Owie.

Aug. 23rd, 2012 07:29 pm
margotvankapelle: (roses)
The upper respiratory infection has become a middle ear infection.  I am thrilled...except not.
margotvankapelle: (reading)
Somehow, I managed to make it onto the Dean's List for 2 quarters in a row!

5 more to go...

Also, I've had a hankering to try just a weensie bit harder to not look like Exhausta McHaglike.  So I picked up some lip gloss.  I dunno...we'll see. Lord knows since I single-handedly keep Chapstick in business it's just as easy to smear on some lip gloss instead.  Maybe eventually I'll get to the point of wearing makeup again on a regular basis.  I know, I know, it only takes a few minutes, etc., etc.,  I'll look a lot better with makeup on, more self-confidence blah blah blah.  As a fat chick, I feel more secure feeling invisible.  But wanting to feel invisible and yet wishing I wasn't makes for a heavy makeup addiction, even if I never wear the stuff.  One might argue that the makeup addiction is worse for never wearing the stuff.  So like I said, it's easiest to start off with lip gloss and see if I can get the hang of that.

Can you tell I've forgotten to take my crazy pills on a regular basis this week?

Which reminds me...brb, dosing myself.

It's probably bad form to reward myself for taking my antidepressant by scooping myself a large bowl of ice cream, but I haven't had dinner yet and dairy is one of the four food groups or whatever stupid chart the USDA is using these days.  So screw it.

I know part of the problem is what time of year it is:  Pennsic season.  As usual, I won't be going this year, nor will I be able to go next year (since I'll still be in year-round school).  Pennsic 2014 (er, I think that's, what, Pennsic 44? 45?) will be the earliest I will be able to go, which makes me all sorts of sad.  It's hard to explain WHY it makes me so sad, except maybe for this post I made back in the day.  It's just...promises, you know?  And the prospect of meeting some of you on my f-list (assuming I could work up the courage to stop by and say hello -- being just an okay costumer means that some of you all are like rock stars to me...like expect me to get a little starry-eyed and maybe even choke up a little bit if I ever meet you) even if it is intimidating! 

Yes, yes, I know Pennsic will still  be there, but adopting from foster care means there are enormous levels of governmental interference in our lives for an unknown and unpredictable length of time, and I'd like to go to Pennsic before having to negotiate crossing state lines with a foster child, and all the headaches that come with dealing with a bureaucracy.  I'll be 36 in 2014.  And considering my late 30s is (IMO) getting Too Old for first-time motherhood (especially if we are blessed with smaller children), that means we are very limited to how many more years we can put off Pennsic without also hanging up our chances to become parents.

margotvankapelle: (internetforever)
Between work and school, I barely know which direction is up.  I really really want to sew, but can't really do that until the Tornado Room (so named because it's a disaster area) is cleared out -- I tried to clear it out myself, but my face broke out in hives and I began to wheeze about five minutes in.  Not good.  So I have to get The Spouse and The Daughter to do that for me...which means it might get done by the end of 2012.  If I'm lucky.

In other news, my sister Mel is driving up from Florida on a quick visit to drop my neice off with my parents for a portion of the summer.  Let's see if Bitz can learn to share Lennie this season.  Unfortunately, Mel is driving up on the weekend with the highest volume of cake sales for the year...Graduation Weekend for FWCS.  I tried to find a replacement (there's a coworker who doesn't normally work weekends), but apparently the only family that matters is the one this cow-irker has, not anyone else's.  Even after I explained that I haven't seen my sister in a couple of years.  I was delighted, let me tell you.  >:-/  So I'm going to have to call off one of the busiest sales days of the year and leave my coworker H screwed with no help.  H and I talked it over and we mutually decided that if I have to call off to see my sister, then Sunday would be the better day.  So that's the game plan.  At least 1 coworker is understanding.

Uh, other than that, school is going well.  One instructor has publicly stated on numerous occasions that she doesn't give A's ever...well guess what lady, you're going to have to change that stance.  *cracks knuckles*

I keep motivating myself by looking at real estate listings and home builders' websites.  Also looking at vehicles, since my poor Lumina will probably last me until I'm out of school (I hope!) but not much longer than that.  I'm kinda leaning in this direction, since that allows for some flexibility as far as cargo and stuff goes but is more fuel-efficient than an SUV or truck.  Or I'd like a Prius.  I'd like 40-odd mpg, you know?
margotvankapelle: (Default)
Did I mention that when I went to the doctor, my weight is up to 273?

