Dear Blog

Dear Blog,

I am so sorry to have neglected you so egregiously this past week and a half. But it really isn't my fault you see. The problem, dear Blog, is that I have become completely OVERWHELMED with work. It's not that I don't think about you, and its not that I don't have things I want to write about its just that when I get home all I can bring myself to actually do it have a glass of wine, eat a bit of dinner, and collapse into bed.

Lather, rinse, repeat.


Its not just you, dear blog, I haven't been responding to the nice young men that send me email to my Okcupid account either. In fact...last Sunday, when I normally would have maybe written a post I decided instead to respond to a few of those emails. They are, after all, living breathing men that might be able to satisfy a particular need that you, no matter how hard you try, will never be able to achieve. Also, there are all of the friends and family that I have been neglecting of late. I had to find some time for them too.

So what is it I'm so busy doing that I cant find the time to show some love to my blog? Well...here's a typical day;

Exercise (30-60 minutes plus gear-up time)
I need to fit some kind of physical activity into each day. Not only is this good for the contours of my ass...its good for the state of my brain. Regular exercise= steady serotonin levels= a happier more pleasant Julie to be around.

"Chores" (1-2 hours/day)
This category includes things like making my bed, doing/folding the laundry, bathing, washing dishes, grocery shopping, preparing food, paying bills. You get the picture. All the little shit that has to get done takes about 1-2 hours/day when you average it out over the week.

Commuting (90-120 minutes depending on traffic)
It is too expensive to live within walking distance to campus. I have tried numerous routes to see if it would take me any less time to get here from any area I'd like to live...and it doesn't. Traffic in Los Angeles SUCKS. Unless you can work from home or are lucky enough to work a few blocks from your home you are going to deal with traffic. I'm a lab-rat. It isn't likely that I'll be working from home any time soon.

Biologizing (6-10 hours/day)
Its a lab. It varies from day to day. For example. I should be working RIGHT NOW. I'm not. I'm blogging. Means I'm going to have to make it up at some point. That will probably be Sunday. I'm pretty sure I'll have to come in on Sunday. I was in lab this past Sunday. Its one of the reasons you didn't see a post from me this past weekend, and...one of the reasons you might not see a post from me this weekend either. Then again the way my world works...one can never say for sure.

So, on average we're talking about 12 hours of structure per day. In this I have not included time spent socializing with friends, writing...anything, taking a moment to myself to decompress and process daily stresses, read a book or article, read/comment upon other blogs, watch a movie...have a life. And...forget about sleep. Sleep is for Saturday.

Am I complaining, dear Blog? No. Most definitely not. I like being busy. I like feeling purposeful. I just thought I should let you know why I haven't had as much time for you as I did at the beginning of the year. I want you to understand that it isn't you...it's me. It's me and mi vida loca getting in the way of us. I promise not to abandon you...I just need some space and time. I hope you understand. I hope you'll still love me when I find myself bored and frustrated and in need of a place to vent.

Love and butterscotch sundaes with lots of whipped cream,

The Julie

Lets Change the Subject, Shall We?

It has been noted that my blog has taken a somewhat somber turn. Following a lovely lunch with Ms. Lydia Valentine on Saturday she informed me that my blog has become a bit of a mental health blog. She’s right. Its depressing. Hell…Im depressed and starting to wonder if I myself am “crazy.” My mother assures me that I’m not. That according to her psyche professor oh so many years ago we all have some traits of various mental illnesses or personality disorders but that it is the degree to which you have them that defines you as “clinical”. She’s a nurse…she probably knows. In any event, for now Im going to leave it up to my therapist to determine if I’m “crazy” or not. That’s not to say you won’t see any more “processing posts” here…its just that its not the ONLY thing I think about.

Another thing I think about is men. I like men. I’d like to have one in my life. Im not quite sure how I’ll really fit a man into my life with all of the other things I’ve got going on but a little dating here and there probably wouldn’t be the worst thing for me to pursue. So when Zabel sent me this link to take an “online dating persona” test at okcupid I decided to make a profile and stick around for awhile…see what there is to see.

What is my online dating persona you might ask? Well…according to their highly scientific calculations I am the Sonnet;

Romantic, hopeful, and composed. You are the Sonnet. Get it? Composed? Sonnets want Love and have high ideals about it. They're conscientious people, caring & careful. You yourself have deep convictions, and you devote a lot of thought to romance and what it should be. This will frighten away most potential mates, but that's okay, because you're very choosy with your affections anyway. You'd absolutely refuse to date someone dumber than you, for instance.

