That explains a few things

This afternoon I went to a coffee shop to do some reading for school. One article I read for my Human Development class was Attachment in Adult Life.

Here is a quote from it:

Attachment is clearly a better basis for a reliable pair bond than the obvious alternative of sexual desire. Attachment, once established, is highly persistent. [...] Sexual desire, on the other hand, is sometimes persistent, sometimes not. Furthermore, attachment becomes the more reliable the more established a relationship is; sexual desire is often less urgent as a relationship is established. Attachment and sexual desire are affected differently by threat. [...] Finally, attachment is strongly associated with particular figures and resists redirection. Sexual desire, on the other hand, seems more nearly accessible to new figures. Attachment, in sum, is persistent over time, more reliable as a relationship is more nearly established, and dominant over other behavior systems under conditions of threat. None of these characteristics is true of sexual desire.

Motherfucking fuck. This explains in a nutshell what was wrong in Kean’s and my relationship: He wasn’t attached to me. There was a lot of sexual desire, on both sides, but attachment only on my side. No wonder I felt so threatened by other objects of his sexual desire. There was no attachment holding our relationship in place, and sexual desire, as this article points out, is tenuous and easily transferable. No wonder I was so afraid of his sexual desire transferring to another person and losing him. No wonder it was so easy for him to “attach” to another person: Even after three years, without attachment, all he had to do was redirect his sexual desire.

Motherfucking fuck. And then I went home and cried hysterically. It’s painful to realize how blind I have been for so long.

Anniversary

Today is my 25 year anniversary of being committed to a children’s psych ward. I know I haven’t fully processed this event. I know it is still affecting me. I think I have a harder time with break-ups than most people because every time somebody leaves or replaces me, I re-live the abandonment I felt back then.

I really want to move forward and leave this behind me. I want to feel like a normal human being, not like a victim or a broken thing. For too long I have felt like a victim of the German culture, a victim of my parents’ lack of empathy.

I have been seeing a regular therapist for a little over two months now, and I hope to continue to stay in therapy for a while. As part of my graduate program, I have to be in therapy anyway, which is something I adore about my program.

I don’t know how I am going to feel moving forward. I don’t know if I will feel self-pitying, broken, powerless, abandoned, or like a victim. I know that I have felt those things a lot throughout my life. And I also know that today I feel good. I feel good for being such a strong and strong-willed individual that didn’t want to let other people tell her how to feel, how to think or how to act. I am and always have been a powerful force, and I really want to own and embody this power. I am not small and I am not powerless, and I want to feel this more and more every day.

I deserved it too

I had a moment of pure bliss today. I was walking in the sunshine near Howard and 8th with my scarf blowing in the wind, Depeche Mode in my ears, an iced coffee in my hand, and I was on my way back to class, and I felt so happy.

Thanks

Tuesday was Jeremy’s birthday, and I was present for all festivities. Kean was there for part of it as well. I had relatively pleasant interactions with both of them. At one point in the night I was talking to a friend about my disillusionment with relationships and my fear that I was never going to get it right after my recent disappointments. He said to me, “Well, you must be doing something right. You are here, and two of your exes are here. That points to a certain strength that not many people have.” Well, thank you.

Ouch

I think this year will go down as one of the hardest years of my life so far. I keep telling myself that it’s not that bad but I think it actually is that bad.

My relationship to Christian Death

I remember seeing a Christian Death poster or flyer or shirt at one of my favorite thrift stores back in ca. 1992. It stood out to me because it had the word death in it. Or maybe it stood out to me because my friend Christian pointed it out to me. Or maybe I wanted to tell my friend Christian, “Hey, there is an intense-sounding artist that shares your first name.” I don’t remember. Yes, I thought the Christian part in the name Christian Death was a boy’s first name. I didn’t realize until much later that it referred to my very own native religion. Christian is a pretty common boy’s name in Germany. In fact, it’s a name I chose for myself around age 4 when I was fed up with my mom referring to me and my sister as “the girls”. I insisted that I was half boy, that my name was Christian and that my mom please refer to us as “the girl and the half-boy.” Later, between grades 7 and around 11 I had the above-mentioned friend named Christian. I had sort of a love-hate relationship with him. I trusted that he liked and respected me but sometimes I also found him insensitive and annoying. But I guess that’s what friendship is like, isn’t it? Sometimes your friends annoy you. Sometimes you annoy your friends. I think this is something I am still coming to terms with. I think in many cases I have avoided getting too close to people for fear of annoying them or them annoying me.
Back to Christian Death. I didn’t consciously listen to them until very recently. Last year I created a Facebook page that’s dedicated to the very first dance club I ever went to, Cartoon. And the other day somebody posted a link to a Christian Death song to the page. And it definitely sounded familiar. I decided to check out some Christian Death albums. And the album Only Theatre of Pain in particular spoke directly to my 15/16-year-old self. I am now convinced that I have heard some of the songs, such as Romeo’s Distress or Electra Descending in cool dark rooms in the early 90′s. I didn’t know at the time that it was Christian Death and while I probably appreciated the sound and mood of these songs, they didn’t violently grab me like some other music at the time did. So I never pursued a stronger connection to Christian Death.
Until last week. And now I have been asking various friends, who like or have liked the darker aesthetic, if they ever liked Christian Death. And most everyone has answered “Hell yeah.” One friend from Germany even asked me how I went for so long without getting into them. I really don’t know. I don’t even know if I have heard any of their stuff in recent years. Like, does Death Guild ever play Christian Death? Probably. I’ve just been oblivious to it for some reason.