Deeply unhappy about that.

Makes me want to crawl under a rock and never come back out.


Posted via m.livejournal.com.

margotvankapelle: (holdingroses)
Saturday was a little rough for me emotionally.  I had to get a refund on Boe's layaway gifts because we just can't afford them.  Unfortunately, one is only able to get a refund on one's layaway at the store at which one put the item aside for layaway.  So I had to get a refund at "my" store where they know me.  It was embarrassing on quite a few levels.  And then to boot, because I wasn't able to put much money on the layaway in the first place and because there is a $10 fee to cancel the layaway, I only got $10.25 back.   I came home feeling an awful lot like George Bailey about midway through It's a Wonderful Life.  That kicked-dog feeling. 

Sunday was a little better.  On a suggestion from a gardener on my f-list, I read up on lasagna gardening.  Well, yesterday I dragged Boe out of the house and back to my store, where we got a car-trunk-full of cardboard boxes and expired newspapers.  Today I am making a run to Starbucks and asking for their spent coffee grounds to spread on my garden-to-be.  We have fall's leaves on top of the cardboard  on a 15' x 20' area up against our backyard's levee wall; this will eventually be our garden.  Last year the weeds and random-seeded plants grew out of control, and our dickbag neighbors called neighborhood code enforcement as their first line of action instead of coming over and talking to us.  We got it mowed down, well, kind of, but we'd rather not deal with those neighbors again.  So the garden will help with that.  Sure, it might not be the prettiest thing ever, but it's something the city can't ding us for, it will be a food source for us, and frankly, I plan to can our extras in my spare time this summer in order to give some away as Christmas gifts.  I have sweet corn, popcorn, tomatoes, hot peppers, watermelon, and cucumbers planned; if I have room I'd like to add some sunflowers and some lavender (sunflowers for the birdies, lavender for me).  I might need to make an additional plot for those.  I can get compost for free through Allen County Solid Waste Management (fees only apply to folks dropping off compostable materials).

My aunt has repeatedly told me that I can have as many lilac starts as I want, and Bitz has offered me her volunteer roses of sharon.  I figure if we plant alternating lilacs and roses of sharon in the direction of the dickbag neighbors, it will grow to become a living hedge.  Between the free composting materials, free plant starts, seeds I already have on hand, and stuff acquired through Freecycle and Craigslist, this year's landscaping should run me less than $20 total.

Dang.  If this turns out to be a success, once we're financially stable we might need to purchase a pickup truck, lol.
margotvankapelle: (pensive)
Well, Buddy-roo went home with his new parents today.  His new people are a very nice young couple in their mid to late 20's...they are thrilled with him and fell in love with Buddy at first sight.

We just can't afford 5 animals.  In all honesty, we can't afford 4, but I am not willing to rehome Maggie or Princess unless circumstances absolutely demand it.  Finding a new loving home for Buddy and fostering him in the meantime was the best possible thing we could have done for him, I just wish it didn't hurt Boe so badly in giving him up.

This sucks.
margotvankapelle: (irrational)
I failed my second math test.

In my algebra class, grading goes like this:  4 tests graded at 20% of the total, and homework at 20% of the total grade.  I got a 66% on my first test and a 59% on my second.  My current homework average is at 76%.  That's not enough (assuming I'm calculating this correctly, which yeah right) to get me by with a C of 70%.

I am taking extra tutoring this semester both through my college and privately.  I don't know what else to do.
margotvankapelle: (irrational)
I really don't know how I did on my latest math test (taken this morning).  I forgot the freaking distance formula (distance between 2 points); this is something one learns in high school...I know we covered it last semester in my remedial algebra class.  How is it that I can be so stupid?

All of the formulas I was freaking out about and writing over and over in order to avoid forgetting them? Yeah, only 1 was on the test.  *headdesk*

Stupid, stupid, stupid.
margotvankapelle: (cake)
Well, i had the day off of work and school today, so mostly today I was a lump.  When Boe is depressed, it brings me down too, so that's kind of a major uphill battle times two to have to trudge back into equilibrium.  We're down to our last $5 until Thursday and my car is on fumes, so we are pretty limited food-wise to just what we have in the cupboards and what our imaginations can come up with.