Lovers who share your idealized perspective, or who are at least willing to totally throw themselves into a relationship, will be very, very happy with you. And you with them. You're already selfless and compassionate, and with the right partner, there's no doubt you can be sensual, even adventurously so.

You probably have lots of female friends, and they have a special soft spot for you. Babies do, too, at the tippy-top of their baby skulls.

Im already having fun with it. Worst case scenario I’ll make some new friends and maybe go on a date or two. Best case scenario and I’ll meet “the one”. Who knows…who cares. Life is to be lived and that is what I am going to do. So…What are the odds of meeting “the one” here in Los Angeles? Well…according to the Boston Globe they might actually be pretty good.

Check this out…

A singles map of the United States of America
Which cities have a surplus of single men (or women) - and what that means for the country

WHICH OF THESE two decisions do you think has a bigger impact on someone's life: finding the right job, or finding the right significant other? No one's going to argue
with the notion that where you live affects your employment prospects. But the place you call home has a lot to do with your chances of finding the right partner as well. Having an enticing "mating market" matters as much or more than a vibrant labor market.

It's not just that some places have more singles than others. If you're a single man or a single woman the odds of meeting that special someone vary dramatically across the country.

By far, the best places for single men are the large cities and metro areas of the East Coast and Midwest. The extreme is greater New York, where single women outnumber single men by more than 210,000. In the Philadelphia area and greater

Washington, D.C., single women outnumber single men by 50,000. I met my wife outside Detroit, where the odds were greatly stacked in my favor -single women outnumber single men by some 20,000 there.

In fact, single women outnumber single men in many large cities around the world, even though men outearn women at all ages, according to Lena C. Edlund, a Columbia University economist. One reason young women in the prime marriage years - the 25-44 age range - flock to big cities is to compete for the most eligible men. And smart women who gravitate to vibrant cities are more likely to stay single - for longer, at least - because they rightly refuse to settle for someone who can't keep up with them intellectually or otherwise.

But women do have an advantage in the American West and Southwest. In greater Los Angeles, for example, there are 90,000 more single men than women. In Phoenix and the San Francisco Bay Area, single men outnumber single women by roughly 65,000. There are considerably more single men than women in San Diego, Dallas, and Seattle, too. Each of these regions has grown substantially over the past two or three decades, offering jobs in everything from high tech to construction and
services. As numerous studies of migration show, men - especially those in regions with declining economies - are initially more likely to move long distances for economic opportunity, while women are more likely to stay closer to home and family.

Read the rest of the article here…

So there you have it. There are more men here than there are women.

“To the moon, Alice, to the moon!”

P.S. Lets have a little fun. If you take the quiz...drop me a comment and let me know who your dating persona is...unless you're too shy of course.

Re-defining Art

I write a lot about mental illness on this blog. How it touches my life both past and present. Here is a present reality that you may have missed. I have no idea if this woman is mentally ill but its the only way I can explain this.

For senior, abortion a medium for art, political discourse
Martine Powers
Staff Reporter

Published Thursday, April 17, 2008

Art major Aliza Shvarts '08 wants to make a statement.

Beginning next Tuesday, Shvarts will be displaying her senior art project, a documentation of a nine-month process during which she artificially inseminated herself "as often as possible" while periodically taking abortifacient drugs to induce miscarriages. Her exhibition will feature video recordings of these forced miscarriages as well as preserved collections of the blood from the process.

The goal in creating the art exhibition, Shvarts said, was to spark conversation and debate on the relationship between art and the human body. But her project has already provoked more than just debate, inciting, for instance, outcry at a forum for fellow senior art majors held last week. And when told about Shvarts' project, students on both ends of the abortion debate have expressed shock . saying the project does everything from violate moral code to trivialize abortion.

But Shvarts insists her concept was not designed for "shock value."

"I hope it inspires some sort of discourse," Shvarts said. "Sure, some people will be upset with the message and will not agree with it, but it's not the intention of the piece to scandalize anyone."

The "fabricators," or donors, of the sperm were not paid for their services, but Shvarts required them to periodically take tests for sexually transmitted diseases. She said she was not concerned about any medical effects the forced miscarriages may have had on her body. The abortifacient drugs she took were legal and herbal, she said, and she did not feel the need to consult a doctor about her repeated miscarriages.

Shvarts declined to specify the number of sperm donors she used, as well as the number of times she inseminated herself.

