Letters From Home

I received a personal letter recently. I write more letters than I receive. I was surprised. And it was from my dad (the adopted one, not the dead one) who never writes letters. I was super anxious when I opened it.

I thought it would be some kind of reprimand. What did he read in my blog? I mean, I don’t think he reads blogs. Pretty sure he barely gets email. But I was curious what he had to say that was so important a pen went to paper and a stamp went to envelope.

It was deeply personal. I won’t share his personal stuff but he explained a lot of things about himself that he felt led him to make mistakes in his life. In particular? He apologized for how those issues led to ‘damaging my generous and beautiful spirit’. And he said he would be grateful if I could forgive him.

It was super emotional. And my reply to him doesn’t expose anything he told me, really, so I will share it with you before I mail it.

Dear Daddy,

I got your letter a few days ago and have been taking some time to reflect before I respond.

Thank you so much for the gift. I was timely for sure. My rent doubles in July/August so September is recovery mode. I had all my bills paid but things were stretched so your gift really helped.

Thank you for sharing about your life and the things that shaped the person you were and who you’ve become.

Thank you for your apology. Know that you have my forgiveness for however you feel you wronged me.

I knew we didn’t have a lot of money when I was a child. But I never saw THAT as holding back anything. I never felt like my needs weren’t met. I saw my dad as hard-working, who did whatever he needed to for his family to get by.

If hindsight is 20/20 and you see now things could have been different? All I have in my heart is happiness for you that your years of hard work are being rewarded.

Being poor taught me to work hard at as many jobs necessary to make ends meet. It taught me to make meals instead of buying pre-fab food. It taught me used clothing is great. Now I find vintage amazing clothes at second hand stores.

If I didn’t grow up how I did monetarily? I would not be able to survive how I live now. And I make ends meet with a few treats. So I don’t just survive, dad, I’m content.

….

There is more to the letter.

Six pages later? I told my daddy so many things.

I told him where I think things went wrong for me.

I needed psychiatric medical help. The psychiatrist I went to? Turned out my parents ‘could tell’ he was a homosexual so they wouldn’t let me go back. I was told to talk to my pastor when I needed serious medical attention mentally.

My pastor was an excellent mathematician. He was an actuary before he quit that to pastor a church. Very intelligent. But a horrible psychiatrist. Instead of being able to talk to him about my sexual issues? I was hauled into his office, as the principal of my school, and told I was lazy.

The daydreaming? Constantly holding up class with my questions? Being stubborn about doing homework I thought was irrelevant? They were all my way of avoiding real schoolwork. I was lazy. Official diagnosis.

How different would I be now if I had gotten help then?

I wrote about my socialization. How I was damaged by being forced to attend such a small school (I did ask my parents if I could go to a different one, public). And then I was thrust into complicated social situations, with no clue how to deal with them. It was awkward and terrifying to me. I already struggled with mental health issues yet to be addressed.

I told him that at least college taught me to ask questions again. In asking them? I learned about the faith I was brought up in. In my required Bible classes? I learned so much history that I started going to the library to compare Biblical history VS the history books I never got to read in my private Christian school.

Christianity stopped making sense for me.

I started taking only the Bible classes required. All my electives became psychology, sociology and journalism so I could learn to communicate better. My field study was drama so I could explore being creative.

I told my dad I am myself pagan now.

The long and the sort of it is I don’t feel like you did me any wrong except for what happened at the hands of “Christianity”. YOU loved me and acted with your best intentions for the well-being of your family.

I love you, dad. I forgive you for whatever you think you did to damage me…..

You mentioned sadness. That comes with age. If you find the time? I really want to know what makes you sad. What are your regrets? All of them. I don’t need details. But I am someone who suffers with depression. Knowing others sadness helps. I could learn from it, maybe?

So I’m gonna close now. I feel like I could write pages more and maybe sometime soon I will. Thank you for your letter, Papa. I love you so much.

Your Chosen Daughter,

Shaunda

 

 

 

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Humpty Dumpty

‘Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall,
Humpty Dumpty had a big fall.
All the king’s horses and all the king’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again.’

Someone I respect recently told me:

Just because his broken pieces seem to fit your broken pieces doesn’t mean you will put humpty dumpty back together again.

