Monday, February 19, 2007

Paul

Well, life has taken a personal detour. I spent the morning talking to the deformed teenage boy that is (in) my psyche. His name is Paul. I named him Paul from a dream I had as a young woman in which I asked a fortuneteller my destiny, and she told me, "You have the same destiny as the Apostle Paul. Your destiny is great, but your heritage is tough." I know now what the "tough heritage" refers to—that grand, old dying tradition of institutional Christianity—but reflections on that are for another time. I am at an impasse with Paul, because I don’t know how to proceed—should I attempt to bring him into manhood (is that even possible), or should I just acknowledge and respect him as an unmaturing deformity that will always be an intrinsic, essential part of me?

Yesterday, I witnessed again a prime example of immature, insecure masculinity. For some reason, immature men are especially threatened by strong women. It must be both intimidating to see a strong feminine, and infuriating to see an immature masculine all in the same person. The immature masculine obviously reminds them of what they fear and hates most in themselves but what is it that they are afraid of in a strong woman –the feminine or Mother? A couple of nights ago I dreamed that a mountain lion was hunting down a mountain ram (I was the ram). Dream interpretation says that a mountain lion represents strong, aggressive femininity while a ram is obviously masculine (also the truck I drive). Is it possible that my strong feminine side is intimidating Paul from full expression and maturation? I realize that I have to start learning more about masculine psychology. I have spent the last 25 years learning feminine psychology, but my life is never one sided or simple. For instance, what is it that I mean when I think about somebody, "he is a decent human being, but a pathetic man". I have had always had a strong aversion to using the word "man" as a philosophical or conceptual abstract. Rather, I believe it should be limited to referring to the half of the human race with masculine embodiment. But if I am to bring Paul to maturity, I have to figure out what I mean by man, because he only has psychic reality, no embodiment, except for the opposite sex. Sigh, just a lot more work.

Friday, February 16, 2007

Resistance, Rebellion and Death

I am feeling better after yoga. I had missed it on Tuesday night while I got drunk to drown out the overwhelming anxiety, anger and fear. I still have anxiety, anger, and fear, but I feel more in control and empowered.

What do I have anxiety about? Surgery. I am not afraid of the unknown. I’ve had surgery three times before, and every time I hated it. One of the earliest things I remember is being five years old and being told to "blow into a balloon." It had a funny taste, and my head started swimming in a kaleidoscope of colors, and when I woke up my tonsils were gone. But in those few seconds, while those colors swam, I experienced the most extreme sheer terror that I was losing consciousness. Even now, my body shakes at the memory of the fear. Then there was the time I was 16 years old and had optional oral surgery. I thought it was going to be a simple procedure, and I woke up in the ICU, my jaws wired shut, puking up blood in a tube, certain that something had gone wrong with the surgery and that I was going to die. Finally, there was the uterine ablation I had several years ago. That wasn’t so bad, because I was in control of that surgery, and because they gave me some kind of really mellow, tranquilizing cocktail before I got put under. The worst part was that I had no rapport with the doctors. They were mad at me because I declined to have a hysterectomy, and researched an alternative on the web, by myself. But events have proved me right. Given my intersexed state, a hysterectomy would have been a psychological and hormonal disaster for me, not to mention that I’m sure they would have removed the testicular tissue, and never told me. One of these days, I know that they have got to come out, but I want to be in control of when one of my sex organs is removed, and not have it yanked out and not even be told (which I’m sure they wouldn’t have, but I would have known something was wrong, and it would have been a psychological crisis).

Then there’s the waking up part which is the worst. And when Dr. Allen says that there is pain and swelling, I believe him. I bet I’m going to wake up wishing I were dead. But the worst part is always being under the influence of the drugs. People don’t realize what a panicky feeling it is for me to be doped up. And when I wake up in a strange environment, and I am doped up (i.e., mentally out of control), I have to fight back hysteria. Then on top of that, I am in pain, and I am more like an animal than a human. When I am in pain or sick with nausea, I just want to be alone and outside in the fresh air somewhere, and instead I’m half-naked in a chemical smelling, sterile kind of place, surrounded by a bunch of people who are as sick and miserable as I am. And empath that I am, I have to spend my healing energy to block out the suffering I feel all around me, instead of focussing on myself. Yep. I’m anxious all right. But if I prepare myself now, hopefully, it won’t be that bad when it happens.