Art major Juan Castillo '08 said that although he was intrigued by the creativity and beauty of her senior project, not everyone was as thrilled as he was by the concept and the means by which she attained the result.

"I really loved the idea of this project, but a lot other people didn't," Castillo said. "I think that most people were very resistant to thinking about what the project was really about. [The senior-art-project forum] stopped being a conversation on the work itself."

Although Shvarts said she does not remember the class being quite as hostile as Castillo described, she said she believes it is the nature of her piece to "provoke inquiry."

"I believe strongly that art should be a medium for politics and ideologies, not just a commodity," Shvarts said. "I think that I'm creating a project that lives up to the standard of what art is supposed to be."

The display of Schvarts' project will feature a large cube suspended from the ceiling of a room in the gallery of Green Hall. Schvarts will wrap hundreds of feet of plastic sheeting around this cube; lined between layers of the sheeting will be the blood from Schvarts' self-induced miscarriages mixed with Vaseline in order to prevent the blood from drying and to extend the blood throughout the plastic sheeting.

Schvarts will then project recorded videos onto the four sides of the cube. These videos, captured on a VHS camcorder, will show her experiencing miscarriages in her bathrooom tub, she said. Similar videos will be projected onto the walls of the room.

School of Art lecturer Pia Lindman, Schvarts' senior-project advisor, could not be reached for comment Wednesday night.

Few people outside of Yale's undergraduate art department have heard about Shvarts' exhibition. Members of two campus abortion-activist groups . Choose Life at Yale, a pro-life group, and the Reproductive Rights Action League of Yale, a pro-choice group . said they were not previously aware of Schvarts' project.

Alice Buttrick '10, an officer of RALY, said the group was in no way involved with the art exhibition and had no official opinion on the matter.

Sara Rahman '09 said, in her opinion, Shvarts is abusing her constitutional right to do what she chooses with her body.

"[Shvarts' exhibit] turns what is a serious decision for women into an absurdism," Rahman said. "It discounts the gravity of the situation that is abortion."

CLAY member Jonathan Serrato '09 said he does not think CLAY has an official response to Schvarts' exhibition. But personally, Serrato said he found the concept of the senior art project "surprising" and unethical.

"I feel that she's manipulating life for the benefit of her art, and I definitely don't support it," Serrato said. "I think it's morally wrong."

Shvarts emphasized that she is not ashamed of her exhibition, and she has become increasingly comfortable discussing her miscarriage experiences with her peers.

"It was a private and personal endeavor, but also a transparent one for the most part," Shvarts said. "This isn't something I've been hiding."

The official reception for the Undergraduate Senior Art Show will be from 6 p.m. to 8 p.m. on April 25. The exhibition will be on public display from April 22 to May 1. The art exhibition is set to premiere alongside the projects of other art seniors this Tuesday, April 22 at the gallery of Holcombe T. Green Jr. Hall on Chapel Street.

I hope this is just some kind of hoax. It is so wrong on so many levels. How this makes sense to her completely eludes me. I don't even understand how a person could even come up with an idea like this. Not only do I not understand what kind of thinking would conceive such an idea but what kind of person would actually do this...and be so blase about it? I'm absolutely stupefied.

Yale student Molly Clark-Barol is not so stupefied. She sums up my major problems with this far better than I have the ability to do at the moment...

"Congratulations, Aliza Shvarts '08: you have single-handedly trivialized not only an entire generation and a half's fight to gain and retain the right to choose, through harassment and against massive odds, but also history of women's struggles, not only politically, but with the emotional, moral, and spiritual impacts of the choice to terminate a pregnancy. You also spit upon every couple who has tried, and failed, sometimes repeatedly, to have children. it is the emotional impact of these struggles, emotional impact that you shamelessly exploit, not explore, in your senior project."

Weighing in on the hoax aspect an anonymous commenter to the article (186 at time of this posting) had this to say...

"Boy. Terrific reporting here. No verification from the authorities responsible, only claims by a student with a controversial subject matter for a senior project.

Claims. Many of them. Most of them hard to believe at best. (Anyone out there have miscarriage? No? It's not something that normally repeats without any other impact within a nine month period.)

Where are the positive pregnancy test results in this whole grand scheme of things?

I call bullshit. "

Lets hope so Anon...

But if its not a hoax I really don't know what I'd call it, but I know for DAMN sure I wont call it art.

