all good things...

so i just broke up with greggo. i have a huge headache now.

but the dark and gloomy cloud that's been hanging over my head has suddenly cleared and i feel worlds better.

a good pronoiac knows that when it's time to let something go, holding on will only warp it until it's unrecognizable from what you loved about it in the first place. thank it for being what you needed at the time you needed it to be whatever it was, and then let it go at the appropriate time. be honest with yourself if growth and change are necessary, painful as they might be.

by the Jiggy Snake, i feel so much better, though! freer, somehow, lighter. definitely happier. my heartburn, and that nagging constipated feeling, is gone, too. i've been hiding a lot of things from myself lately, regarding our relationship, and perhaps i've just finally come to the point where enough is truly enough. what sort of Funky pronoiac would i be if i talked about all this wonderous growth, about Funky Kali Love, and didn't employ it in every aspect of my life?

i knew how much he was bringing me down. i just refused to admit it. i remember this line i read in a book about codependency: "there are plenty of healthy people out there. they were all just avoiding you." now i understand what, exactly, it is about the emotionally unhealthy that repulses the well-adjusted and healthy. people like that are bad for my health. much as i love him as a person, he was just holding me back from way too much. and i was letting him.

but not anymore. i think i'm gonna go celebrate with an oreo cookie sundae.

tidbits

readers of iGoddess know that, while not entirely cynical, delena isn't exactly the product of a happily ever after. there's a difference between cynicism and skepticism. one is healthy, the other is a fashionable illness built into a monolith of the modern culture.

i won't exactly look a gift horse in the mouth, but i will concern myself with where the gift came from.

after falling far too many times for all the wrong loves, perhaps i've gotten a bit too wary in admitting affection at all. oh, if you're my family, or a friend, be prepared for heaps and gobs of affection to be poured over you like rain on a portland day. there is no limit to my love, no ends to my devotion, and my affection is boundless.

however, i'm discovering that --in a completely different capacity of affection-- i'm a little reluctant to admit much of anything. and while, yes, pronoia is about joyful surrender to the uniquely bombastic, phenominal and funkalicious Supreme Jive within your own buddhalicious self, it's not about blindly jumping off a cliff with the rest of the blithe lemmings, either.

and lemmings don't really do that, so where on earth did that saying come from, anyway???

however, i suppose it's a testament to my own growth that i don't simply throw myself into the sacrificial bonfires of modern myth and propaganda as i was wont to do once upon a time. and yet i don't scoff at the possibility of holding the seeds of truly wonderous things, either.

i'm wiser.

-=[~]=-

have i mentioned my eyeball husky yet? no, seriously, i have an eyeball husky. it's a husky that lives behind my eyeballs and is constantly shedding.

most people's morning ablutions include brushing of the teeth, washing of the face. perhaps some people take showers before heading off to work. mine include peeling back my eyelids and fishing for stray dog hairs that have worked themselves behind my eyeballs to irritate the absolute fuck out of my eyes. i live with the now-constant and ever-present sensation of hair in, on, and poking out my eyes.

not to mention after brushing, washing, rinsing, and brushing my hair again, i still find fur floating off me in tufts...to include colors of dogs i hadn't touched in days!

franklin p. jones once said, "anyone who doesn't know what soap tastes like never washed a dog." not only do i know what soap tastes like, but i could identify at least a dozen bouquets in a blind taste test.

raspberry oatmeal: piquant, with a bittersweet aftertaste that lingers long after the shop has closed

medicated: sharp and acrid, but with an underlying verdant quality, as if real herbs might actually have considered being included in the recipe, then settled instead for the dirt the herbs grew in

almond: tasting of nothing so much as the bar of soap in the ceramic dish by your sink, let alone real almonds

aromatic: subtle at first, but with a full and underlying body not to be ignored. don't let the scent of windex when you first open the bottle fool you.

there are more, of course, but those stand out in my mind the most. whoever said grooming isn't a contact sport can kiss my well worked-out ass. i'd like to see them try to wrestle with one hundred and eighty pounds of solid and determined dogflesh...and win.

so ha.

-=[~]=-

if someone says they were strong enough to face their own fears, and someone else says that they didn't face their fear so much as fed and fed and fed their own monsters until they ate themselves to death is not entirely the same thing. one is a test of strength and will, while the other is a headlong rush into the destructive capacity of a black hole.

the end result, however, is the same. new and transformative life growing out of the death of the former, as new mosses and flowers will sprout upon a fallen trunk of a mighty tree in the rainforest.

however, i believe that in facing one's fears, the fears are slain, but live on in memory. in some fashion, they aren't killed at all. in the other, the monsters are well and truly dead. in the former, the fears are faced, acknowledged, even embraced and incorporated into the whole self.

in the latter, the dead falls away, like the shed skin of a molting snake. like a deer's dropped antlers and a cat's shed claws. greed and gluttony win to the point of utter destruction. such cataclysmic events catapult a soul into the sa of satori, upheavals in the soul's geology of death and rebirth, a massive volcano destroying in order to create a new tropical paradise.

volcanic soil is among the richest and most fertile on the planet. geological upheavals of the soul. death and life. fear, courage, and enlightenment.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): "Dear Rob: Has the Goddess placed a global embargo on new love? While it doesn't sound like something she'd normally do, I'm wondering if she cast a curse of which I'm unaware? I'm not a cynic; it's just that no one in my acquaintance has experienced new love in a long time. In other words, is Cupid on strike? Has romance boycotted our planet? -Out-in-the-Cold Capricorn." To the best of my knowledge, there are no embargos, strikes, or boycotts like the ones you propose. I've noticed, though, that some of my Capricorn cohorts have experienced dry spells recently. But according to my astrological reckoning, a deluge will soon change all that.