And yes I am angry. The impotent fury I feel over being sick due to IC and their drugs (I wouldn’t even have swollen optic nerves if it wasn’t for them), and unable to heal myself is starting to crystallize into a genuine active resistance against the circumstances that make this possible. I don’t care what the mitigating conditions are, or how noble the end, it is never right or acceptable to strip away my God given right to determine my life, or my Constitutional right to privacy and pursuit of happiness. I am rereading Albert Camus, Resistance, Rebellion, and Death, and atheist though he is, I recognize a kindred spirit. Camus (like his French compatriot, Simone Weil, recognizes what a threat to human liberty the State has become. I have been a patient, suffering victim, ready to tolerate, endure, and forgive. I am not by nature, politically partisan for I believe that salvation and hope for the world’s ills come through the spiritual domain, and not the political one (and in the political domain, I most emphatically include the institutional Church). Yet, there comes a time when reflection and intercessory prayer is not enough, and active commitment, however fallible or limited that I know it to be, is necessary and called for. There is a homeless man who camps out at the corner of 6th & Central, holding up a sign with uncanny perspicacity. Every time I walk by him, I wonder if his mute witness is doing more to help the world than I am. For at least he proclaims something in the realm of truth, instead of constantly struggling to "feel better," or "more free."

Obviously, I am not going to feel better or freer, because the doping is not going to stop. So I have to learn to live with it and endure. But it is time to quit being neutral and join the fight. Camus apologized for the French late resistance to Fascism by stating that France had to dialogue with itself, its principles, and its love of humanity and life, before emphatically, yet conscientiously coming down on the side of resistance, rebellion, and death. I make the same excuse for myself.

I wish I had time to go further, but I have to go to work now, and I am starting to dread what I know will be upcoming involuntary layoffs from work, as the work volume decreases. On top of everything else, I have to deal with financial worries, as I owe the IRS a huge sum of money, and have a $500.00 price tag on the impending hospitalization. But I am going to leave everything in the hands of my God in whom I trust.

Resistance, Rebellion, and Death

I am feeling better after yoga. I had missed it on Tuesday night while I got drunk to drown out the overwhelming anxiety, anger and fear. I still have anxiety, anger, and fear, but I feel more in control and empowered.

What do I have anxiety about? Surgery. I am not afraid of the unknown. I’ve had surgery three times before, and every time I hated it. One of the earliest things I remember is being five years old and being told to "blow into a balloon." It had a funny taste, and my head started swimming in a kaleidoscope of colors, and when I woke up my tonsils were gone. But in those few seconds, while those colors swam, I experienced the most extreme sheer terror that I was losing consciousness. Even now, my body shakes at the memory of the fear. Then there was the time I was 16 years old and had optional oral surgery. I thought it was going to be a simple procedure, and I woke up in the ICU, my jaws wired shut, puking up blood in a tube, certain that something had gone wrong with the surgery and that I was going to die. Finally, there was the uterine ablation I had several years ago. That wasn’t so bad, because I was in control of that surgery, and because they gave me some kind of really mellow, tranquilizing cocktail before I got put under. The worst part was that I had no rapport with the doctors. They were mad at me because I declined to have a hysterectomy, and researched an alternative on the web, by myself. But events have proved me right. Given my intersexed state, a hysterectomy would have been a psychological and hormonal disaster for me, not to mention that I’m sure they would have removed the testicular tissue, and never told me. One of these days, I know that they have got to come out, but I want to be in control of when one of my sex organs is removed, and not have it yanked out and not even be told (which I’m sure they wouldn’t have, but I would have known something was wrong, and it would have been a psychological crisis).