Succubus

So…I mentioned in my previous post that I spoke with Simon on Saturday night. Early in the evening I told him that I thought his little display on Friday night was quite funny….especially when you consider that we were situated right between both William and Jane. He laughed and said “well…yeah…that was kinda on purpose…but also…you did look damn sexy.” Later on in the evening when Simon was really getting into his vent he said he was sick and tired of William getting all angsty every time I walked in. “Dude…you broke up with her…she’s not bothering you so what is your problem?” He then went on to tell me that William gave him shit for talking to me on Friday night. Apparently William asked “Why do you talk to her…she’s crazy.” Simon said that he told him that we are friends and that he couldnt deny that I looked good (as opposed to Jane I imagine). Simon went on to tell me that after that William was making me out to be some kind of Succubus. “He called me a Succubus?” I said with some amusement. “No” said Simon, “I’m paraphrasing but that’s pretty much what he was getting at.”

From Wikipedia:

In Western medieval legend, a succubus (plural succubi) or succuba (plural succubae) is a demon, who takes the form of a beautiful woman to seduce men, especially monks in dreams to have sexual intercourse. They draw energy from the men to sustain themselves, often until the point of exhaustion or death of the victim. The appearance of succubi varies, but in general they are depicted as alluring women with great beauty, often with demonic batlike wings, and large breasts; they also have other demonic features, such as horns and cloven feet. Occasionally they appear as an attractive woman in dreams that the victim cannot seem to get off his mind. They lure males and in some cases, the male has seemed to fall "in love" with her. Even out of the dream she will not leave his mind. She will remain there slowly draining energy from him until death by exhaustion. Other sources say the demon will steal the male's soul through the act of intercourse.

I honestly don’t know if I should be insulted or flattered, but one thing is for sure; I must be DAMN good in bed. I mean…succubi aren’t exactly known for being bad in bed. In fact…as I understand it…once you have made love with either a succubus or an incubus (the male counterpart) you are forever condemned to feeling un-fulfilled when having sex with mere mortals.

Did I really have this much of an effect on that man? I lured him?

I was un-aware that I had that sort of power, and I'm not entirely sure I actually do, but…its kinda cool because if you’re going to be insulted I would say that being called a succubus…a beautiful and demonic seductress…is far better than simply being called a bitch.

It should be known that I tried to break up with him no less than 3 times. It should also be known that I assured him that he “didn’t have to do this if it was too stressful for him...that I wouldn't be mad at him.” I in no way shape or form made that man stay with me or be with me. I guess he feels bad about how things turned out so he has turned me into a demonic seductress that he just couldn’t stay away from even though I was slowly draining him of his life force.

At least he got the beautiful part right…

Sometimes I wish I Lived in New York

I just have to share this. According to Venditto, an author at Broowaha this midget Michael Jackson “stands three apples high, wears black leather covered in chains, a geri curled wig, dons a white glove and becomes Michael Jackson. He has a boom box that's bigger than him and he plays Billie Jean over and over again.”

For more on the cultural offerings of the New York Subway system read the rest of the article.

In other news. I had a talk with Simon on Saturday night. Wait...what I actually did was listen to Simon vent on Saturday night. William is a lot more F'd up than I thought. Like...in a very unattractive way. In fact...as I listened to Simon vent all I could think is this would be me. If William had ever let me see the side of him that Simon knows it would be me venting...about my boyfriend. I mean...I actually agreed with how Simon felt about some of the shit that Will has been pulling. William, though very kind to me in sheltering me from these aspects of his personality sounds like a handful. I am so over it. I so hope he gets help but I am sooooo over the whole idea of a relationship with him.