*dies laughing!*

i'd already noticed the deluge, mr. brezsny, many hours before your horoscope hit my emailbox. it's raining frogs out there.

how's this for funny? two weeks ago, only a day or two before my li'l sister *t* flew up for her visit, notdate guy emailed me out of the frickin' blue. now, first you have to understand: we went out that one time, just takeout and a few movies at home. no biggie. then he didn't call me for a week. he emailed me after two instead. then another week went by, and an email. then another week, and another email with a promise to call. two weeks, no phone call. i write him off. that very evening, there's an email. i figure it's just bad timing, and maybe work's as busy as he says. a week goes by, i write him off again after yet another promise to call me goes unfulfilled. another email that very night, i shit you not! fine. then nothing for a week and a half or so, then a "hi!" phone call out of the blue. then nothing until almost two weeks later, where i get an email and a promise of a phone call.

"yeah right," i say. sure as anything, guess who calls! notdate guy, saying we should totally get together, and he's just got bad time management, and work's been busy as hell, and his parents came from puerto rico to visit. yeah, a puerto rican visit i can understand, especially since i was preparing to enjoy my own southern californian visit.

but we go from his invitations and hopeful possibilities of a weekend evening out, to phone call promises that go unfulfilled, to nothing for two weeks (more than once). apparently, he just doesn't find me spectacular enough to make the friggin' time. then...oh then! i get demoted to weekday nights in his email!

oh hell no. weekends are prime equity stock in the dating world. if you want to take me out on a weekday, then you're only telling me you're saving your prime realty for someone better, and there is no one better! so i said, "yeah, sure. my weekdays are busy, but when you want to clear a weekend night and go somewhere, lemme know!" i haven't heard back from him.

good riddance. don't shine me on.

but then, the day i went to pick up *t* at the airport, some guy emailed me on myspace. he was very polite. he'd actually taken the time to look at my beautiful profile (i worked really hard on it, actually) and complimented me on it. he mentioned a few things we had in common. okay, so far so good. so i go to view his profile, but it's set to private. okay, fine. i accept his friend invite so i can view his page.

problemo city. his stats say "divorced" but his page is chock full of pictures and mentions of this beautiful wife of his. so i email back, "i'm more comfortable getting to know someone a bit more before having coffee with them. enlighten me. your prof says you're divorced, but you have all these pics of a beautiful wife. i'm confused."

the reply? they're separated. the divorce is in progress. oh, yeah, uh-huh. like i'm gonna be your rebound, mister "hey wanna be my rebound." i decline, politely, and he actually writes back to express how impressed he is with how respectful i am. well, someone in this email exchange has to be...

and then today...i get an email in myspace from a guy i dated before *j*. we actually really liked each other. he put forth effort to get to know me. i should have paid attention to that, instead of falling for the wimpy guy who "needed" me. *rolls eyes at self* so he emails me with a "hey, what's happening!" email. we pretty much played catch-up all day over email, but at one point he said he was "getting his shit together and playing in the process."

E-fucking-GADS!!! is everyone fucking playing around here?!!?! naturally, i had to email him back with the, "hey, you wanna hang as friends, that's cool. but i don't fucking play" email, and he was actually very cool with that. his reply sounded respectful of that. now, how he really feels and how he worded his email can be two entirely different things, but whatever. either it's shown him that i'm not a plaything and to look elsewhere for playmates, or it's shown him to give me a second look and decide if his shit is getting together, or already gotten.

either way, i'm not even really looking for anyone. i don't really even know that i want someone in my life in that capacity. it's like i told greggo, who's only my best friend and knows more about me than anyone on the planet: "...but then again, greggo honey, i don't know that i'll ever want that with anyone ever again. i know right now i don't, and i know i don't want it next year, or five years from now."

i severely respect codependence now. i respect it the way i'd respect a live culture of anthrax, y'know? it's not something to play around with. i look at relationships the way someone from AA would look at an innocuous glass of wine with someone saying, "after all this time, just one won't hurt." will it? will it really?

so while a romance deluge might be in my forecast, i think i'll stay inside and only go out with galoshes, a rain slicker, and a really huge umbrella.

what speaks louder...