I think I've mentioned before that Boe hates cake.  HAAAAAAAAATES cake.  Granted, working 9 years as a birthday party clown will do that to a person, so I think it's perfectly understandable. Anyway, you read the bit about being broke, right?  Believe it or not, Boe actually craved chocolate cake today...yeah, I was stunned too.  But the broke thing made it a bit of a conundrum.  So I looked up a chocolate cake recipe that got a bunch of good reviews on Allrecipes.com and substituted a bunch of stuff.  The major substitution was using 2 grated tablets of Abuelita (so delicious!) in place of cocoa powder (since we didn't have any cocoa powder).  I also threw an additional 3 tablespoons of cinnamon into the batter, and doubled the amount of vanilla extract.  Then I poured the whole shebang into a pan, put it into the oven, set the timer, and hoped for the best.

The fail occurred when the timer went off and I pulled the oven rack toward me to poke the cake with a toothpick.  The entire middle was still liquid and sank.  Sigh.  So I put it back into he oven, set the timer for another 15 minutes, and promptly burst into tears.  Boe heard me sniveling in the kitchen and came to check on me...he said that if the texture turned out more like brownies, that was okay, since he loves brownies.  I love that man.

So the timer went off again, and the toothpick came out clean, so I pulled the pan out of the oven.  My heart sank.  It looked like there was a 2-inch border of cake surrounding the sunken crackled center of brownie-textured fail.  We cut into it, and Boe popped the first steaming chunk into his mouth.  His eyebrows shot to his hairline, and he mumbled something around the cake in his mouth. 

"Hoby schrp, of, iss z OON."

"Huh?"

He popped a second chunk of cake/brownie fail into my mouth.  Fail?  How could I ever think that this bliss was fail?  It was moist, dense, incredibly rich, with a hefty cocoa flavor as a base note, vanilla smoothness in the middle notes, and the cinnamon really shining through at the top of the nose.  It's not sticky-sweet, more like a cross between dark chocolate and semi-sweet.  Unlike most chocolate and cocoa based foods, I didn't desperately want a glass of water to accompany it. 

I am SO going to remember this recipe for future use.
margotvankapelle: (SEWALLTHETHINGS! by tonyadmay)

I've been working, as you can probably guess from my recent posts.  Sadly, this does not live me in a position to be able to do stuff for myself as far as Adria or really any reenactment goes.  Part of it is time, part is the heat in the doggoned house, and a lot of it is having Random Gamer Guy in my house.  How can I be completely myself when there is someone in my home with whom I do not feel comfortable? 

Let me tell you what sewing means in my home.  Generally, I get a wild hair at random, cut out whatever my new project will be, then spend about 12 hours at the sewing machine with my mp3 player plugged into my ears and singing at the top of my lungs.  There may or may not be a certain amount of undress, depending on what I'm working on and how many times I feel the need to measure progress or check fitting issues.  I might take crappy phone pictures to upload to Photobucket, might twirl around and act like a silly little kid playing dress up, but mostly it is just me, headphones in, sitting at the sewing machine, singing my lungs out and cranking out whatever my little heart tells me I need to make. 

The catch is that I am extremely self-conscious about it.  I generally don't even start a project when Boe is in the house -- it's okay if he's home once I'm actually working on whatever the project is, but all the anxieties and insecurities come out to play at the very beginning and it's better if I wrestle with those particular demons on my own.  Once I'm started, I can generally tune the rest of the world out, and it should tell you something that as a smoker, I can forget about nicotine cravings for those 12 hours (unless something is going Horribly, Horribly Wrong).  Naturally, I also forget to eat anything either, but Boe usually cuts me off at about 12 hours at the machine in order to make sure I eat something

But with a relative stranger in my home, in my safe place to be completely and utterly myself?   Well, I'll let you draw your own conclusions.

...wow.

May. 10th, 2011 10:52 pm
margotvankapelle: (kitty!)

It has been a year since Fagan passed away.  I still miss him (hell, I broke down in tears talking with my mom about it today), but the pain has receded somewhat...I can talk about him -- most of the time -- without crying. 

Fagan came into our lives memorably...Boe and I were newlyweds in March of 2001.  We already had 2 cats in our apartment -- Frank was four? and Odin was still a kitten of about 6 months or so.  I was working at the plasma center as a phlebotomist, and often worked until 8 at night or so.  At 8 in the evening in March in Indiana, It. Is. Dark.  I pulled into the apartment complex parking lot in my giant 1987 hoopty station wagon, parked it, and walked up the front steps to the building...