Obviously, a broken egg cannot be put back together. Sometimes a relationship reaches a point where it cannot be put back together. I think that is my friends point. A broken egg can’t be fixed.

But I like to think outside the box.

A broken egg? Can still be useful. Fry one up and put it in a sandwich and you know it is true 🙂

Two broken eggs? They can still come together to make something awesome. An omelette, perhaps.

I put sincere thought into my friends opinion (I asked for it). I understand his comparison to Humpty Dumpty. It’s why I have been trying to take everything in my relationship with stride.

But if I were to take that comparison to another level?

When you put two broken people together who are each working individually to be better people? Sometimes there is a lot of other emotional stuff added. It gets confusing.

But, aren’t emotions what give life ‘flavour’?

We’re taking our Humpty Dumpty brokenness and turning into an omelette with every flavour of every emotion. Yes, we are both scared. But we are moving forward both separate and together (a first for us).

You can’t put broken back together. You can take only take what is broken and make it into something spectacular and new.

 

 

My Shitty RV

I love that I have a home. It was gifted to me and I own it.

But sometimes RV living isn’t the easiest. Sometimes waste and paper back up in your ‘black tank’ and you end up with an endeavour you haven’t encountered before.

SO what are the options? Well, my BF has been super on top of the issue. We’re putting as much water in the tank and draining it as much as possible. We purchased a liquid thing to break-up the solid stuff but it wasn’t as effective as we hoped. We had some movement though.

Next? We tried a toilet auger. If you don’t know how those work (I didn’t)? It’s like a wiry poky thing that you put in the toilet. It has this snake like part that comes out as you hand crank it. The snaky part goes into the tank and stirs up the shit stuff. Then you try to pump it out again.

It didn’t work. At least the first attempt. It worked a bit. Enough we can take poops. But it’s still not pumping out properly.

We went to a different RV place and the owner there swore by the product we’re going to try. He knows all the details, including that my RV is parked so there is no option to jostle the shit to loosen it by simply driving around.

I never told him I could try to jostle it with amazing sex… but I might try that! LOL

At this moment though? RV life is a bit shitty. Backed up septic. AND it gets cold at night, things are moist (I hate that word). I long for a wood stove to be truthful.

Thinking it’s time to put serious effort into new accommodations.

 

EDC

Do you carry a knife? I do! I think everyone should have an EDC (every day carry) knife on them at all times.

My dad always carried a knife. He was a hunter and also a carpet installer so it was natural he would always have a knife. However, there were more times I saw him pull out his knife to help someone cut a string, trim something or open packages. A knife is a tool before it is a weapon. He swears by Buck as a brand. Probably because he is a hunter and their knives seem to be geared toward that.

It was my BF who taught me most about knives though. He has several. Knives break/or get lost. So, if you only have one knife? You have no knives. Two knives is equal to one knife. And so on. He always tries to have two on him.

He taught me about blade shape and strength. He taught me the different purposes for different knives. How blade curvature affects usage. How to sharpen them to a razor edge.

Now, I LOVE knives. I always saw them as a tool but now I see the beauty in each of them.  And I believe everyone should have an EDC knife.

Canada has it’s laws about EDC knives. Knives in general, but most apply more to people who carry knives every day. For example, the tip has to point down in your pocket so it can’t open as you pull it out. Mine is in my purse and meets all required legislation.

So what is my preferred knife?

The CRKT Drifter. It fits perfect in my hand and it’s lightweight for my purse. It’s not expensive and it is excellent quality from a respected company.

 

Specifications

More Information
Blade Length 2.875″ (73.03 mm)
Blade Edge Plain
Blade Steel 8Cr14MoV, 56-59 HRC
Blade Finish Titanium Nitride
Weight 2.4 oz
Handle G10
Style Folding Knife w/Locking Liner
Overall Length 6.5″ (165.1 mm

So, if you don’t already have an EDC knife? I would encourage you to get one. Find one that fits great in your hand, is easy carry and helps with the everyday little tasks a knife comes in useful for!

Next on my list is not an EDC. I want a Kukri!

Ashamed

Yep, I’ve been seeing my ex. He stays with me most of the time. We still have some things to work on but we are working on them. We have a lot of things that were issues between us before that we have resolved. However, there are some things that linger.