Then there’s the waking up part which is the worst. And when Dr. Allen says that there is pain and swelling, I believe him. I bet I’m going to wake up wishing I were dead. But the worst part is always being under the influence of the drugs. People don’t realize what a panicky feeling it is for me to be doped up. And when I wake up in a strange environment, and I am doped up (i.e., mentally out of control), I have to fight back hysteria. Then on top of that, I am in pain, and I am more like an animal than a human. When I am in pain or sick with nausea, I just want to be alone and outside in the fresh air somewhere, and instead I’m half-naked in a chemical smelling, sterile kind of place, surrounded by a bunch of people who are as sick and miserable as I am. And empath that I am, I have to spend my healing energy to block out the suffering I feel all around me, instead of focussing on myself. Yep. I’m anxious all right. But if I prepare myself now, hopefully, it won’t be that bad when it happens.

And yes I am angry. The impotent fury I feel over being sick due to IC and their drugs (I wouldn’t even have swollen optic nerves if it wasn’t for them), and unable to heal myself is starting to crystallize into a genuine active resistance against the circumstances that make this possible. I don’t care what the mitigating conditions are, or how noble the end, it is never right or acceptable to strip away my God given right to determine my life, or my Constitutional right to privacy and pursuit of happiness. I am rereading Albert Camus, Resistance, Rebellion, and Death, and atheist though he is, I recognize a kindred spirit. Camus (like his French compatriot, Simone Weil, recognizes what a threat to human liberty the State has become. I have been a patient, suffering victim, ready to tolerate, endure, and forgive. I am not by nature, politically partisan for I believe that salvation and hope for the world’s ills come through the spiritual domain, and not the political one (and in the political domain, I most emphatically include the institutional Church). Yet, there comes a time when reflection and intercessory prayer is not enough, and active commitment, however fallible or limited that I know it to be, is necessary and called for. There is a homeless man who camps out at the corner of 6th & Central, holding up a sign with uncanny perspicacity. Every time I walk by him, I wonder if his mute witness is doing more to help the world than I am. For at least he proclaims something in the realm of truth, instead of constantly struggling to "feel better," or "more free."

Obviously, I am not going to feel better or freer, because the doping is not going to stop. So I have to learn to live with it and endure. But it is time to quit being neutral and join the fight. Camus apologized for the French late resistance to Fascism by stating that France had to dialogue with itself, its principles, and its love of humanity and life, before emphatically, yet conscientiously coming down on the side of resistance, rebellion, and death. I make the same excuse for myself.

I wish I had time to go further, but I have to go to work now, and I am starting to dread what I know will be upcoming involuntary layoffs from work, as the work volume decreases. On top of everything else, I have to deal with financial worries, as I owe the IRS a huge sum of money, and have a $500.00 price tag on the impending hospitalization. But I am going to leave everything in the hands of my God in whom I trust.

Thursday, February 15, 2007

I am not alone

I had a rough "weekend", as I acquiesced to the recommendation for eye surgery. I am impotently furious, as I realize that the only reason I have to undergo anesthesia, body trauma (and on my delicate, beautiful, sensitive eye), the knife, and hospitalization, is because I am subjected to the involuntary doping. It is not enough that the speed causes muscular spasms, back pain and chronically painful nerve damage in my legs; no the intelligence community (IC), that is responsible for the administration of this dope also has to tamper with the Diamox that I needed to keep the excess cerebral spinal fluid in check. Even had I been able to take the Diamox, I think the drugs (speed and something else that makes me ill), are responsible for altering the metabolism of my body, making it impossible to lose weight, as well as the creation and/or retention of excessive CSF. I know that if I were left alone, in a natural state, that I could heal without surgery. It is the drugs that are responsible for the pain, suffering, trauma, and expense that I now must undergo, as has been the case for the last year and a half, while they continually wreck and age my body, brain, and health. My body and brain has been turned into a sewer of chemical sludge that destroys my natural vitality and bio-energy (which is more capable of healing powers than any marketed pharmaceutical drug), and there is nothing I can do about it, except feel like shit. It’s a lie and a bad joke (one that I saw through from the beginning), to suggest that the reason I was kept from being with Augusta, was to prevent bad health. For it is clear that the IC (and certainly not Opus Dei) don’t give two figs about the state of my health.