*ds* and *ks*, two of the three people that adopted me into their family last year when i changed my name, are very fucked up people. i already knew this, way back when i first got to know them. i'm fucked up, too. i never let how fucked up a person is get in the way of my opinion of them. after all, if i did that, i'd be guilty of hypocrisy, now wouldn't i?

in spite of their fucked-upness, i actually grew to love and trust them very much. so much so, actually, that i took their last name. i take family very seriously, actually, especially after Delena's Summer of Funky Kali Love, when people undoubtedly proved if they were my family, or if they were pretenders.

i'm a fucking hero when it comes to family, and i know it.

well, my chosen family has decided to live with their hangups, act upon them, and then blame me when shit hits the fan. we had a huge fight yesterday, and it all began because i wrote a calm, reasonable email stating my anger at a certain event, and pointing out the hypocrisy, double-standard, and inconsiderate behavior. i was so consistent, actually, that i felt like a broken record.

my fucked up adopted brother, *ks*, decided to get massively defensive and hostile. well, i have changed so much that i do not back down from someone growling at me. however, i've also changed so much that i won't go fucking homicidal (figuratively speaking, of course!) on them, either. i will meet force with equal force. i'm smarter, i'm older, i'm meaner. i have the truth on my side.

i will win. i might not always have, but i always will.

of course, by the end of the fight, *ds* was doing her "oh, i'm losing my mind, i can't handle this, oh poor me, poor me" routine. i can understand anxiety attacks. i really can. i lived like that for years. they're overwhelming.

...but i also know when it's time to stop using them as a convenient crutch and playing the victim.

they're both in love with their victim/martyr roles. they're both in love with the "us against the world" mentality they've had for years. they're in love with the "you don't know what i've been through, you don't know what's going on, so back the fuck off because you don't know shit" line. and all of us are standing back, watching this, and wondering when they're going to stop being fucktards.

i know i used to do that, too. it stemmed from the fear i have, where i'm ten years old again, cornered in the kitchen, sobbing my eyes out while my father stands over me, hitting me and shouting and scaring the absolute crap out of me. every time he did that, i thought he was going to kill me. any time anyone exerted even the smallest bit of authority over me, i subconsciously gave them that power to put me in that corner again. that fear, that panic, i felt at the smallest possibility that someone was angry with me, or there was a problem that might be my fault, or anything like that, and that fear would come back. that this time they would beat me and yell at me until i died.

one year the fear was so bad, i would unplug my phone for weeks at a time, and a friend later told me i didn't set foot outside my apartment with big *c* for a full six months.

so believe me when i say i understand those sorts of hysterical panic attacks. but there comes a time when it becomes an excuse, a crutch, and a destructive force in one's life. instead of being a true disability, it's a symptom of the larger picture, which i have tried to impart to them, but i was told that i don't know shit, and that i'm the destructive force. that i throw bitch fits and wreak havoc on their peaceful little lives.

i've demonstrated my changes. i've made very clear my desire to change and willingness to do the work. with willow and richard finally out of my life and not telling me what to do and how to think, i can now discover god for myself --what i call by a myriad of names-- and become the pronoiac, revolutionary freedom fighter for beauty, truth, and finding the funk that i know i am inside.

through dangers untold and hardships unnumbered, i've funked my way here. i know who my friends are, who my family is, and who is nothing but an obstacle to conquer with kindness. the obstacle IS the path, and the only way to kill the apocalypse is with love. funky, groovy kali love. that's why i have this blog, why iGoddess even exists.

iGoddess is how i keep myself accountable. all of you, my lovely and funkalicious readers, help to keep me accountable to my path to pronoia, to growth and the funky jive. if i get lazy, or slip back into old habits, i know dizzy, and greggo, and maybe even a few others, will remind me that i'm better than that. when i avoid iGoddess, i receive wonderful comments and emails about how they can't wait until i return to iGoddess, and they hope iGoddess is not gone forever.

if nothing else, it reminds me that it's a process, a path, ongoing and ever-adventurous. it's not a project to complete and put away. and changes are not only visible to those with whom you live. true changes are apparent to the world, and made manifest by the changes that happen in your quality of life as a result. they're obvious to anyone who looks at you. and to those who knew you before, when you were still in your funky-larva stage, it will be as obvious as the brightest bonfire lit atop the highest hill on the clearest night of the year.

i know my bonfire's roaring. i hope they can light a match. otherwise, it'll be kind of sad if i end up the only real member of the family they began, living by the tenets they themselves can't come close to demonstrating. on the other hand, it's fine with me. i know who i am. and i'm also still the daughter of a wonderful set of parents only forty minutes away from my wonderful home.

dang. sometimes my bonfire's so bright, it blinds even me.

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): In addition to analyzing the heavenly portents, I sometimes use divination to arrive at your horoscope, including Tarot cards, the I Ching, and walkomancy. In the latter method, I take a stroll and regard any interesting quirks that catch my eye as clues to your destiny. That's what I did this week. After spending an hour in my office meditating on your astrological omens, I headed out to a neighborhood where I'd never been. The first meaningful thing I saw was a sign hanging on a cactus. It read "Caution: Armadillo Crossing." Here's my interpretation of this clue: You should urge your "inner armadillo" to go out exploring, while at the same time making sure it's well protected and cared for. And what is your "inner armadillo"? Maybe it's the burrowing mammal with the heavy armor. What do you think?


armadillos rock. they're the roly-polies of the animal kingdom. i've always wanted an armadillo. sometimes i joke that the platypus is Nature's hot dog: She just took all the leftovers after creating the world, giggled, and threw them all together just for shits and giggles. and voila! the platypus: an animal guaranteed to fuck up evolutionists and creationists, scientists, and avid watchers of Animal Planet alike.