This morning as he left he mentioned a lil’ anecdote. His boss’s wife came outside the other morning while he was waiting around to get going. She mentioned she heard he had a new girlfriend. He told her ‘sort of’.

Her reply? “As long as it’s not that Shaunda girl.”

When he told me the words kind of struck me. ‘As long as it’s not me?’ And it made me cry. It felt hurtful. I’ve heard so many wonderful things about that woman in our community. I have only ever said kind things about her and been grateful she helped my ex when he needed.

Who the fuck is she to say anything like, ‘as long as it’s not Shaunda’?

He felt bad for upsetting me on his way out the door. His attempt at reassurance? “It’s only because she has read your blog.” I think he meant it to be humorous and I reacted poorly by crying more.

First off? I call bullshit on that. He worked for her husband at the time him and I split. I am sure she knows all the nasty things he said (hard drug addicted, cheating whore) in addition to my blog. She’s heard a more of his side than he lets on. That’s fine. Just, let’s be real.

Secondly, how does reading my blog give anyone the right to judge me? Do they think they are better than me because I embrace my sexuality? Because I admit my failures like alcoholism? Because I have mental health issues that make me ‘difficult’?

I struggled all day with why that quick conversation made me feel so much pain.

We all fail sometimes. Not one person is perfect. I have spent a long time overcoming shame. I meet people who read my blog and they think it is awesome I can be this open. My therapist thinks my sharing everything so ‘raw’ is what is helping overcome things like religious abuse and other life trauma.

I was so angry and hurt about her comment. I dwelled on it a lot. However, I realize now it was because I needed to understand the source of the pain.

I’ve given up  being ashamed of who I am. I am not interested in people who judge me. I’ve been letting judgement roll off me back. So WHY was I letting this stranger’s comment get to me?

I was comedic when I alluded to it in You Can Call Me.

It took me a while to determine it today because I don’t want to admit this. I told my BF I would give him time for us to figure things out. I also want to have time to figure shit out.

But when he told me about it he laughed their conversation off. He assured her it wasn’t me. I’m still a dirty secret.

It’s beginning to bother me a lot that some other woman is getting credit for the dinners he takes pictures of. She’s the reason he has lunches and clean clothes and a place to stay. As long as it’s not Shaunda.

And it bothers me that for all the times I have been called a liar? I’m not worth being honest about.

So why doesn’t he admit it? I went over and over that today. We decided to keep this quiet (even though I put it in my blog). There is judgement from both sides but when I have been asked about him? I admit we are working on things.

Why doesn’t he admit to me? He is ashamed of me.

He’s mentioned before that my sexual escapades while we were apart made him feel like a chump. He said a lot of things about me while we were apart. Maybe he’s ashamed to go back to ‘that’ girl.

When it comes to his boss’ wife? He says she has read my blog. That means he cares what they know, what they have seen and what they think. I don’t.

I gave up allowing people to judge me. I’ve worked on letting go of that for over a year now and I have been doing well.

*UPDATE: it’s been four days since I started this blog and I still can’t describe what I am feeling correctly

I still have no idea how I feel about this. I’m not angry like I was when I heard it. I am not hurt or crying. I am simply trying to determine how and why this strangers comment, overheard by gossip, became such a menace to my thoughts.

And shame. I need to know how I feel about another person’s shame about me when I have fought so hard to overcome shame about myself.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Shaunda The Hut

eating naked

So, yes, when I sit naked on the couch? My skin from weight loss pools around me and I become some Jabba the Hut like figure that I hate having pictures taken of.

And when I take of my bra and lay on my back? Those tits run and hide under my armpits.

What I am really trying to say is my body isn’t pretty naked. But I’m okay with that.

I have a man in my life who has this incredible body. He’s lean and muscular. Six pack abs. Nice big dick. Tight ass. And skin that is so golden. I want to see him naked all the time.

And I sit here all Jabba-like while he covers up. WTF?

He told me today he envies my confidence. He can’t even take out the garbage without putting on a shirt when I would go out topless if I thought I could get away with it. Probably bottomless as well. On a lazy day.

So what is it about self image?

I am always surprised at his lack of confidence. He needs to cover up every part before he sees the world when I think the world would rather see him in a bit less. How can someone with this body NOT want to be seen?

magnificent dick n abs

Yet, here I sit all fat n flabby but perfectly happy with my body the way it is.