Where a  black and white tuxedo cat sat on the top step.  Since I don't think it's weird at all to have conversations with cats, I asked him, "Hey buddy, who do you belong to?  Where do you live?"  The unnamed cat looked up and me, meowed, and trotted to the side of the biuilding, where he sat down, looked at me, and meowed again.  Well, I'm not ENTIRELY stupid, I can understand that much Cat Speak.  So I followed him.  He mosied his way to the back of the building, where the private patios were.  He walked straight up to my back door, sat down, and murrrrrred at me.  I tried to explain to him that we already had 1 cat over the apartment limit, that I couldn't take him in, and that I was sorry that I couldn't bring him in with me. He just sat there expectantly.  I went into the apartment, explained the situation to Boe, who reminded me we already had one contraband cat, we couldn't have another.  So I put some food and water outside for the patiently waiting tuxedo cat, and made plans to take him to the local cat rescue as soon as I had a day off of work.

The next night, the same thing happened...the tuxedo cat met me on the front stoop, followed me around to my patio, where I fed and watered him.  Then the cat would sit patiently at my back door until I went to bed. 

The night after that, it stormed.  Sleet, freezing rain, 40 mile per hour winds, the works.  Boe watched me set up a plastic crate with a flap to keep the rain out, towels as padding, and yet more food and water, carefully placed to avoid as much rain as possible.  Boe then sighed, opened the door, and let the cat in.  All Boe said to me was "Well, we'll just have to get a new place and get him neutered."  The cat just waltzed in as if he had planned this outcome the entire time...which he did, no doubt!

We had just over nine good years with him.  He was incredibly sweet.  Boe always called him Fagan, but after  a while I had given him quite a few nicknames:  Fatfat, Buttbutt, Mr. Butt, Chubby Boy, Little Dude, Mr. Pink Nose, Mr. Man.

Fagan was amazing, and we were blessed to have him in our lives.
margotvankapelle: (prozac for breakfast)
Boe called the school tis AM to let them know that his teacher's license came in.  They told him they will make their decision regarding the job by Friday.

I hate waiting.
margotvankapelle: (magic8ball)
I made a post in[livejournal.com profile] adoption , and I wanted to throw it out to my f-list as well.  Let me know what you think, I am getting so very very turned around on quite a few issues (as I am sure you all probably already knew!), and I could really use advice on, well, everything.

When Boe and I have discussed adoption, it has been with the assumption that we'll probably be adopting from the foster care system, since the financial costs of that method seem to be lower than for private adoption, and it gives us the chance to adopt a sibling group (we're primarily interested in adopting a sibling group since they are traditionally difficult to place.)  However, my hormones have really done a number on me and given me a raging case of baby rabies. As in, OMG BABIESRITENAO! sort of baby rabies.  So in my idiocy, I've been scoping out private adoption facilitators, which makes the whole "wanting a baby immediately if not sooner" feeling stronger. 

In addition, Boe -- who has always wanted to have children with me -- is of the opinion that we should go ahead and start the classes and whatnot now and as far as finances go, we'll just work it out the same way we would if I wasn't infertile and we had an unexpected pregnancy.  On the other hand, I can't help but fret that the course of action that Boe is suggesting would be irresponsible...but I'll be 35 before I graduate, and Boe will be 47.  I mean, yeah, Larry King can father a baby at the age of 927265, but that doesn't mean that we can or should.

So what on earth do I do in this situation?  If it was a question of me not being infertile and we had an unexpected pregnancy, we'd just muddle through as best we could while trying to juggle sketchy finances and a newborn.  But in this case, where having children requires not only money, but time, effort, and one hell of a lot of red tape, the right path to take is not nearly as clear-cut.  Wait until I'm out of school, even though we'll be (depressingly) a lot older than the ideal? See if we can adopt even though we're not *quite* where we need to be financially yet?  Foster care adoption, private, or "lady, you are clearly way too nuts to have kids"?

I mean, 35 is -- in my opinion -- really pushing the boundaries of age-appropriateness of first-time parenthood.  And that doesn't mean that I'd become a mom at 35; the classes and stuff can take up to a year, then there's the wait to get a home study done, and then there's waiting to be matched, and and and and and.  Realistically, it can take 2-3 years for placement through the foster care system. 