just WTF is a platypus anyway, except for Nature's hot dog?

and if the platypus is Nature's hot dog, the armadillo is Nature's armored ATV.

lately i've been saying that i've been keeping to myself, even to my own detriment, i realize. i just got a new job, after months of looking but at the same time hoping to the Divine Wow i find nothing. the thought of returning to the world terrified me. what if i couldn't handle it? what if i fell apart again? what if no one liked me where i worked and it became yet another dysfunctional, cripplingly unhealthy environment for me to be in and i fucked up again?

i'm also getting kind of lonely. a significant other might be nice to be with, just to sit on the futon and watch movies, or go driving through the gorge now that the weather's getting nicer, or to show me some new way to have fun and experience life that i haven't tried yet. but...i don't trust myself yet. my judgement of men hasn't exactly been healthy. what if i get all stupid and codependent again? i'm too tired for more drama, more crap. i'm afraid to come out of myself again because i'm afraid it'll go bad. i'm afraid i'll only realize i haven't changed a bit, no matter how much i've learned and thought i've grown.

and yet...it's time to go out exploring a bit. just...i need to always be mindful that i'm in recovery. coming out of all the myriad pitfalls and programming of codependence is a process. so i go out and get elbow-deep in the world again, shine and do my best at work, and not close myself to the possibility of friendship and affection. and, at the same time, put on my WWII figher pilot helmet of doom, strap on my six shooter and bandolier...and make sure i don't do something stupid.

duh

i've known this for a while, but i had to put it out there:

every man i've ever been attracted to has been either emotionally absent and made me feel like shit, or been incredibly needy in a sad, small, pathetic way and made me feel guilty and selfish.

i'm changing this as of, um, a while ago.

and before you post me comments like, "well duh!" or "i could have told you that," or "it's about time," or some stupid shit like that, look again at the title of this entry and then read the first line again.

where fits the Funk

i've given up trying to understand my own, peculiar delena grammar. i used to be such a grammar queen. then i was promoted to "grammar nazi," which was then shortened to "grammazi." all lower j's dotted, all p's and q's minded, capital letters at the beginning of sentences, "for which," and "for whom," where it was proper, and no dangling participles. then i saw maganda.org, created by someone i grew up with, made paper dolls with her and the clothes that went on them, swum in her pool, fell in everlasting love with dried mangoes in her house (mmm, dried mangoes...), and where i learned about somewhere that wasn't the catholic church or mexico-americo: the filipines.

she wrote, back then, in all lower case. since she's always been more creative and intellectual than me by miles and miles, i thought it was just so chic and smart-looking, so i did it, too.

now i resent having to press the SHIFT key. kind of like when i moved to oregon. now i get indignant whenever i'm expected to pay sales tax.

go figure.

wow, what a tangent... what made me think of it was because i wrote this title, where fits the Funk, and had to go back and capitalize the "f" in Funk. Funk's just one of those that has a permanent capital letter here at iGoddess. some capitals come and go, but Funk is Forever.

for all of today and most of yesterday, the Funk has been somewhat un-Funkalicious in me. oh, it's still there, believe me. but my letter of obligation has gotten me seriously thinking. the pain of what i lost in the Summer of Funky Kali Love is like an old injury that flares up now and again. i really want to write that letter. i do. i just don't want them to think the horrible things i know they think about me.

i'm a good person. i am. i feel guilty swatting flies inside the house of dragons' rest. i detest spiders, and i still escort them outside to continue on their merry, eight-legged way. i go out of my way not to offend someone, and will endure years of agony and mental and/or emotional hurt to keep someone else from hurting. all without even really giving it a thought.

i know. most of it was conditioning, programming. as erica jong says in the poem i love so much --the one that inflamed me to be a revolutionary freedom fighter for beauty, truth, and Funk-- years of training are required to be the best slave. in my reading, i'm noticing something that the authors don't mention, but i'm seeing to be true across the board.

and yet, there is something to be said for simply possessing a kind, truly empathic nature.

codependents are not cruel people. most of them don't possess a malicious or conniving bone in their body. they're all highly empathic people who wouldn't dream of hurting anyone, and who were so hurt as children they do naught but live each day trying to protect themselves from ever being hurt like that again. they live in fear so ingrained, it's etched in their bones. they only want to protect themselves from that fear, to ensure they never again feel the overwhelming, out-of-control terror against which they were powerless to protect themselves.

i feel no animosity toward them, no enmity. i feel aught but compassion for them, much as i've been accused of lacking in it. compassion, however, only goes so far when i sense i am once more being placed into the house of oppression and someone is my self-appointed bio-father.

i imagine it must sting painfully, receiving love like i wholly give it, trusting with abandon in the beginning, only to be pushed away and not know why. i used to be very private and somber as a child and teenager, except i was accused of reprehensible things. who calls their twelve year-old daughter a slut, accuses her of being a drug addict? backstabbed, again and again, by family and best friends, all because i kept my own counsel. my own bio-father had taught me trust was poisonous. but after the years of accusations and suddenly losing friends because of something someone else had accused me of --and me lacking any proof other than my word-- i promised my life would be an open book henceforth.