Should I be a bit healthier? Yep, and I work on it. But I don’t do it to be thinner. I don’t do it to make clothes fit better. And I show off my everything on a webcam when I have the chance. I am body confident.

I have no idea how that happened. Feels like a reverse role in some ways. The girl reassuring the guy it’s okay to show off his body.

I like it. I wish more people felt it was okay to be themselves exactly the way they are.

 

In MY Relationship

Tonight I looked at him and said, “You are so good for me in my relationship.”

I was full of emotion when I professed it. I was thinking about all the ways he has been supportive and kind. We are growing together instead of apart. I wanted him to know how positive I felt about it.

Did you catch it? He did.

Me: You are so good for me in my relationship.

Him: Your relationship with who?

He doesn’t actually think I am in another relationship. Except for the one he’s always been plagued by.

MY relationship with me. My narcissistic side that makes everything about Shaunda. Even in thinking a relationship is mine and not about who I am with.

We laughed about it. He asked me twice before I actually got it.  MY relationship.

I AM that narcissistic. Why?

I have so many excuses and things to blame LOL.

First, I grew up religious and told to put everything and everyone else ahead of me. (that is a grandiose exaggeration) BUT? Especially God ahead of everything (that was death worthy). I always tried to put others first and it always ended up in hurt. Church? Friends? School? I was hurt nearly every time I put others first.

Secondly? I grew up fat and largely ignored by my peers. I also grew up with a vibrant sexuality that was fueled by looking at what little porn I could get my hands on (not the days of internet). I ached to be looked at. I longed to be desirable.

Those two things alone can lead to a narcissistic personality for someone, right?

At least for someone who goes through a huge bodily transformation and uses it to jump start the process of breaking religious ties? Just maybe?

Maybe I have no energy left for anyone but me? Maybe I still spent so much of the past focused on me, even those who also want to focus on me. haven’t been allowed in? And it made them want out.

Maybe calling it MY relationship in the presence of him is my minds way of distancing myself from feeling whatever emotion is attached.

However, maybe having ANY relationship is a step. Even if I call it MY relationship.

I told him he is so good for MY relationship. And he is. But it’s HIS relationship as well.

So what am I holding back? What am I trying not to feel, mentally? This is so confusing.

How can such a casual comment make my mind whirl?

It’s not bad. Thinking about all of this is good for me.

 

 

 

 

What IF?

I have so many what if’s. What if I never got fat? What if I decided to go to real college? What if I never chose drugs? What if I could have been real when it mattered?

Over the many years I’ve been ‘studied’ I have been diagnosed with depression, manic/depressive disorder, OCD and I’ve been scoped out for schizophrenia regularly…  Doctors test my blood because they think I have worse diseases.

I don’t.  With every problem I have? Nothing is but my own.

I don’t take big pharma meds for any of it. WHY? Because my digestive health issues make me unable. Those meds would kill other parts that are only barely functional.

I know this. So I try, when I am not couchbound, to get my exercise. I take vitamins and eat healthy. I try to find ways to laugh and smile every day. I try.

Today, while feeling couchbound, I watched a new series on Netflix. Atypical. GREAT show.  But is has me questioning.

I have struggled my entire life with my mental health issues. They were treated with meds to no end. I had surgery that made it I can’t take the meds. Now I just try to survive.

But what if the reason meds don’t help are because I have slight autism? NOT OCD. NOT manic/depressive. What if I am just old enough to miss the mark on being diagnosed and all those big pharma meds made me worse before I stopped taking them for other reasons?

I have other issues related to vaccines.  After I was born? I was taken to a reserve north of Churchill, MB. I got shot with ‘reserve’ vaccines with a dirty needle. Scars to prove it.

What if… just if? What if the fact I am so fucked in the head isn’t just my being born a mental defect? Maybe some is from the Agent Orange my father got in the Vietnam war? Maybe some of it is vaccines?

My mom went through German measles with me and was told I would be born without limbs. She was told to abort me. And to be truthful? I don’t think she ever wanted children. I’m glad she allowed me to survive.

I have never been wanted by this world.

Just what if? Because, I have survived all that. Started out not getting aborted. Survived bad vaxxing with battle scars. Made it through so much abuse. I LIVE with my ‘dis’abilities and make it every fucking day!