And now…please enjoy “a moment with little Mike”…

A Post: In Two Acts

ACT I: I am having a hard time with my therapy. I like my therapist. He’s a nice guy and we’ve had some good conversations about things that are going on in my life. I usually leave the session with something to think about over the course of the next week. But I started going so that I could deal with my feelings about my childhood. I want to figure out how these feelings affect who I am today. I want to understand why I foster some relationships while running away from others be they friends or potential lovers. I want to understand why I always seem to reach for the ceiling when I have the potential to reach for the stars. I want to understand why I want I am so content with the short end of the stick while others fight like rabid dogs for the long end. The only problem with this is that I don’t remember much about my childhood. Anything relating to being at home is fuzzy with only brief glimpses of clarity. Most of these glimpses are not the kind of thing you want to re-play. And, in fact, when I do remember these things I see them as a movie and that girl standing there is not really me but is someone else…an actor on the set of some cheesy lifetime movie about “inner grit” where the lead character overcomes all odds to make something of herself. This is not to say that all of the memories I do have are bad. For example…I recall cooking dinner with my mother most nights. Or rather…she would cook while I rambled on about my day. These are good memories and may be why I feel most at peace when I am chopping vegetables, stirring sauce, or washing dishes. During my early teen years this was the only real opportunity I had to spend with my mother as one of my fathers stipulations for “taking us back” after their first separation was that she would eat dinner and spend the rest of the evening with him in their bedroom. Door locked and you better have severed a limb or something if you dared knock on that door. Not that every interruption was met with an outward display of anger but that would almost be preferable to being “dismissed”. Short of being beaten, there is maybe nothing worse than being rejected or made to feel selfish for simply wanting to interact with your parents…nothing worse than walking away from that door and sitting in your room knowing that you could be building a bomb, shooting heroin, or having an orgy and no one would notice.

No one would notice.

I guess this comes to mind as I just read a post at Untreatables blog that sparked a memory. In it he describes the feeling of “escaping prison” every time he left his house. I know that one well…only from a slightly different perspective. What I remember is the feeling that my house existed under a dome…a dark dome that upon entering would evoke feelings of emptiness, loneliness, and depression. No matter how happy or at peace I was just prior to setting foot on the driveway the moment I saw the house a feeling of dread would come over me. I didn’t want to go inside. Sometimes I would simply sit at the end of the driveway in order to put it off. It got so bad that eventually I simply stopped going home unless one of my pseudo-sisters was with me. Throughout high school we were like nomads that shuttled from one dysfunctional situation to the other…choosing the one that felt least threatening or opting for sitting on the corner between our houses smoking cigarettes when both were intolerable. This did little for my grades and I sometimes wonder if it was the report card in which I went from straight A’s to practically flunking out of high school that finally gave my mother the impetus to leave my father. She tried to ground me but it didn’t work. I simply left via my bedroom window and since she was back in the bedroom with dad she never really knew what the heck I was doing. And my grades didn’t improve.

I was 17 when we were finally free. We moved back into the home purchased during the first separation and I no longer felt like I didn’t want to go home. Home actually became a nice place to be. I could come home and be myself. I could read, or watch TV, bake a cake, or even *gasp* do my homework. Perhaps someday I’ll post on how significant that is…how actually enjoying the learning process was not tolerable in my fathers eyes, but that is for another day. The point is…I was finally in a place where I could have friends other than my sisters over without having to constantly watch my back wondering when my father would notice that I’d come home. I didn’t have to worry that he would notice me and decide to point out one of my many flaws (as being smart, pretty, and popular simply wasn’t good enough) or to remind me in some way of how deeply I was failing him as a daughter. To this day I am not sure what it was he wanted from me or where I failed him. During our last reconciliation when he was able to admit that he’d done and said some pretty terrible things he told me that the reason he acted the way he did toward me was because of something I said when I was seven that hurt his feelings. Yes…I said seven. I said something at the age of seven and was treated to 10 years of emotional torture. I don’t even remember being seven let alone something I said, and lets face it…whatever kind of child I was at the age of seven is a direct reflection of what I learned from my parents about how to interact with people. And that night…I told him as such. He would later deny both having had this conversation or of ever being a bad father. And I still refuse, on at least an intellectual level, to hold myself accountable for anything I did or said at the age of seven.

But all of this leads me to the reasons I started seeing a therapist in the first place. (1) The mini-breakdown I had upon reading the section in SWOE about protecting children from a parent with BPD and the flood of memories it unleashed, and (2) my insatiable need for validation from men in romantic relationships. For, while I knew on some level that William cared for me and actually did want us to work out I had a strong emotional reaction to his refusal to spend time with me. Even though I knew he was going through shit of his own and was having a hard time with it I was unable to see past that and take it as anything other than rejection. Just like that bedroom door being closed in my face when I was 15 years old.

ACT II: And I felt that twinge of rejection last night when I saw him at the pub playing pin-ball with plain Jane. Have I mentioned plain Jane? She is a girl that he may or may not have been dating. He may or may not still be dating her, though last night they didn’t appear to be anything other than buddies. So much I have left off the blog but the last couple of times I saw William at the pub he had a very emotional reaction to my presence. No longer aloof or seemingly un-affected by me he would appear fine and then quickly deteriorate. I suspect that whatever was or was not going on with plain Jane ended after the first night he saw me. The night that he kept looking at me as though he wanted to talk to me…the night that I heard Sally remind him that what happened on that fateful night 6 weeks ago was an accident…right in front of Jane. I suspect this because after that night, this girl who has been shooting me dirty looks for the last month or so, who smiled at me sadly as I walked out the door that night seemed desperate to talk to me the following evening. I made sure she didn’t get the opportunity.