everyone would know everything about me, so no one could sling mud. i aired my family's dirty laundry to our church groups. i flaunted my abusive relationships at school. i was a right hellion at home, butting heads with my bio-father and saying, "fuck you all," right in my bio-mother's face.

i uttered other words, moved in other fashions, but all the same i was screaming at the top of my lungs for someone to get me out of there and help me, because i was sinking fast.

story of my life: no one heard. not for almost thirty years.

i was superbly trained for it, conditioned from a right early age. as soon as i came of age, i began my codependence in earnest...without knowing that's what i was doing. and i didn't know that i didn't know. y'know, in my heart of hearts, i wish i were born in the 1500's where i could have led the life of a courtesan in italy. i've actually studied a lot of the artful subjects they studied back then, and when i'm comfortable, i engage in them. things like debate, art, writing (duh), dance, music, voice, poetry, logic... i thought they would make me desirable as a female. in truth, there are quite a few people who still remember me so powerfully they remain in contact, or try to, anyway. only one, *ws* i've kept as a friend.

where was i going with this? only here: i've tried to be good, but the profession to which i was conditioned was far different from what i would have chosen for myself, had i been taught i was worthy of the power of choice. i've tried to make myself good, and desirable, and approved, even unto educating myself with archaic professions late into the night. i used to be a compulsive liar in high school...a good one. i stopped that habit cold turkey when i realized the truth was far more powerful.

but the fear... the terror and hatred and revulsion, knowing down to my soul that i was so corrupted every breath i took was a crime against nature... all anyone had to do was just look at me with even an ounce of authority, and i knew my place was so far below them. when i felt myself being discounted, disenfranchised, treated carelessly, i did the only thing that was in my meager power: i hid. and those people who hate me now, they accuse me of using people, of creating a pattern of lies, of abusing trust.

an old injury that complains now and again.

all they knew was that, over a long period of time --in some cases two years-- i had pushed them away, little by little, and they did not see it until they were so distantly left out that what they thought i was about did not coincide with events transpiring around them. all they saw were lies, and as my greggo has said, it's easier to blame someone else rather than see fault in your own self. to me, they simply were no longer trustworthy to keep close in my heart, so they had no clue what was going on, how long it had been going on, or how deeply it terrified me.

living in the house of oppression had taught me many things, especially how to keep secrets and a straight poker face, even in the midst of bodily violation. they had no way of knowing i had pulled away. i loved them. they loved me. my distrust of them, while earned, hurt them. i feel remorse for hurting them, and wish to rectify it.

i don't want to leave myself open to further pain, however. and while i know my intent is to deliver my letter of ownership, nothing more, anything other than gladness and willingness to forgive would pain me. the abused child in me is afraid they would use this new strength of mine, find the shadow side --the vulnerability-- and use it as a weapon.

i don't wish forgiveness, honestly. i don't wish for compassion, or friendship, open discourse, or any of it. i only want understanding, as i've grown to understand myself, codependence, and addiction. actually, for my entire life, i could never forgive myself for my life...until i understood it. and myself. for the first time ever, i can forgive myself, and i'm ready to learn what love really means. i wish i could make a double of me, so that i could hold my head in my lap, stroke my hair the way the bio-mom used to do when i was young and ill with flu or bronchitis, and just hold me while i cry.

the past couple weeks, i've felt this sudden, powerful upsurge of tears. it starts somewere in my womb, or maybe even deeper, and shoots like a geyser up my body and thunders against the backside of my face. my throat clenches up so tight i can't breathe, and my vision blurs.

i want to cry so badly, and it's almost there. all those tears i knew were there and wanted to finally get out but never could... through the power of loving my family, my mom and dad's love and patience, my new understanding of codependence, my newfound self-forgiveness, and the Supremely Funky Jive of the Cosmos, the tropical floodgates have opened upon the barren wasteland of my soul. but i still can't cry. i don't know if it's just long-standing habit --for a single tear was punishable by the belt, with generous helpings of shame-- or if i'm just not there yet.

all i know is, i'm left wondering where fits the Funk in all this. the Funk permeates all: our daily lives, our love, our little daily deaths, and our melancholy. aside from a not-so-little death, i don't know yet where to place this in the song of Funk.

barkeep, make mine a flaming narcissist

apologies for the lack of posting lately. i've been *gasp!* doing things. actually, it's been so long since i went out and enjoyed life that it's all a little heady. a few weeks ago i went out with my cousin and some friends. the other night another friend called me up and invited me to go with her to the bagdad to see "office space," since she'd won tickets on the radio to their midnight movie madness. it was a blast.

and i'm learning to crochet! somewhat in the spirit of satori in the name of spaghetti, i decided to just say fuck it, and eat. i've been wanting to learn how to crochet for years and years. once upon a time, my bio-mom bought me a crochet needle and expected me to just know how, or to pick it up elsewhere. over the years, there's either been no time, opportunity, or sometimes people just flaked when they said we'd sit down one afternoon and show me how. so, while at jo-ann's with *cc*, we picked up a cute little kit in the kid's crafts section and i just followed the instructions. i'm a very visual learner, so unless things are spelled out for me in complete detail, i have the damndest time with things. i have to read them over and over, too, to make sure i get what's being said. kids' books, i've found, describe things in a way that i can actually envision things and duplicate them, unlike adult beginner instructional books. sometimes it makes me feel stupid, learning from kids' books and needing as much demonstration as i do, but that's just how i learn.