"Can I be used?" That is the question. I realize now that the drugs have a twofold purpose. As far as the SLI and Opus Dei is concerned, they still believe their tired, pathetic stratagem of making me think I am crazy is going to work, and I am going to have a grand conversion experience (only one problem with that—any conversion I have is going to lead me on a crusade against their rottenness, corruption, and lack of regard for human rights and dignity). IC (I refuse to ennoble them with the word "agency"—a fine philosophical word, or security—a fine psychological word), on the other hand, is looking to create a sense of isolation and helpless dependency as a prerequisite to brainwashing me in the hopes of creating a more amenable "company woman." But Ihave an asset that neither side understands or acknowledges—a spiritual identity formed and sustained in relationship and obedience to God (the Christians should know, but they sold out the primacy of their relationship to God for sonship in the Church). I am on the Cross, but I believe in the Resurrection that ultimately triumphs over the powers and principalities that hung Christ on the Cross—an evil empire (when, God did our once noble and liberal country become an evil empire which violates the rights of her own citizens), in conjunction with corrupt priests interested solely in power.

I had gone in to see Dr. Huaman with some trepidation, because the night before I had dreamed that the IC had burned down her house. She was a physicist, and they wanted her to do "dirty" research for them. That told me more than anything that she was being leaned on heavily and I expected the worst. It didn’t happen. I wouldn’t have held it against her if it did. I know when people are happily cooperating with TPTB, and when they are unhappy and even furious about it (for instance, Dr. Ferraro, who knew that I have a genuine hormonal problem that he could help me with, but who was forced to give me shit psychotropic drugs). However, it was clear that she WAS being leaned on, and that she was suffering both as a doctor who understood how powerless she was to stop the medically detrimental effects of the doping, and as a person who truly cares about me and the anguish I am enduring. I kept waiting for the lie, almost daring, and trying to pull it into the clear, but it never came. Ana Huaman must have an unusual degree of integrity and strength of character, when I gave her every invitation to lie to me, and she did not, even though coerced by others in a way I can truly imagine. So now I wonder if she would give up any possibility of being with me rather than to submit to the soulless machinations of the amoral powers that think they "own" me. If so, that is a tremendous loss for me, but I would only have the deepest respect and admiration for her. While I always know who are my "allies" (they let me know in subtle ways how outraged they are by what I suffer), it is a very long time since I have been "loved", and treated as a friend by someone, including my own mother. For to me, intellectual that I am, love is primarily truth, and it has been a long time since someone steadfastly related to me in truth, and not lies and deceptions. Even more remarkable, she didit despite, what must have been the most incredible pressure. Why? I don’t think she did it because of her feelings for me. Partly I think she did it, because she realizes the stupidity of the strategy. She just knows that it is not going to work. But I also think that she did it, because like me, her sense of moral righteousness demands that truth be honored and upheld on principle, while lies are shunned. This is why, even if she closes off to any possibility of relationship with me, I still will have been honored and happy to know her and feel loved by her. She is a kindred spirit, pure and simple. No matter what she chooses or what happens, she chose to suffer with me in solidarity against the forces of the lie, and I am grateful. It gives me hope that people like her exist. I may be crushed, but as long as one person stands in solidarity with me in my oppression, refuses to give in to the lie, despite the pressure (even to risk losing what you most hope for), then not only is Truth vindicated (so important in this era of media and political spin), but faith, hope, and charity are reaffirmed. Thank you, Dr. Huaman. It has been a long time. I wish I could be more forthright in expressing myself, but right now I can only communicate my deepest feelings in the conspiracy of intuition. Those who possess the faculty understand, and those who don’t will keep believing the lie that I will believe the lie.

Thursday, February 8, 2007

Chronic Pain Caused by the Speed

My weekend is over, and I have to start my workweek suffering from nerve pain in my legs and back. and musclular strain caused by the spasms created by the speed.  I have to to try to walk to work with both my legs numb and heavy from the drugs.  I am tired of being in pain, of having my body ravaged, by these stupidass drugs.  I try to write, but I can't.  I am in too much pain. How much longer can I live with this pain?