you told me that my breasts were too big and I wasn’t tall enough to be attractive… I bought shoes with heels and minimizing bras.

When you told me that I should know better than to hire, “those kinds of people who only belong in kitchens or on a janitorial staff,” and formally disciplined me for, “insubordination,” having conducted interviews for other positions with non-white people… I requested a transfer to another branch of the company for personal reasons.

When you told me that I needed to put your penis in my mouth and let you touch my body because I needed to get used to it and ready for what I would need to do when I was older… I did it without question and kept even more quiet.

When you told me that I was too homely to be seen with you or for you to continue dating me after you aggressively pursued me for months until I gave in… I silently carried that pain forward and remained friends with your friends to show what a good and forgiving person I am.

When you raped me the first time… I did not argue or fight back.

When you subsequently raped me on occasion… I became detached and unresponsive during the acts. Until you threatened my son.

When you told me all of the reasons that no one liked me… I believed you.

When you told me that I was selfish for wanting to get pregnant in my 30’s… I tried harder to include you in my pregnancy journey to win you over.

When you told me how glad you were that my baby arrived with light skin… I laughed and pretended like I did not understand what you were talking about.

When you mocked me for being quiet and avoiding eye contact at the dinner table surrounded by unhealthy people during the terror of my separation and divorce… I made more food for you and more space for you in my home.

When you bypassed my home alarm and locked doors to enter my home through the garage coded entry panel without my knowledge or permission after being expressly asked to be sensitive to our continued terror at lethal threats from MrexH who HAD been arrested trespassing on the property violating a court order… you blamed me for being jealous of you and alarmist.

When I insisted on taking my niece to the pediatrician after she was molested (with her parent’s permission as they were unwilling to take her, but wanted her to go when I pointed out this was a necessary responsibility) but was unwilling to be accompanied by another adult non-family member, entirely unrelated in any way to the incident or any profession related to the incident, to the appointment… you blamed me for be jealous and unreasonable for suggesting that her medical appointment was not a spectator event.

When I caught your decades of lying about your paternity… I held my tongue to protect your familial relationships.

When you screamed at me for returning your daughter to your home because I was experiencing a miscarriage and had to get to a hospital… I still tried to make our relationship work.

When you voted for racism, bigotry, criminal lies, bullying and narcissistic abuse… mea cupla.

Because I have let things slide for too long. Until I didn’t.

Once my son was threatened, I realized instantly that what was happening to me in my marriage was somehow wrong. It took me years to accept that what happened was rape, was abuse. Which sounds completely unbelievably ridiculous, I know. Even today I sometimes have to go back through the original documentation to truly understand exactly what was happening to my son and to me in my home.

And my own culpability, which was allowing it. Which was not being informed enough to understand and allowing that to continue.

I almost got us killed.

We are killing ourselves trying to make it okay that people we love, or people who show love in some areas of their lives, are actively welcoming racism, bigotry, misogyny, criminal narcissistic abuse in the leadership with our country.

Oh – that’s right. They have excuses:

  • the direction of the country (WTF?!?)
  • potential financial gains
  • abortion

As long as we remain racist, bigoted, fear-based, lying, criminal, narcissistic abusers – you’re good with that because someone somewhere in the tippy top 1% might have financial gains which you equate with morality. Then you can watch from your high moral horse as those less moral, less human, less worthy are kept in their places or eliminated altogether because what do they matter anyway? Also abortion? Remove penis shooting sperm threats = abortion solved. NO ONE wants viable pregnancies aborted, you dumb asses. But until we have control over men spewing sperm creating unwanted pregnancies, PLUS adequate basic care for women/parental people/children, there has to be a safe medical option for uterus wielding humans. Stop trying to control women’s health care and START taking care of basic human needs so that abortion becomes irrelevant.

I am fucking sick and tired of making excuses for accommodating you.

You are not a good person no matter how many lovely things you do, if you endorsed Trump or his sycophants. You are not. Even the mob, murderers, dynastic conquerors, Saddam Hussein, the executors of the Spanish Inquisition did lovely things for family and community on occasion.

Also, I am not perfect – none of us are. But the opposite of an openly criminal oppressive racist narcissistic abusive regime is NOT PERFECTION. It is basic human decency.

We can argue about politics and I welcome political discourse.

This is not political discourse.

This is absolutely a referendum on your humanity.

I calls it how I sees it. I see you and I will no longer remain silently fucked.

Mea culpa that we are in this position today because I have not held you responsible for your callous inhumanity before. It is my fault and I am working hard to correct my submissive permissiveness.

