We Are All Stories In the End

Today I am thankful for the city employee claiming he knew part of my story. 

I tried very, very hard not to get snarky.

I'm actually proud of myself.

I didn't ask what part of my story he knew.

Did he know the bit about my fighting tax hikes?

Did he know the bit about the city attorney harassing me because I complained about ageism and illegal fines towards city employees?

Or is he referring to my divorce?

I don't know.....

The only part of my story he knew was the bit about the washing machine.  He asked about it.  I told him because I thought is was relevant and funny.

That was about an hour before he made the claim.  I don't even understand what brought it about.

All it does is remind me that men are weird.

*****

Typically when men say bizarre things it is because they are feeling bizarre things in response to bizarre energy.

I was probably being creepy.

He could probably sense that I thought he was adorable.

He was possibly the first guy I met outside of my tribe with the same religious belief system - so that just made him 100x more adorable.

But - but....

there is always a but....

he's a government employee.

I fear the city fined his boss before firing him.

Ugh....that's just another battle I neglected to finish.

So....I'll try to explain.

I am evil.

I took a loan from the city to get my house up to code to comply with the law: It was biggest mistake of my life.

I'm trying not to be impatient and nasty.  I'm secretly working on getting another, more expensive loan, because I think this situation has violated my morals (and they ruined the inside of my house but I'm trying not to complain....never trust the government...never).

Yes, I make mistakes.

I've made some whoppers. .

I don't like to tell my full story.

The mistakes I make are my story.

The mistakes of others are their stories.

I tell a good chunk of it here but there isn't enough time to share it all.

I tell enough of it....here...where it is safe.

Right now, I feel the need to stay mum.  People are shocked when they learn that I've been orphaned, in foster care, divorced and have four girls.

The other day I had a clerk disbelieve my driver's license when I bought cigarettes for a patient.

She thought my ID was fake because I was obviously not a day over 35.

I probably should have smiled and exposed my eye wrinkles for her.

*****

Stories.....I'm having trouble understanding stories.

At work, we've had problems with nurses telling their addiction stories to clients.

I wanted to teach one nurse why one doesn't tell a story.

So I told a snippet of my story.  I told the one about the errant shrink who I had to console because the focal point of our session was about the death of her mother at the hands of her father.

The nurse...well, she kept asking me questions....

She asked, "why would the therapist talk about her mother's death at the hands of her father?"

Because when she asked about my childhood, I divulged that my mom was murdered by my step-dad.

The nurse became horrified.

She became worried about me.  Let it be known that this seems like an entirely different lifetime to me.  My mom died 38 years ago!

She didn't focus on the moral - the lesson is to give the time to the people in need not the helpers.

She's worried about me.

I guess my mission was accomplished in a round about sort of way.

All it did was show the other nurses why we don't share our stories - people worry about us!

The last thing our patients need is to waste their time worrying about us.

That wasn't exactly what I was aiming for.

I was just trying to point out that it is uncomfortable to be a patient spending an hour consoling someone we've paid to help us.

I guess, it doesn't matter how the message was shared.

The point got across.

I'll take it.

*****

Stories...

at 50, I don't really have a story.

My life is more of a combination of stories.

My current story?  Well....I don't really understand it.  It's like a mystery that I haven't yet figured out.

The more I think about the stalking crap, the more I try to make sense of it, the less I understand it.

How can I write an end to that chapter without understanding it?

The more I think back over my ex husband's lies, the more I think of the character Verbal in The Usual Suspects.  I guess I had a Verbal in my life.




I don't know where I am.

I don't know who I am.

I don't know what to do.

All I know is this....

We all have stories.

This is because we are put in this plane of existence to learn and grow.

Some stories sound worse than others - but - this is subjective.

I know women who are more traumatized by a broken nail than other women who have lost limbs.

We cannot judge what one is going through.

Somehow I believe that the universe dishes trauma out to everyone.

I don't know if my story is worse than any others.

*****

I can't have a crush or attraction for anyone.

It's been said that I'm Asexual.

I don't know.

That is what the kids call me because I don't date.

The stalking taught me to avoid friendships.  Now that it appears to be over, I'm not sure I'm ready to test the waters.

I'll explain that one, too.

There is a pharmaceutical salesman who is said to have the hots for me.

My colleagues are telling me that he wants me.

He's always flirting with me and asking for me.

He's adorable

-but-

the thought of dating anyone makes me sick to my stomach.

I've become incredibly OCD.

I could never get clean enough to get close to anyone.

That's possibly the trauma talking.

It could simply be that I do not know how to end this chapter of my story.

I don't even understand my story.

It's a little offensive for another person to claim he knows part of it.

****

To quote a favorite Sci Fi Character 

"We are all stores in the end."  - Dr. Who. 

Lesson of a Decade From the City of Aurora

Today I am thankful for clarity.


This will be short.  I'm incredibly busy with school and working my jobs.

I had to share this.

About eleven years ago, the Tax Audit Supervisor for the City of Aurora stole $500 from my family.

When I asked why she took the money, I was harassed on the phone.

It went to court.

In court, I was slandered and libeled to the hilt.  These people never met me.  They never knew of my activism (as it had all been in Denver and under my birth name).

I still have binders full of print outs of court documents and online bs which named me.

Why do I suddenly sound like Mitt Romney?

Anyway, the Aurora leadership (city attorneys, city manager, city council)  carried on in such a fashion that I knew there was corruption and I set out to investigate it.  I would learn from a city council member that they were told to ignore my pleas for information.