ironic, i think, since every test in the world says i'm a phenominal word warrior. ah well.

but aside from my normal everyday, and being "crochety," i've been thinking. for the past week or so i've been thinking about composing a letter of...not apology, but ownership. i would address it to those individuals formerly known as the fucktards of the world. unfortunately, fun as that phrase is, continuing to call them that only promotes resentment and hatred, and that goes against the grain of the Funk.

here at iGoddess, we're about rocking into oneness with the Surpreme Funk, not holding onto petty human failings.

anyway, so i would address my letter of ownership to those individuals who had supporting roles last year in my Summer of Funky Kali Love (Who destroys the old so the new may live, remember), simply owning my disease and taking responsibility for my behavior resulting from my codependence. i would apologize for any soul-ache that it may have caused. part of conquering this fucking disease is no longer accepting/believing i am powerless (not just choosing to be powerless, but "knowing" i am as powerless to be autonomous as i am to fly around the room under my own power), and even though i was powerless Then, i am not powerless Now. therefore i will take the power of my destiny and individuality into my own hands, however with power comes responsibility.

part of me is very afraid. even just typing this entry, i have this roiling, sick feeling in my stomach and i'm actually getting liver pains just thinking about it. well, not thinking about the letter, persay, but thinking of their possible reactions. i don't want this to seem like i'm taking responsibility for everything that happened, even unto what other people did, and apologizing for it all. i'll take responsibility for my part, but i also know --being the apocalypticians they are-- they've gone around convinced there's nothing wrong with them and the inner apocalypse is all inside me, that i'm the only one with the problem and they're all fine, dandy, healthy, functional, and not nearly as fallible as i am.

but then...i have to fight and resist the urge to justify myself, to explain, to seek understanding. it's my flaming narcissism that cares about what they think, how they'll react, what they'll believe about me whether it's the truth or not. we here at iGoddess (ha! meaning "me") are firm believers in everyone owning their own truths and creating their own realities. maybe in their reality i'm nothing more than a selfish, conniving, malicious, doomed little pissant, and that truth is as concrete for them as water being wet. it may pain me to know this --it may really pain me-- but i must make a curtsy in respect for their reality and let it be. i know it's an aspect of my codependence to want to control everyone's opinions about me, therefore i must face that part of my inner apocalypse and slay it with love. transform it into a creative expression of the Divine Wow.

but oh, it's hard.

i've spent the better part of this last week composing bits of it in my head. if i write this letter, they're going to think i'm crawling back and kissing their feet and saying i was all wrong and oh, how horrible i was and everything they did to me was justified. nothing could be further from the truth. my flaming narcissism is worried and afraid that's exactly what they'll think, though. the only reason i haven't written that letter yet isn't because of my fear, but because i've been trying to examine what my true feelings are about writing and sending that letter. it's been difficult. my flaming narcissist has been clamoring quite distractingly about it.

it's kind of funny, actually. it's been using every trick in the book: upset stomach, sinking feelings in the solar plexus, headaches, extreme worry, insomnia, chronic heartburn, nightmares... i can almost feel the terror as a palpable thing. silly flaming narcissism... i feel kind of bad for it, though. i mean, where would it be without me to feed it?

yesterday i went with *cc* and my mom to pick up our new dining room table (yay, table!), and mom's jacket smelled just like willow. i caught this whiff of sweet spring and comfortable country home, cozy and comforting. i was filled with missing her. one difference between the delena of my former life and Delena of the Divine Wow is that, before, i would have been filled with remorse and guilt and shame and self-pity and oh, what a horrible person i was, down to the core, to have made such a good friend hate me so terribly.

my poor, mistaken, diseased former self. she can't help who she is. she's been programmed at such an early age, there's just no helping her. she's not a bad person, really, or malicious. it's just that, growing up, fear and extreme levels of emotional and psychological discomfort were her norm and became, in essence, her comfort zone. she's not comfortable unless she's uncomfortable and filled with self-hatred, if that makes any sense. so i pat her on the head and send her off with a hug to go sit in her corner. i slay her with love.

but not Delena of the Funky Ya-Ya. yes, i missed willow. and with each whiff of that carried that willow-scent, i breathed deep and remembered how much i love her...

ah well. spilled milk and all that.

but i think that moment helped me learn a little bit more of how i really feel about things. i've gone my whole life shut off, not knowing how i felt or what i thought about anything. like dizzy told me once, i reminded her of a squirrel because i'd been going through my life, gathering things that might help me get through life the way a squirrel gathers nuts. she's right, though. i've also been gathering people's opinions and feelings and philosophies and fundamental beliefs, trying to graft them onto myself because i didn't know who i was. i was shamed and abused any time i tried, until i finally just shut down inside.

one day here soon i'll find out how i feel, and if writing that letter of ownership is really and truly the right thing to do. i still got some wrestling with my flaming narcissist, though.

maybe i'll make it fun, make it a jello wrestling match. hmm?