Amen

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps – In case you were wondering, the “you” ‘s listed above are not all the same person. Strange, isn’t it?

Bag Packer

/ herismeorg / 1 Comment

Before I left the house early this morning, I packed a bag.

Not just any bag. A safety plan bag for my son.

I used his school backpack which has been sitting solo on a shelf in his closet since March 2020. Since our world as we knew it shut down, just like everyone else around our hurting earth.

It is a blue backpack with tan leather straps. Very boxy old timey European school boy vibe, but with modern zippers and pouches for electronics, water bottle, keychains etc.

Our impending winter kept the outside dark, full of heavy asthma inducing fog, and eerily quiet just before the sun has had a chance to poke its bright, “Good Morning!” smile up over the horizon. Sometimes when my sweet SonHerisme awakens too early in the morning, he tells me that he tries to stay quiet as possible to not disturb anything in the universe or spook the sun from rising. He gently slides across his bed and over to his front window to peel the shade aside very carefully and spy on the sun rising over the hills and trees to the East of our perch on the side of our tiny mountain retreat. He says he knows it’s going to be a good day if he hasn’t spooked the sunshine away. I love his amazing poetic brain! I love the way his brain brainiacs!

My sweet puffin giant newborn baby bear hockey bat superhero. Now 12. Now 5’9″. Now US size 13 men’s shoe. Now needing to learn about razors (among other things *sigh*). Someone hand me a baby to squeeze STAT!

I wish I could’ve had more. The more died either with my dreams or with my failed body.

Anywho

I packed a bag in the very early hours this morning for SonHerisme because I have transported back to safety plan mode with the current climate in this country as we all (most of us, sweet beegeezus, I hope MOST of US) attempt to separate from our collective abuser. The most dangerous and lethal time for an abused person is when they attempt to leave. Unfortunately I have first hand experience as does SonHerisme.

We survived. We had safety plan upon safety plan upon safety plan upon backups, supports, and contingencies for safety plans.

It is a most dangerous time here in the US and I felt the familiar call for a safety plan for us.

We have regular everyday safety plans, like you, for fire, inclement weather, school transportation, etc. Being a single completely solo parent, I also have an added COVID-19 safety plan in case I end up severely ill, hospitalized, or … I’ll just say it… dead. I do still have in place some of my safety protocol from MrexH times, but have lapsed in areas compared to my prior levels of vigilance.

As I packed a bag for SonHerisme, I could feel the tension simultaneously rise and fill up my entire body to the point of it completely disappearing thanks to disassociation. It’s still my superpower, y’all. Then again, it is a tell for me to recognize when things are getting really bad. When I am not feeling something when there are big things afoot, I am disassociating, which means something is very very wrong for me emotionally, physically, or both. But, disassociation can be so very relieving for the strong terror. When disassociation washes over me, I sometimes wonder if it isn’t unlike the rush of relief an addict might feel. I love it and crave it so much sometimes, just for any relief from the pain, anxiety, and terror.

I packed one change of clothes, an electronic device charging cord with plug adapter, tetra pack monkey milk (don’t worry – it’s cow’s milk with extra protiens and a picture of a monkey on the container, it is not milk from monkey mammaries. Although, I once told me niece it was monkey mammary milk and she refuses to drink it to this day), two cliff bars, house key, some cash, and emergency contact information. I also included a note from me which says how much I love SonHerisme and how his job is to take good care of himself until I can return to him.

The bag is hanging on the inside of my closet. SonHerisme does not know about the bag because I did not want to cause him any possibly unnecessary pre-event anxiety. My plan was to contact SonHerisme if there was an issue, then have an emergency contact go to the house and pick him up so that he would have emotional support until I could get home.

Hells yeah, I have backups. This ain’ts my first rodeos, son (BEAST BOY!).

I had to take my mother into Georgetown this morning for her first post-op visit with her amazing medical coven.

That’s right. Georgetown. Up the hill from the concrete barrier-ed current president’s residence. The one who incites violence and spreads viral death – yeah, that guy. Like some of you, we had a local voter intimidation parade of flag bearing vehicles yesterday, with some still going around today.

I grew (and am growing) more and more concerned about our attempt to separate from this abusive regime. I thought about the highway possibly shutting down (which it did very briefly this morning, for the usual I-270 accidents). I thought about roads being blocked. I thought about my sweet baby alone in our house on the side of our tiny mountain hill with no neighbors, no neighborhood buddies, no place for him to walk to (other than the cool goat/fowl farm way at the bottom of the hill), and me not able to get home and make sure that he is okay.