When I saw them playing pin-ball I looked at Paul and said “If only he would have hung out with me the way he is hanging out with her we never would have had any problems.” This is actually false. The more correct statement would be that “I wouldn’t have had any problems.” Paul said “Yeah…I never really understood that but you know…maybe she is better for him than you are.” Not at all what I wanted to hear and I suppose he could see that in my face as he quickly said “Look…she is far less threatening than you. She is not going to challenge him or call him on his shit as she is probably grateful for any bit of attention he does give her. You’re not like that…and you deserve better than that” He’s right. I looked at him and said “Yeah…all things considered I know you are right. Not only that, but I doubt William will have to worry about other men approaching her.” To which Paul replied “Well…maybe if you knock the white stick out of the way or get them really drunk.” Sad but true…she is not the kind that attracts much attention either for her looks or her personality. Normally I would feel bad about having these thoughts about someone I don’t know but…I have little care for women that shoot me dirty looks simply because I exist.

As I sat there sipping my drink I was reminded of some of the things William said to me during our time together. Things like “I don’t normally date women that I am attracted to.” Huh? Maybe I get it now. And in the last week that we were still together he told me on the phone that he wished things were different. When I asked him what he meant he said he just wished everything was different. He wished he were different…that he felt like he should be where I am. We both suffered at the hands of our fathers (some of his stories rang eerily familiar to me as I’m sure mind did to him) and to quote him “And you’re making it happen…I’m not.” If he was comparing himself to me and coming up short that couldn’t have been good for him. Even if you don’t have BPD that is not a good state of mind but if you do…well…if I understand all of this properly then it’s even worse. I imagine he feels more comfortable in a relationship where he feels superior…one where, as Leila is wont to say, he “holds the ring”.

A little while later Simon stopped by to say hi and gave me a friendly kiss on the check. I imagine he “got in trouble” for talking to me last week so he made his visit brief and kept the remainder of his interactions with me to tugging on my hair as he walked by. A little flirtatious but far nicer than hanging all over me whilst trying to suck on my ear which is how he used to behave. I guess we’ve become some sort of friends. And William seemed more like himself than I’ve seen him since that night 6 weeks ago. He was neither overly happy nor overly melancholy and it looked like he was sticking to beer, which…if you’ve ever had a drink at The Zone…you know is like having a water.

At the end of the evening I hung back as Paul said his goodbyes to the table that included Simon, William, Jane, and a few assorted no one I’ve ever seen befores. My intent was to wave a good-bye to Simon as I headed out the door but Simon had other ideas and I got to tell you…I could kiss him for what happened next. Simon called out to comment on my ensemble. It was a very Carrie Bradshaw kind of get up that showed off a lot of leg and as far as Simon was concerned he could have done with a little more show of the stems. As the rest of the boys in the vicinity chimed in with their favorable opinions of my appearance last night I asked if my dress was too short. William was facing me to my right and Jane had her back to me on the left. Amidst assurances of “no…it’s perfect,” Simon…in an ever so Simon way…let me know that not only was my dress not too short but that it could be even shorter…like Porn star short. Jane looked over and gave what must have been meant to be a half smile but looked more like a grimace. William kept silent, keeping his gaze off the table and definitely not on me. Simon then said that what he’d really like is for me to need to pick something up off the floor. “Like this” I said as I started to bend over but then stood straight up to exclaim “Sorry Simon…no cheap thrills for you.” To this he replied “How about an expensive one?” I laughed and said “Leave it to you not to miss an opportunity to cross the line.” I drew an imaginary line on the table and said “This is the line” and then pointed to a spot somewhere across the bar and said “and that is Simon town.” I looked over at William to see how he was reacting to this little exchange. He wasn’t actually looking at the table and his expression was hard to read but if I had to take a guess I would say that he was amused. I gave Simon a pat on the hand and said “one day you’ll learn.” I turned to leave and called out “Good-night boys” over my shoulder. “BOYS!?!?!?!” came the cry from the peanut gallery. I turned, smiled, and with a slight curtsy said “I’m sorry…Good-night…MEN.”