I’ve been accused of being so many things. Terrorist, Crazy. Slut.

But what IF I am just a survivor?

You Can Call Me….

I’ve always had a thing for role playing. This is similar but with a narcissistic, cunty edge.

I’ve blogged about being back seeing my ex. I don’t make that public on Facebook or to my family, etc. (except I post my blog to Facebook so a few people do catch it) Him and I agreed to keep it quiet. We have our reasons. And for the most part we are keeping our reunion on the down low.

I’m pretty sure he is concerned about his living situation or maybe work if he were to make it known who he is with. Things he said about me when we were apart make it difficult for him to justify coming back to me. My own actions make that difficult. I understand his position.

So he let’s everyone think he is dating a girl he met on a dating site. I’ve seen her pic. It is someone he actually met. I know her name.

It’s all okay with me for the most part. We both dated and met people while apart. Because we want to keep things under the radar for now it seems realistic that he would allow them to believe he is still dating her.

But there is this tiny little bug of jealousy. I’m not jealous of the idea of him being with her. I’m jealous that since he has been seeing me? He gets his laundry done, packed lunches, etc…  and she is getting my fucking credit. LOL

I do that! I make his lunch. I wake up each morning and make him coffee. I make sure his clothes get washed. He does a lot for me in return but that is not the point at the moment. She is being seen as the ‘woman behind the man’ right now. And I guarantee if he was actually with her? She wouldn’t be packing his lunch.

So last night I did something I have never done. It was kind of a role play. In my head I figured if she is getting my credit? Then he can call her name while fucking me. And I made him do that.

Is that twisted?

I won’t lie, I found it a bit hot. He was totally uncomfortable with it which sort of made me more hot about it. I felt in control. I felt like I could at least take back that part that was bugging me by making him face it during sex.

Yes. That’s kinda twisted I suppose.

I felt better about the situation after. I no longer care they think I am her.

But I’m interested to see how long it takes for him to be able to get real with the people around him.

Shopping

I’ve been doing more and more shopping online these days. I don’t like malls. I don’t like crowds. I don’t like shopping.

Unless it is for groceries. There is something about feeding people and being able to sustain my home with food that I find settling.  Psychiatrists may attribute that to my past issues with food. I choose to believe it is because I care that no person goes hungry on my watch.

So why did I go shopping yesterday? Not just shopping, I got on a bus and went to the city to a mall during ‘back to fucking school’ season. What was I thinking?

Once in a while? I want the experience. It’s like going to the theatre instead of watching Netflix. It’s the smell of the food court, the overhearing banter of store clerks who aren’t aware you are listening, trying on things you could never afford but feel so amazing on your skin and going home smelling like your favourite high end department store perfume because you walked past the counter and squirted it on yourself.

I love the experience. However anxiety can be cruel.

I maintained focus and an ability to be pleasant to everyone I encountered while I was getting what I went for. I was in my own head space and having fun. Smiling. Dare I say? Happy.

But, as soon as I was done getting what I wanted? I realized it was hours before the bus was coming and I began to panic. The mall filled with more people. Noise. Bumping n touching me. Kids screaming, parents yelling their chastisements. So much mental clutter.

I sat on a bench to get away from the bumping n touching. I plugged my ears for a moment to regain a sense of composure. And as I was breathing deeply I got a text.

He was done work and if I wanted he could pick me up at the mall.

Like a knight in not so shining, navy Volvo he was there in twenty minutes to get me. He listened patiently while I babbled about being anxious and grateful he came. He listened even more patiently as I detailed my excursions into various stores and what I saw, tried on, bought, left behind….  blah, blah fucking blah.

It was about six months since I was last at a mall. I lasted two and a half hours, got what I wanted but totally skipped Walmart (for things I could have shopped for but didn’t have the patience). I was almost in full blown panic when I got rescued.

I really think I’m gonna stick to shopping online.

But does that mean I am avoiding? Am I running from my issues instead of facing them?

I feel like I tried to do the outside thing and failed. Mentally anyway. I actually did go and get things I couldn’t get online and knew where I could get them. That isn’t a fail.

But I failed in the end. Not even able to wait for a bus. Sitting cross-legged on a mall bench with my ears covered and eyes closed? Doesn’t feel like a win to me.