Enter safety plan. Enter packed bag ready to leave the house quickly. Enter emergency backup friends, and backups to them. Enter all devices fully charged before breakfast. Enter all doors and windows locked, alarm set for stay with SonHerisme inside. Enter hopefully casual usual review with SonHerisme, of regular safety plans of what to do when mommy is gone far away for hours and he is home alone.

Once on the road, driving to Georgetown with MotherHerisme in the car (post typical MotherHerisme tears and meltdowns *sigh*), disassociation began to wear off and the red hot fire of anger swept through my body.

I am angry that this is where we are. I am angry and I resent having these feelings of needing a safety plan AFUCKINGGAIN. I hate going through separating from an abusive relationship AGAIN. I HATE the potential exposure to a deadly virus for a check-up MotherHerisme puts up a fit to go to. I also hate the traffic on I-270, which is inching back up to pre-COVID-19 levels.

I like the coven. I like the valet parking people. I like the stone walls and canal stations lining the Clara Barton Parkway. I like the occasional reroute through the Palisades. I like passing my friend’s street and saying, “hello over there!” every time I pass by the entrance. I like saying, “Guten Tag,” past the German Embassy and, “Bonjour,” past the French Embassy. I like the word, “Georgetown,” because it is a compound word with hard and soft sounds.

I am angry at the generation who got us to this point where we are having to extricate from a seriously dangerous and deadly abusive regime. Once again, with their dying breaths, they are sending us all a big f you – I am okay and you are not which makes me morally superior and more deserving of my privileges than you will ever be because you are a super loser dummy.

If they are not resoundingly rejected with the election taking place today, we must carry on with helping our neighbors who are suffering and prepare for restructuring our voices for the next election cycle. But I am angry and resentful about having to contemplate that outcome.

In the meantime also have a safety plan with backups and pack a bag just in case.

In my experience a safety plan can save your life.

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

ps made it to and from Georgetown and am now completely exhausted helping SonHerisme with virtual school. He will remain unaware of the safety plan packed bag element, for now.

pps please take good care of yourself. I like you – especially you over there!

Zero is my Hero (or, A Bird has Two Wings)

/ herismeorg / 4 Comments
(with Mighty Eagle!)

Listen Here – noted that I need better enunciation practice!

I feel as if I have addressed this all before in some manner. Perhaps only in my very weary brainiac though. So, well, here goes this:

We are not approaching the world the same way, thee and me. Thee may not directly apply to you, but it does to (points to the way far dim back of the room) you. Me is me (as much as I can be aware of how my flawed self moves through this consciousness iteration of life – ah, but that is a topic for another day…or not. tra la).

Zero is my hero. Zero is my hero because it has no value unto itself, no quantity, no expectations placed upon it other than being a critical placeholder to better define integers as they freely move up and down a number line according to measurements, mathematical properties and calculations. I loves me some maths, yo. (Too much Teen Titans Go! here, I am aware, thank you very much for your concern. Beast Boy rules!)

While zero is indeed nothing, it is everything to all other integers. You cannot have one (or two or three or four) of something and know or be aware of that one (or two or three or four) of something, unless you are also aware of having zero – having nothing. Otherwise you just have something without a numerical value attached. It won’t matter if you have one, two, three, or four – you only either have something or you don’t. You need zero as the marking point to define more than or less than having something or less than something.

Numbers flow up and down. Zero is constant. There is no negative zero or positive zero. Numbers attached to zero either remain the same as when they started, or wholly disappear into zero.

No beginning, no ending, a steady comforting circle of consistency = my sweet hero zero.

“Oh, Hero, what a Hero thou hadst been!” ~Shakespeare Much Ado About Nothing (nothing = zero!)

Of course, as with all true heroes, my hero zero is flawed. Dangerously so, these days. Because my hero zero is caught up in the zero sum game. Sadly, so are some of you.

In the zero sum game, there are only two options: to win (positive) and to lose (negative). Everything that happens points directly to zero without fail and all players end up on one side of zero or the other side of zero, without exception. There is no melodic movement of integers working with mathematical symbols up and down the number line. There is no symphony of ten page calculus problems to enlighten and entertain our brains or expand knowledge(AP Calc buddies unite!).

There is only zero.

Here zero can no longer be our hero because without the dynamic interaction between integers, when zero stands alone, zero has no value: causing every player on the number line to become irrelevant. They are reduced to existing or not existing.