And that…got a chuckle out of ‘ol William. And for that…I could have kissed Simon.

It was a good end to a good night. From dinner with Zabel…to seeing old friends at Farts and Darts…to charming the pants off of some boys…err…men at The Zone. I went to bed feeling good and woke up feeling good.

And no…I still have not called my father back. I don’t think that I will.

Just Rambling

So...I've been a little busy lately. Wait...scratch that...I've been A LOT busy lately. I have so much on my plate right now I feel like I’m eating for two (which is impossible as I am currently celibate). The focus of my life at the moment is getting my first research paper out the door. It's a lot of reading, writing, and trying to decide if there are any more experiments I should have done (or should be doing). I'm not going to lie to you...this terrifies me. I am terrified that my work is "not good enough". I am terrified that I've missed something, confused something, or simply don’t know enough to call myself a "scientist". In short...I am terrified that I am going to put this out into the world and it will all be found to be false. This is a completely retarded mind-set. I've presented this work to people that know what they are talking about and it has been well received, but that does nothing to make me feel right about putting my name on a paper as though I know what I’m talking about. But I have to. I have to because if I can't get my paper accepted I can’t graduate and I really want to graduate.

The other newsworthy item in my life is that I've been put on a vascular biology training grant. This is great but...and there is always a but...I’m not a vascular biologist. What does this mean? It means that I have to become a vascular biologist. I now have to publish in that field in addition to my work on bone development. This is extremely exciting as I absolutely love learning new things and hey...I've been immersed in bone for a few years now…so the change is likely to galvanize me and get me excited about research again. However...this is also stressful because it makes me wonder if the one year target to graduation is actually going to happen. I really need to start making more than the grad student stipend. I am tired of working my butt off and being poor. I don't know if I can handle two more years of this and that is likely what it will take to get any sort of publication in a field I know relatively little about.

If only I had a long lost rich relative that would die and leave me a fabulous inheritance.

In other news…I am officially one year older since my last post. I had a most excellent birthday...probably the best birthday I've had in 10 years. It was the kind of birthday that makes you realize how many wonderful people you have in your life. In fact...it's been the kind of week that makes me feel like a fool for ever doubting that there are people in this world that care about me not because they want something from me but just because I’m me. I’m sure much of these revelations have a little something to do with the fact that Leila, the woman who went to great lengths to make me feel as though no one cares, is gone from my life. And its not so much that she was trying to make me feel bad it’s simply that one of her many tweaked views about people and relationships in general is that "no one cares about anyone but themselves", and of course…I had to believe as she does or I’m “crazy”. She honestly believes that people don’t actually care about other people and that all actions are inherently selfish. And really...this is just another example how she projects who she is onto everyone around her. It’s OK for her to be selfish because…hey…everyone is selfish. Those of us that do go out of our way for our friends and loved ones simply because they are our friends and loved ones know that this isn’t true. Try telling that to her.

And what about William? Hmmm. William. Well...he is neither in my life nor out of my life. There is much I could say about him. Many thoughts in my head and stories I could write but I can’t. I see him around. He doesn’t run out of the pub the minute I walk in anymore and he isn’t exactly keeping his distance as he joined (and I use the word joined loosely as he was not really with us but was actually in his head) the group I was with last night. He is still not talking to me. I know he wants to, but he won’t. Not right now anyway…maybe someday. I just can’t bring myself to write about how I feel about all of this in any great detail as my feelings are so conflicted. I don’t even really like talking about it. I still love him and I probably always will. I read the blogs of people that are struggling to recover from the same disorder that William has currently given up the fight against. I want to learn more about it. I want to understand. I want to believe that people with this disorder are not...as they say..."untreatable". I keep hoping for some kind of miracle. I keep hoping that he will wake up and decide its time to change, that being with me is worth doing the work that would need to be done, though I know that it is not likely. Then again, stranger things have happened in L.A.

And some days I think this is all for the best. I’ll get over him eventually and I won’t miss him as much or as often. Like I said…my feelings about all of this are fairly conflicted. For the time being I don’t have to do anything to resolve this conflict as he has walked away. It's a little like the situation with my father. For a long time I didn’t have to feel bad or guilty about not having or even trying to have a relationship with my father as he wasn’t speaking to me. All of that changed when I got a call on my birthday. After 18 months he calls me as though he hasn’t deigned to speak to me for all this time. I still haven’t called him back and I’m pretty conflicted about that decision too.