A fairy tale about my feelings

Inspired by my very creative Human Development professor, I wrote a fairy tale about my life. The last part is intention. Featured Human Development concepts: superego, oedipal phase.

Once upon a time there was a little girl named Mary. She lived in a beautiful stone castle with her sister and brother and the king and queen, and her friends lived in nearby castles with their brothers and sisters and kings and queens. The kings and queens loved all the children very much, and they were also very strict. If the children behaved in ways people from other castles’ reactions to which might cause shame or pain in the children, the kings and queens scolded them. The children knew what was and wasn’t acceptable behavior, and they played with each other based on these rules.
Mary had a special talent of creating swirls of colors all around her. The swirls were mostly purple when she was excited, blue when she was sad, green when she was envious, yellow when she was happy, orange when she was curious, and red when she was angry. The king and queen didn’t like it when she showed her colors, especially not blue, green and red. They wanted her colors to match the acceptable behaviors, and Mary’s colors often didn’t. Mary knew that she couldn’t help what colors her swirls were, so she showed the queen more and more of the blue, green and red swirls, hoping that the queen would understand. The queen didn’t understand and felt more and more uncomfortable while Mary felt more and more frustrated.
By the time Mary was 10 years old, she was frequently creating black swirls of depression and rage around her, causing the queen to feel completely helpless. The king was sad that the queen wasn’t able to deal with Mary’s colors. He was collecting flowers all day in the fields surrounding the castles. That’s what all the kings did, and it was not acceptable behavior for the queens to pick flowers while the kings stayed home with the children. Mary’s king wished he could stay home with Mary so that somebody would be there who understood her colors. But as a king, he had to pick flowers so that they could have a beautiful castle, and so he did.
One day in autumn Mary had been creating nothing but black and red swirls for two days when the queen started creating black swirls herself. The queen was terrified by this development and called for the king to come home from the fields. Mary was excited to have both the king and queen’s attention on her, talking about her colors. She was happy to have the king home because he seemed to understand her better, and she hoped that he would explain to the queen what her colors meant and that they were acceptable. But that’s not what the king did. He was now worried about both Mary’s and the queen’s colors and decided that he needed to banish one of them from the castle. Since he needed the queen in the castle to arrange the flowers and to take care of his other two children, he decided to banish Mary from the castle. He took her to a children’s castle where she stayed for two months. Mary was devastated. She felt like the queen was dead, and all her colors disappeared. The swirls around her were now gray—the color of neutrality or numbness, and they stayed that way for a loooong time. Since gray is such a subtle color, it made her seem like all the other children with their acceptable behaviors but Mary felt very different on the inside. To make herself feel better in her head, she called the gray swirls her super self. She had always like the word “super”.
While she was at the children’s castle, her sister and brother and the queen were not allowed to come visit. The king, however, since he was more supportive and understanding of Mary’s colors, was allowed to visit her every day on his break from picking flowers to take her for a walk in the fields surrounding the children’s castle. Mary was grateful for this. She was glad that she got to spend special time with the king. She knew that she had her black swirls to thank for this special time but she also knew that if she ever wanted to see the queen again, she would need to keep her gray super swirls. She decided to only show the gray swirls from now on and to reserve the black swirls for emergencies: in case she really needed to get a king’s or prince’s attention.
And that’s how she lived for many, many years. She had gray swirls around her, and most people thought she was normal and acceptable but also felt that something about her was off. She met many princes, and they all thought that she was hiding something—which was true: She was hiding her true colors behind her gray super swirls. The princes didn’t trust her because of this and often left her. When a prince wanted to leave, Mary brought out her black swirls of rage and depression again in hopes of keeping his attention and having him stay with her. Of course that didn’t work. The princes were just as freaked out by her black swirls as the queen had been.
When Mary was an adult, she moved to the land of rainbows by the bay. After a while she noticed that many people there had swirls of colors around them. She remembered her old colorful swirls and wanted to let them show again. But after so many years of hiding behind her super swirls, she didn’t know how to do that anymore. She tried to create swirls in the colors the queen had approved of: purple, yellow, orange. If she noticed blue, green or red in her swirls, she immediately put up her gray super swirls. After many years of living in the land of rainbows by the bay, she realized that the other people who lived there showed ALL their colors, including blue, green and red, sometimes even black. Mary slowly learned to recreate full rainbows around her, including all the colors her soul her was able to produce. They finally seemed authentic to people, and people started trusting Mary.
She met a prince who also had full rainbow swirls around him. Together they built a castle in the land of rainbows, and they had a little girl named Noah. Noah was allowed and encouraged to run around in the fields of flowers with all her color swirls showing. And they all lived happily ever after.