brezsny-on-the-blog

CAPRICORN (Dec. 22-Jan. 19): There are two basic approaches to manipulating people. In one, you manipulate people solely for your own good. In the other, you do it equally for your good and their good. In the second type, moreover, you deeply empathize with and even become more like the people you want to influence. You allow them to work their magic on you at least as much as you work your magic on them. Guess which kind I'm urging you to express right now, Capricorn.

okay, mr. brezsny, this is getting creepy.

i've been learning a lot about manipulation, control, fear, and surrender lately. the thing about codependence is, one and all, codependents came from dysfunctional homes. i hesitate to use the word "abusive," because people usually think of domestic violence, sexual abuse, or something of that nature. there are a lot of forms of abuse, i'm learning. and the root of codependence is equal parts avoiding the pain of those events down to the subconscious level, and making sure it never happens again.

of course, in order to "guarantee" it never happens again, control and manipulation are of the utmost importance. poor things. ironically, those coping and defense mechanisms learned in childhood to survive and adapt to those abusive conditions only serve as tools of spiraling destruction in adulthood. which leads to more avoidance of pain now in the present, along with more manipulation in order to control the environment and reality around them.

example: as i had little to no self-esteem (and never learned how to have it within myself), i want to be able to think nice thoughts about the kind of person i am. but i need other people to believe in me so that i can believe it. i use other people to gauge how good a person i think i am. which is very unhealthy, by the way, but you already knew that. anyway, in order to do that, i have to manipulate you so that i can influence and even change your mind about me --even though i don't even know that's what i'm really doing-- so that you can think what i want you to think about me and therefore i can believe it myself.

fucked up, huh? what breaks my heart is that healthy people don't have a clue what's really going on with a person suffering (and truly it is suffering) from codependence, and so not only do they have no compassion within them for the codependent, but they really treat the person like shit.

i have many personal accounts of that very example in action, and last summer is prime material of being treated like shit due to lack of compassion and understanding.

of course, i didn't know that's what was going on, but you'd think years of asking for help and saying, "i don't know how to get out of this, someone please help me," would have been a clue.

nope!

anyway, so yeah. y'know...every week i stand up, bare my breast, and let mr. brezsny take a shot right at my heart. he never misses. then again, it highlights exactly the ability i'm striving for --radical intimacy. so sayeth the oracle:

"i would like to quote now from the book that, with your help, i hope to write someday. it's called the dictionary of tricky love. please listen to the definition for the term 'radical intimacy.' ahem. radical intimacy is a virtuoso art that requires me and my freaky consort to master two seemingly contradictory skills: naming and nurturing the highest, holiest, best in each other, and thriving on the fact that our relationship will inevitably draw out and ask us to redeem each other's ugliest ignorance."

"so what you're saying is that the deeper you and i fall in love," i replied, "the more uninhibited we'll both feel about unveling our worst qualities?"

"it's a good thing," jumbler murmured, ..."because it will give us great ongoing practice at killing the apocalypse right down at the most microscopic levels."

"yes, i suppose that's true," i allowed. "each of us, even great masters like you and me, carry a little portion of the apocalypse within us."

"jung called our personal portion of the apocalypse the shadow," she said, taking the pen and drawing an oval on the sole of her left foot. within it, she printed "do not look at this" along with a picture of a single eye. "it's the unripe or wounded part of us," she continued. "it becomes evil only if it's repressed."

"so radical intimacy," i replied, curling into the fetal position to stare into the off-limits zone she'd just created, "i get to practice killing off the apocalypse in you, and vice versa? sort of a corollary to jesus' plea to love thy neighbor as thyself. 'love thy neighbor's shadow, and work with all thy tender adrenaline to summon its most constructive expressions.'"

"hmm, i like that. but i was thinking more about how i will kill off the apocalypse in myself because i have such a high regard and attraction to you. and you'll do vice versa."

"so like when i suddenly turn into a jerk because my flaming narcissism has demonically possessed me, i'll rise up with a banishing spell. 'begone demon, for i cannot allow you to trick me into hurting the feelings of my sweet groovemate.'"

"yes, exactly," she laughed. "you won't just naturally assume that the demon to be exorcised resides inside me. which in itself is so contrary to the style of the six billion apocalypticians on the planet that you might just shock armageddon into expiring right then and there."

"...as jung said, we tend to attribute to other people the very stuff we hate and fear most about ourselves."

(and here is what i love the best about this conversation...)

"radical intimacy means we kill the apocalypse at the source."
--robert brezsny, the televionary oracle (pgs 354, 355)

die, apocalypse, die! get behind me, demon! i swallow you down and break you up into your most basic elements so i may then use those materials to construct myself into my own funkiest groovemate, and thereby kill the apocalypse within me by transforming my shadow self into constructive expressions of the Divine Wow! i shall endeavor to find equality, equilibrium, and interdependence with my funkmates in order to allow them to manipulate me as much as i manipulate them, so that we all may work our magic on each other and manifest all of our potential!

so mote it be. amen. a-woman. ommmmm. and hallelujah.

what's that word again?

from the oxford-delena dictionary

amalgam
n.