I figured out something was up when a city attorney called me and basically inspired me to do something in her nastiness.

People don't get nasty unless they're hiding something, right?

This perceived corruption led me to help on a team fighting De-Brucing tax hike schemes.

As I got involved, I learned more and more.  I learned that a woman in police custody was sexually assaulted.  When she reported the assault, she was beaten and arrested because the cops did not like her use of the word "cunt."

This is a big part of why I ran for office back in 2011.

I was livid but wanted to keep it on the down low for the young lady involved.

With a little help from the other candidates, the charges against this woman were dropped right before the election.

We are all connected.   An injustice against one human being is an injustice against us all.

****

Fast forward to 2019.  I'm happily working as a counselor.

This is what I want to do.

On Monday, I sat in a clinical supervision meeting in a town TWO HOURS FROM DENVER.  From my point of view, Aurora is becoming the horror show of the entire State of Colorado.

A psychologist there told me of the Aurora police department shooting a young BLACK man dead for wearing a ski mask due to a skin condition.

He didn't break any laws.

Why in the heck does the City of Aurora not train their police officers in mental health??!!

Holy Crap!

I lost count of how many innocent people the police department have shot in the past 18 months.

I am livid.

So....I guess....my spirit won't rest until I go back to fighting.

Damn it....

If I had only completed my work and exposed the corruption the first time, perhaps this bullshit wouldn't be happening as much as it is today.

I'll let you read the story for yourself.

https://www.westword.com/news/elijah-mcclain-aurora-police-death-update-11498947

The lesson - fight corruption always and completely.  If we give in too soon, it will be worse.  More people will be hurt in ever worsening ways.

Think about it - Elijah McClain could have been your son, your brother, your cousin, your somebody.  He is important to someone.  That someone deserves real answers.

I only lost $500 and had my fourth amendment rights violated a couple of times (but, to be fair, I'm pretty sure my piss poor acting and ugly figure scarred the cop involved for life).

Other people are being murdered.

I wish the powers that be would behave and act in authenticity, honesty and complete transparency.  I'd rather do other things with my time.

The Gods put this fire in me for a reason.

See you at the Taj Mahal on Chambers.

Love ya,

S.

P.S.  Yep - I'm thinking about painting the shitty cops to make 'em famous.  Or, if I get names, we could always immortalize them in song.

I think I'll call it "I can't breathe."

If I can come up with a melody, it's hitting the studio.

If names are not forthcoming, I guess we can immortalize Matthew L (the name of the public information officer who is publicly paid to hide the information from the public).  That could be a dark song.  To be fair, I'd have to name the City Attorney and Manager, too.

Choices, choices.....

Let me sit in on a meeting and see what strikes my fancy.

Troubling Visions and Nightmares

Today I am thankful for the lessons my patients teach me.

I apologize for not writing over the past few weeks.  I've been overwhelmingly busy between the two jobs and school.

Even my beloved business is falling to the way side.

I had a guy from high school warn me that I was at risk of becoming "dull" - as he put it - 'all work and no play make Jill a dull girl."

There is a lot I can say about turning 50.  I meant to go bass guitar shopping but I wound up at a used record/book store from my youth.  I bought a bunch of occult books and pissed off the leftist cashier who bemoaned the Hobby Lobby and Chick Fil-A who have moved into the shopping center.

I guess he thought I was a demoncrat due to the books I bought.  I don't remember everything I told the socialist - but I may not be welcome in that store again.

The books I found were worth hundreds of dollars.  I picked up five of them for $63.  I'll probably keep them to explore.  There is a reason for my interest.  Carl Jung was into occultism.  The readings can help me understand his theories in a greater depth.

Nope, I didn't find a bass I wanted.  I have a friend who is scouting the stores for me - I just wish he'd stop trying to get me to buy a cheap Squire bass.  There is a $700 blue Steinberger that sounds nice. I can't buy it because I have to spend $5500 to go to court to get my ex to help with health insurance for the girls.

My old Peavey is selling for over $800 now.  The store wanted to trade it for the Steinberger.

It's not going to happen.

I'm realizing that I'm not being myself.  When I don't do the things I love (e.g. draw and play music), I lose the experience of synchronicity.  Without the magick of synchronicity, my life sucks.

I'm also finding that, just as my hypnosis clients tended to be musicians, most of my addiction clients are musicians, too.

My tribe is finding me.  I need to stop pretending to be someone I'm not just to be seen as a professional therapist.

People can spot fake a mile away.  I may as well be more real.

This is the first lesson I've gleaned working with people in recovery - be authentic.

*****

There are so many other things I can write about: Political bullshit, Colorado wanting to be rid of TABOR while tax dollars go to helping abusive men to legally bully their former wives, Aurora cops refusing to take police reports for property damage from people trying to break into houses (yep, it's happening to my neighbors now)  and putting together a stalking resource guide (which I've been working on but have to publish).

There is so much to say and so little time.

I had a dream that is causing me to write.

*****

I am having visions of three bodies being pulled from the mud.  I'm wondering if this is in Latin America as I'm seeing the rescuers riding donkeys.

I don't know anything about the sport which requires trekking in the mud.

I know even less about the cultures in which burros are popular.

I only know that I have met ONE man who does that for sport.

I'll put the warning out into the universe.

The last time I had dreams which warned me of a broken leg, it took six years for them to come to pass.

Forewarned is forearmed.

I just don't know what hikers do to protect themselves during mudslides.  If I can figure out what equipment will help, I'll send a Birthday/Christmas gift.

Love ya,

S.