Who decides where you might fall? Existing or not existing?

When you enter into the zero sum game…

ALL LIBERALS ARE LIBTARDS and should be forced to submit to tests to determine their commitment to nationalism and patriotism or they should be kicked out of this country!

ALL CONSERVATIVES ARE EVIL and should be forced to submit to public accounting of their personal social/financial agendas so that a select group of us can determine their true commitment to community!

But, humans are not able to sustain in a zero sum game and have not ever been, since the development of humans. We have always needed compromise with each other’s diversity in ever dynamic/organic degrees depending on the composition of the humans grouping together (politics, yo). Attempting to force ourselves into zero sum game players has resulted in genocides, wars, holocausts, rapes, murders, children in cages, marginalized vilified cultures/races, enslavement, famines, atrocities galore.

Anyone who has been through a custody battle with an abusive narcissist, has first hand experience of the life long devastating damage that zero sum game promotes. The courts in their objectivity (generous eye roll) allow for grossly dangerous behaviors (such as threats of murder) from a psychotic sociopath mentally ill parent yet hold the other parent under an untenable microscopic lens of perfection. Ah, Herisme, it’s not always about some aspect of your divorce… let it go, stop giving it space to control your life, refocus on more productive areas of your experiences, etc etc etc. OKAY, I get it (obvs. I don’t but I will let it go. For now).

One would think after multi millennia, the vast majority of humans would recognize and dismiss zero sum game as a baffling historical behavior only seen in the very tiniest percentage of extreme humans. Like cannibalism.

Sadly, this is not the case. Thee’s are still painfully, and shockingly to their very own demise and detriment, grasping onto zero sum game by their bleeding broken fingernails, trying desperately to be pulled into the “exist” bubble from the “does not exist” bubble. Which we all know will not and cannot happen by the very definition of zero sum game. There is no movement. You exist or you do not. It does not matter how lovely, good, awesome, terrible, pious, or talented you are, you will never ever ever switch bubbles. You also do not get to choose which bubble you are in. Spoiler Alert: Thee’s and me’s are not in the exist bubble. Even the folks who look like they are in the exist bubble, are not in the exist bubble – only by rhetoric and current perceptions – not in reality. We know this by seeing how many people throughout history who thought were in the exist bubble in their zero sum game, but met terrible fates (Mussolini, Napoleon, Hitler, Julius Cesar, etc).

My dearest darling friends who earnestly post the “you may belong to one wing or the other, but what you’ve missed is that the bird needs both wings to fly” kind of meme (especially if it includes an indigenous person’s image – natch!) are preaching a basic humane philosophy to a zero sum crowd. Zero summers are looking at that soaring bird, figuring out how to: modify their wing so the other becomes irrelevant, constrict both wings so they only do the bidding of those on the platform they’re building on top of the bird for the very smartest/best/worthy people, and get rid of the indigenous person who may be preaching narratives which threaten their innate supremacy. The zero summers never recognize that all of those decisions ultimately lead to their demise as well. It is so super frustrating.

To sum up (bwahhahahhaha – get it, SUM up with zero, get it?!?), zero can be a hero when room is provided for other integers to exist. In zero sum game, there is no hero, no winner, everyone loses.

I call upon thee and me to stop engaging with the zero summers because their game has no room for any of us, including themselves. Zero summers are not in a head space where they can recognize that as they burn down their Atlanta, they bask in the warm glow, denying the very existence and potential resolutions of their excruciating pain, as they burn themselves as well.

Instead, please consider refocusing on the actual wings of our birdy collective so that we can soar as never before – together, healthy, goal oriented, supportive etc. We can disagree on direction, how many feathers to keep, who is prettier, more talented, and all that occasionally valid discourse. But PLEASE let’s do this as we fly and not burn ourselves to the ground. Please let Zero be the Hero and not a goal for humanity.

Thank you for coming to my Herisme talk today. You can catch me here very occasionally as my brain and life permit. You can also catch me (if you can) at our local co-op (physically distant with my kitty cat mask on – meeeow), or wandering the park trails throughout our lovely county while SonHerisme runs circles, kicks balls, screams, leaps, etc around me. You really can catch me there, because I am a s-l-o-w daydreamy walker (apologies to my irl showing up friends!).

Love, Ms. Herisme xoxo

Best of luck this week, this season, this year, next year, and all of that

Go Humans! I believe in You!

Levity (w/a side of soaking, please)

/ herismeorg / Leave a comment

You may listen here:

TOO. MANY. EMOTIONS.

It is too much y’all.