Hell, if we knew that I could carry a pregnancy, Boe and I would have gone the "family friend and a turkey baster" route.  But I can't carry a pregnancy, and we can't afford fertility treatments at $10,000 per round of IVF, embryo adoption in this case requires a surrogate, and we certainly can't afford a surrogate -- which would require us to go through a lot of the same hoops as an adoption would to boot.


My life is not turning out to be anything like what I had hoped...hrmph.
margotvankapelle: (gungarter)
It's the last day for me this semester, which is nice.  I just don't have a lot to say.  Rest assured that I do play catch-up with my FL when I have internet opportunities, so I'm not dropping off the face of the planet or anything.  The mental stuff does make it difficult to comment, as I'm rarely comfortable making social overtures (and commenting on LJ posts does qualify to my brain as a social overture) when I'm like this.  However, I do need to be around people.  Good thing that our monthly event is this weekend, right?  :-)

Anyhoo, that's what's going on.
margotvankapelle: (SEWALLTHETHINGS! by tonyadmay)
I've been very quiet lately.  Mostly my time is spent making Christmas presents, reading the same 6 books over and over, and sleeping.  Not necessarily in that order.

I've been taking the bus, as the van brakes are frightening.  I'd kind of like to stop when I'm supposed to.

Other than that, I've been all hermit-ized.

Numb.

Nov. 23rd, 2010 04:24 pm
margotvankapelle: (blunt)
That's a good way of summing things up.  I'm not spiraling down, so that's good, but neither am I clawing my way back up -- I just don't have the energy for it.  I'm applying for food stamps and utility assistance...here's hoping we get one or the other -- preferably both.  I am really flat out terrified that we'll be turned down.

I signed up for my classes for next semester...I'm going to have to retake my algebra class as I have failed 2 tests in a row even with tutoring.  I hate it and it makes me feel stupid.  I could conceivably pull a C in the class but then I'd be behind the 8-ball when taking a higher-level math course, so I'll swallow what little pride I have left and just retake the damned thing.

Boe has 3 weeks left.  Thank God.  This does not count looking for work...this part is the bit that makes me just want to curl into a ball and hibernate until May.  The problem is that he has become rather down himself, and needs me to pull him out of it...which is something I don't have the energy for.

We have cashed in all of our retirement plan stuff, my stock options, everything.  We have no cushion.  And I make 13 cents over minimum wage.

Dammit.

Nov. 16th, 2010 12:35 pm
margotvankapelle: (globalwhining)
I can feel things start to go pear-shaped in my head, y'all, and I don't know how to avoid it.  This is not good.  Not with all the obligations I have, and with the knowledge that I don't have a single free weekend to just veg and get my head together until after the holidays.

Lemme see:

* I have 4 major sewing projects to get done before mid-December.  Do I have them started?  Of course not.

*  I have 1 psychology paper to write, and I won't know what I want to say until I sit down and do it.  Oh, and I sold my psych textbook to put gas in the van, so I'll have to borrow from a classmate to write the paper. 

*  Boe's temp job ended a couple of weeks earlier than planned, so that really screws with us.  At least we were able to pay the past due mortgage payments to keep a roof over our heads, so that's all right.  We also paid the water bill and have a payment arrangement set up with the electric company.  This just leaves the phones and the gas bill...and our phones were cut off yesterday, so I can't get in touch with anyone except via face-to-face and the computer -- when I'm at school.

*  I still want to sell off my stash, but without the phones, I can't take pictures and upload them to the internet.

* Because Boe was pulling 20 hour days, I was in charge of housekeeping.  I was keeping up with it all there for a while, but since things are starting to get a bit negative in my head, I haven't been able to get anything done...I just get home and sink into a stupor.

*  The brakes on the van are getting really frighteningly bad.  Grind grind grind grind grind. Oh, and the transmission is starting to go out, but in my mind that's not as critical as being able to stop when I need to.  At least it's just the front right brake, right?  Oh yes, and this *would* be the same van that we sunk $1000 into for brakes previously.  And the van won't be paid off til March.  Yeah, never buying from that place ever again.

So, yeah, that's what's going on in my little corner of the world.
margotvankapelle: (magic8ball)
 Rational expressions...aren't.  Stupid algebra.
margotvankapelle: (bitchplz)
So.