Try again? Try one more time to have some kind of relationship with my father? He is my father after all…

And all of this has made me want to know everything I possibly can about BPD so I have been doing a fair bit of reading on this. “Stop walking on Eggshells” was a fairly decent read and it is certainly a good place to start if you know little about BPD but it was more about learning techniques to deal with the behavior of the person in your life with BPD than an examination of what BPD is. It doesn’t ask the reader to understand the disorder…it simply says leave the relationship or learn to depersonalize the behavior. “Surviving a Borderline Parent” was decent. It was nice to read that other people have had similar experiences with a parent that I have had with my father. It allowed me to forgive myself for being a “bad daughter” as I now realize I actually wasn’t. A pub med search for “Borderline Personality Disorder” nets 3,809 papers on this subject. Everything from treatment of BPD to structural differences in the brain of people with BPD to single nucleotide polymorphisms in genes that may account for these changes (helloooo gene therapy!). But none of these things really help you understand the person that you care about. I can depersonalize behavior; I am…in fact…a master at depersonalization but I’m also a scientist. I am a person cursed with an analytical mind so I can not just accept what is…I need to understand.

Do I need to understand for Leila? No. She and I don’t have enough in common for me to find it worthwhile to try to have a friendship with her. We have radically different opinions and completely divergent ways of seeing the world and while I don’t feel a strong desire to convince someone that my viewpoint is correct I also don’t have a strong desire to defend it either.

Do I need to understand for my father? I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. Though…enough time has passed since he called me that I would guess I’m on his shit list again (if I was ever really off it).

What about my brother? Does he have BPD? He certainly acts like it…I mean…he is a lot like my father and if the disorder has a genetic component it might explain why my brother acts the way he does sometimes. The mood swings, the anger, the irrational thinking that he has about certain events and people. For my brother I need to understand. Not only is he a good, kind, and caring man, he is my baby brother and I really don’t want to ever say the words “I haven’t spoken to my brother in X number of years” again.

Do I need to understand for William? No. For William I want to understand. Even if he never speaks to me again I want to understand what he is going through. What was he trying so hard to fight when we were together? Was he trying to fight? Was he, as he said on the phone one night “trying to change for me?” I didn’t understand what he meant then, but maybe I do now. Furthermore…did he/does he care about me? Is my therapist right in his assertion that people with BPD can’t care about others? I might believe that about Leila…hell she is pretty up front about her lack of concern for anyone but herself. I might believe that about my father though I can’t really say that I know my father all that well. But can I believe that about my brother? No. Can I believe that about William? No.

I can’t. I won’t. I refuse.

So…in my quest to understand I have added a few blogs to my daily read list and I’ll give them a shout-out here in case any of you are as interested in this disorder as I am.

Untreatable's Blog: This blog is great if you want some insight into how the mind of a person with BPD works. If you have ever known someone with BPD, gotten into a confrontation with them, or been enmeshed with them it can explain some of the confusion surrounding “Why does he/she act that way”.

BPD in OKC : A personal blog and the girl has a great sense of humor. It was here that I learned that May is to be "BPD Awareness Month". If you want to see what celebrities would look like if they moved to Oklahoma click here. A bit rude to the state of Oklahoma but funny nonetheless.

Borderline Crazy : She doesn’t have BPD herself, but is the child of a borderline. This one I read because I can commiserate and it’s nice to know that I’m not the only one that grew up dealing with the same kind of shit I dealt with. I’m not the only one that grew up feeling like they were “bad”. Unfortunately it seems that there are a lot of us out there…

And…so we don’t end this on a somber note I would like to inform you all that if I were a dog I’d be a golden retriever.



You are a Golden Retriever!
Laid-back, sociable and well-groomed, you've got your own hip little pack of groupies who just love to be around you. You have a brain inside that adorable little head of yours, though you use it mostly to organize your hectic social calendar. You never poop out at parties, and since you're popular with ladies and men, as well as children and adults, you dish out your wit, charm and luck to whomever is close enough to bask in it. The top dog likes you and wants to be your best friend, despite the fact that he doesn't really know what the heck you do. No one does, in fact, but everyone loves you all the same. A true foodie, you’ve got your keen ears fine-tuned to make sure you don't miss out on the opening of a trendy new place to nosh. But your youthful days of being able to wolf down food 24-7 are wagging behind you, meaning you've got to watch what you eat so you don’t pull a Brando and outgrow your coats.

And if that last line isn’t the gospel truth…I don’t know what is!