1. a mixture or combination of diverse elements
2. what the thoughts running through delena's mind are. hmm...maybe not running. more like streaking

[streaking: (v. intr.) to run naked in public, especially as a prank]

so yeah, the thoughts are an amalgam of a lot of different things going on in my life right now. *mj*, *cc*, and i have pretty much settled in our new apartment and we're absolutely in love with it. there are only a few boxes left, but they're nothing majorly important, so if we had anyone come over now we wouldn't be embarrassed. the kitties have taken their rightful place on their little kitty thrones as sovereign rulers of all they survey.

i'm getting a bit more sleep than i used to, which is great. resting my head at the Shrine of Knowledgy Sci-Fantasy Goodness helps a lot, too. hell, just having my stuff is a great comfort to me, sitting amidst familiar things that let me know i'm me. and there's a lot less stress in the house. the apartment's a lot cleaner and neater, which really makes me glad. and relieved, honestly.

*ds*, *ns*, and *kas* have their own apartment now, with their own space, which i know is best for everyone. the three of us here at our apartment no longer feel ignored, disregarded, and disenfranchised in our own living space anymore. now that everyone's had a bit of time to calm down, we can get back to focusing on the friendship, which is the important thing. when people live together, there's a lot to be said for consideration of another person. i found myself not even wanting to be in the same room with *ds* the last few weeks before the move, and i knew it was a living habit clash, not a friendship clash, so i held my tongue.

but i think that's partly what helps *mj*, *cc*, and i. there's consideration all the way around, so no one's getting fed up with anyone else.

i've been doing a lot of reading, too. if you missed it before, i read the televisionary oracle by robert brezsny and very, very highly recommend it. it's largely the source for the tone and spirit of iGoddess, the Funk, and my silently explosive relationship with the Funky Ya-Ya recently. but even more recently (AKA night before last) i finished reading women who love too much and...just wow.

i devoured it in three days, i think. it's really got me thinking now, which is good. i've known for a few months now that i've been codependent and i've accepted it. the realization was the hard part. i almost killed myself, i was so horrified and disgusted. but then, i also realized that the horror and disgust was because i was hearing the bio-dad in my memories, watching his expressions, hearing his tone, seeing the way he'd shudder when talking about those "weak, disgusting codependent people," the way he'd be so derogatory. he didn't even speak of child molesters and serial killers with a fraction as much revulsion as he would when talking about codependents and abandonment issues and insecurity.

no wonder i buried it as deep as i did, to the point of not even knowing it was there, either consciously or subconsciously. when i realized something might possibly be wrong, it was literally like a newsflash. it was long after my summer of hell, long after a fight where i launched myself onto someone and nearly ripped out his eyeballs, and found myself facedown in the gravel, screaming and sobbing and wishing i would die. i almost did it, too, with trazodone and foxglove.

that was the darkest night of my life.

i went to my lovely and understanding, comforting parents instead, though. coming to them that sunday afternoon felt like i've always imagined having loving parents would feel like. all i have to do is think of them, and i get that same warmth spreading from my heart outwards, and i can't help it. i can't help smiling. not that i try, mind you.

anyway, on that horrible, horrible night, a tiny voice stirred. "i think something needs to change," it said in a very, very small voice. too small to be heard, and almost too small to be felt. "because this isn't working." and then...something inside me rubbed the fairy dust out of the corners of its eyes, yawned a great, tremendous yawn after a lifelong sleep and took a look around. it was too quiet, too subtle to be heard over the shriek of my depression, but it's what drove me to call my parents and ask for help.

so since then, i've been doing a lot of things, but most importantly i've been educating myself on codependence. looking more closely at it, i'm beginning to wonder if i'm even really bipolar at all like the shrinks said. the women in these books i'm reading sound so much like me, from early childhood to adolescence, to stupid relationship after stupid relationship. their behavior, the symptoms, are identical to my own behavior...things i truly and honestly believed were one thing, but subconsciously were another.

the people who hate and rejected me were completely oblivious, and they were wrong to condemn me, but now i can truly see that they were detrimental to me anyway and it's very, very good they're gone. i can feel relieved about it now, and stop hurting so much.

but...the outbursts, the stress, the rollercoaster emotions, even the stress and anxiety and hallucinations...all of it looks more like codependence. a disease of the mind and heart, not a chemical imbalance to be alchemically rectified with no regard to the turmoil in my soul. no thought for the injured child delena still terrified of, dehumanized by, and warped from life with her bio-parents.

and take into consideration lately it's just been life with us in our apartment and visiting the parents for sunday dinners, i haven't needed my tinctures at all. at all. there's still stress, and insomnia's still driving me crazy (hence the blog entry at 2 in the a.m.), but i'm more physically and mentally active than ever, there's still stress, and *cc* and i go out just about every day on some quest or other. and yet...no agoraphobia, no depressions, no aggrivation, no withdrawing, no twitchy tension. that's saying something.

it's so totally saying something. i think i'm finally --finally!-- on the right path to figuring myself out, and healing. i was talking to dizzy about it earlier tonight, actually. among a great many things, she asked if the Funk was really coming through in my life and that she could tell i'm in a much better place than ever before. and since she's been with all the incarnations of iGoddess since 2002, she knows what she's talking about!

so yes, the Funk's really coming through in my life. me, and the Orgasmic Funk.