Colorful synchronicity

Today I met up with one of my new friends I made over the week-long school retreat I returned from yesterday. She only lives a few blocks from me. Shortly after entering her purple living-room, I said “I’ve been here before.” It turns out I was in the apartment whose owner hired me for a color consultation a few years ago. He had wanted me to help him make his place more colorful. It looked great! There was a purple living-room, a green kitchen, a yellow bedroom and a blue bedroom. My friend is temporarily staying in the blue room. What a wild coincidence!

Mutant gallery

A photographer did a cool photo project at Mutant Fest this year, involving a backdrop and the waiting for clouds. It makes me happy because I see so many of my beautiful friends in there.

Fun in the sun

When June rolled around this year, I started to wonder when I was going to have out-of-town experiences in the heat that showed me that it was summer. One thing about living in San Francisco is that you’re pretty oblivious to what season it is because the weather stays roughly the same year-round. But I had noticed over the last few years that the way I can really feel that it’s summer is by going on trips outside of the city where it’s really hot.

Well, I have now been exposed to plenty of sun, heat and mosquitoes. Waterfalls too. Starting in the middle of June, I have been to three long-weekend campouts every two weeks. First I went to the Katabatik Solstice campout in Stanislaus National Forest with my friend Liz and her chihuahua Bela. It’s the same event I went to with Kean and Jeremy last year, which made me proclaim that maybe I did like camping. I liked it this year too. My favorite part was meditating on a log overlooking a valley after waking up on Saturday morning. My second favorite part was going for a walk with Liz, Bela and the mushroom goddess.

Two weeks later, for the 4th of July weekend, I went to Priceless, the annual False Profit campout. I had been to it twice before, in 2006 and 2007. This time I rode up in an air-conditioned van with four other people, which was super amusing. As soon as we arrived I ran into my friend Banzai, and we set up camp next to each other. We went to yoga classes together on Saturday and Sunday morning, and in the afternoons we floated in the river. I also spent time with some darker friends of mine who had brought their own sound system and called it the Worthless Stage. I liked the music they played. I wasn’t feeling the music otherwise for the most part. I am discovering that I am really not into whomp-whomp music. The only time I really enjoyed dancing was when Kid Kameleon played some drumstep on Sunday night.

Finally, last weekend, I went to Mutant Fest for the third time. Even though I kept telling everyone that Mutant Fest and I don’t get along, I decided to give it another try. Both times I had gone before, something very inconvenient and expensive had happened to my car. In addition, last year Jeremy and I had fought a lot. But I don’t have a car anymore, and Jeremy and I are “just lovers” now and had learned a lot about each other, so I figured it might be okay. I rode up with three friends on Friday. Once again, the drive was super fun. I only brought one small bag because my plan was to rely on Jeremy’s camp for shelter and food. While we were on the way we all received text messages from various friends that Mutant Fest had been broken up by the cops and that everybody was being sent away. We kept driving towards Mt. Shasta. We ended up in a safe location near McCloud that night with about 50 other people. I slept in my friend Shadow’s tent without a mattress and only a thin blanket, and I was very cold. The next day we spent a lot of time at the waterfalls. That night a few different camps regrouped near Weed, about an hour from the original location, and I was finally reunited with Jeremy. I was no longer homeless! I ended up staying until Monday morning instead of Sunday, and I was really glad I did because I spent a big part of Sunday afternoon at the nearby creek, and it was beyond magical. Sunday night I spent a lot of time looking up at the sky of our tent with Jeremy, and, after we joined some friends, pointing out all the people I had crushes on. First thing Monday morning I got a ride in a Prius with two friends and made it home just in time for my first therapy appointment at the Integral Counseling Center, which is right by my house and part of my school.

What I loved the most about all of these camping trips was getting rides from and relying on friends. This is still something that’s new to me. I have always been so self-reliant and independent, always wanting to have maximum control over the where, when, what, who. It’s so refreshing to take risks and give up control. I wish I had done this a long time ago. I love my friends, and I love that the loss of my car has allowed me to connect more with friends. I feel like I am relating to people in a whole new way.