COVID19, Dam Breaks, Hurricanes, Cyclones…  Also, FatherHerisme’s kidney function is a stitch away from dialysis, SisterHerisme is going in for non-cancerous (as far as we know today) colon surgery, MotherHerisme’s wounds are not healing and she will need surgery and hospitalization in the next month, SonHerisme has a jump-out-of-his-second-story-window-and-onto-a-tree-branch and other daredevil plans brewing.  Past traumas resurfacing.

Dudes

I wish I could wash it all away for all of us in a lovely outdoor shower space (with spa bench, natch) in my woods.  Alas, it is only 55F today.  Even if my outdoor shower dream were real, it wouldn’t be happening today anyway.  A friend has been encouraging me to get a home sauna – which I would very much like to do. The potential financial fallout from COVID19 has me quite hesitant, however.  So, a shower in my own plain builder grade shower might help (?).  Please don’t suggest a bath.  I know my ridiculously gargantuan tub appears lovely and inviting, and it was tons of fun to sit in and splash about with my tiny baby boy and my tiny baby nieces – but, germinating in a tepid pool of my own filth to relax?  I don’t understand that at all. Hard pass, and also, no.

Note:  I am grateful to even have a shower and hot water considering what many of us are experiencing atm around our tender world.

Thinking about washing, soaking things off for healing, reminded me of a sort-of recent experience I had at my local co-op.  My community, my tribe, is comprised of many bougie crunchy adjacent (some full on crunchy) mommas.  Not GOOP bougie, more like advanced degree educated, world traveling, new wave community collective supportive bougie.  We sew our own masks, but also already had N95’s in our garages…  we shop at the co-op, but also order recurring grocery items from Amazon.

Anywho…  for a while some of us were gathering about once each month at a coffee shop (locally owned and roasts their own bean blends – see what I mean?  Bougie but still grounded) to talk out and support each other with work/home/kids/relationships.

At one of our gatherings, our facilitator mommy shared her affinity for drinking celery juice in the mornings (again bougie, I KNOW IT).  I too drink celery juice in the morning, but I have not been able to convince myself to use any special, or especially expensive, appliance (this might be a pattern – see internal struggle over sauna purchase).  At the time, I was blending my celery stalks with about 4 ounces of water in a regular old blender.  Then I would strain it through an old tight mesh utensil someone gifted to me years ago, which I believe is originally intended to remove items from a wok when frying.

As we were swapping stories of best celery juice practice, facilitator mommy suggested I try using a nut milk bag.  In case you are unfamiliar, a nut milk bag is a reusable cotton bag used to filter out almond/hazelnut/soy bits from soaked/cooked nuts in order to extract a milky substance to use as a cow milk substitute for consumption. Crunchy – right? Some of us wear full on make-up, hairspray, and actual tucked-in belted knee boot outfits, so-crunchy adjacent.  But we drink celery juice that we are blending at home.  Gah!  Whatevs – we are the mommy people doing the things.

That mommy person sent this mommy person to our co-op to get a nut milk bag to alleviate my messy celery juice burden.

Because I am highly suggestible to personal indulgences falling under the $10 mark, I did indeed go to the co-op to purchase a nut milk bag for straining my celery juice.

You guys…  I went and asked the co-op worker man where he keeps the nut sacks.

Because my brain does not work, and my mouth does not either, I guess.

He did not respond, as you can imagine.  It did not immediately click-in to my brain that I had misplaced my words, so I REPEATED MYSELF.

It was then that I had the terrible awful watching-the-train-wreck moment of realization as the final “nut sack” escaped my mouth, and I scrambled like a babbling idiot for correction as if I am a non-native English speaker making an innocent mistake because clearly English is not my first language or I would have never ever ever said “nut sack” even though you know me because I am in this store multiple times (pre-COVID19) every week for at least a decade interacting with you all and WTF is wrong with me – Could you please show me where you keep your reusable bags for making nut milk.

That happened.

Apparently I am an 11-year-old-boy because I still giggle about this.

The first one to suggest that I now use the famous disguise of jean pants and a toothpick in my mouth when I shop, will indeed be my bestie for the day. (WWDITS is the best worst show ever and perfect escapism, better than any soak – most any soak – so go there now. Season2 Episode6 Jackie Daytona rules)

Of course we are all wearing masks so for the time being I am granted a temporary reprieve from crippling embarrassment at the co-op.

For now.

Funny things still happen in grave times.  I hope you find a giggle or two in your day.

Love, Ms Herisme xoxo