My bank account was frozen, the phones have been shut off cuz we're late on them, we're 1 month behind on our mortgage, Boe *still* doesn't have his license back (the original suspension was 90 days...it's been nearly a year...the holdup is because Boe didn't have car insurance when he was pulled over and the BMV says "That's an extra $525, plz") the IRS is delaying our refund for some reason, and I don't have my gown done for this weekend.

Which I really can't afford to go to anyway. I mean, i have the ticket, the supplies, and everything else...it's justifying the trip expenses like gas and a motel.

But isn't it amazing that Boe is going to a clown convention this weekend?

I swear to god, if he wasn't going to be teaching at this convention (they're covering his room and board), he wouldn't be going at all.
margotvankapelle: (snow)
I've never been terribly secretive about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid. It was pretty standard, as child sexual abuse goes: Parents divorce, Mom remarries, Stepdad decides to make Mom's nine year old daughter his personal sex toy. While he never raped me, there are any number of sexual things one can do that don't involve penetration.

I thought for years that post-abuse counseling had done the trick as far as coping and healing go, that I didn't have any major aftereffects from the abuse. I even felt a little guilty about identifying myself as a sexual abuse survivor -- I mean, other girls and boys have gone through so much more than I did. Little have I realized how insidious the mindfuck that comes with abuse can be.

I haven't been able to remember a whole lot about my childhood in general and the period of time I was abused in specific. I have a couple of vague memories, that's all. Not very much! But I was talking with my aunt several months ago, and she told me that my late grandmother (humorless German Catholic upbringing ahoy!) had called together a family conference when my stepfather was arrested, and spent the entire time berating my mother for "allowing" the police to become involved. I was "shaming the family" by telling my teacher what was going on, you see. That conversation with my aunt seemed to trigger a bunch of emotions and memories that only come out in nightmares.

I love my sleep -- I think I was a cat in a past life because I could happily sleep for 20 hours a day if given the chance. So the nightmares (and I could never completely remember them after I woke up, very frustrating) were irritating and depressing and just awful. Every time I try to talk with Dad about it, he gets red in the face and his eyes take on a flat, dead shine to them that frightens me just a smidgen -- I know even after 23 years, he'd still like to kill my former stepfather. I prefer not to jack Dad's blood pressure into stroke territory, so I have given up on talking with him about it. My stepmom becomes hysterical. My mom and I, well, we had our first conversation about it, um, about 3 months ago? And of course she became upset -- she was just as much a victim as I was. (It's weird that no one seems to think along those lines -- the rest of the family is victimized along with the abused child.) So with my craptastic memory and an unwillingness to hurt my family by bringing all this up, I went down to the Wabash County courthouse last Monday to look at the case records from the trial.

Arthur Michael "Mike" Swango -- arrested April 1987, pled guilty to 1 count child molestation (class C felony), sentenced December 1, 1988. He was sentenced to 5 years with three years suspended, with time off for good behavior (of course there was good behavior -- there are no nine year olds in jail!), he served 1 year.

I read the initial police report, the transcript of my taped statement (I didn't remember being videotaped), the transcript of Mom's statement (and my heart broke all over again reading it, she was so hurt and bewildered and betrayed), and finally, Mike's confession. That son of a bitch confessed to molesting 2 other girls back in the Seventies (after he statute of limitations had run out) as well as to my sexual abuse. The awful part was that he made it sound consensual. That a very naive, very insecure nine year old liked what he was doing instead of keeping his hands, his mouth, and his dick far away from little girls.

A bonus was reading the letters of support for Mike written by our next door neighbors, a couple of co-workers, and our family priest. Even now, I am utterly gobsmacked that one of his friends wrote that I was probably confused and maybe had been mislead by the police into accusing Mike, that this friend had no problem leaving his daughters alone with Mike. Another mentioned that I had most likely led Mike on. The victim blaming I read was devastating.

To be honest, I'm still trying to come to terms with everything I read. Between the nightmares, the depression that's been crushing me lately, and the guilt and shame I live with on a daily basis, I've made the decision to reenter therapy. I can't live this way anymore.

I am leaving this entry public for several very good reasons: I have done nothing to be ashamed of, others who have undergone sexual abuse may find it helpful, and frankly, because I included the name of the man who abused me. He's not on any sex offender registry -- my abuse occurred before Megan's Law. Finally, I left this entry open because I want the world to know that victim blaming is incredibly destructive, and revictimizes the survivors.

If you are a survivor of abuse, you did nothing wrong.

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