HELP YOURSELF

That’s what I learned today. Again. I asked for help without success from two loved ones. Oily black despair poured over my brain, which absorbed it like a sponge. A hollowness unlike hunger, more a lack of oxygen, allowed a shadowy fear to bounce from wall to wall. I craved a heart attack, massive stroke, to be shot, run over, anything to end this ages-old pain. After I found witnesses to watch me sign a simple last will and testament and left my keys with J, of course. I can’t seem to hold onto love or like for myself; I’d self-flagelate in a special cat owner purgatory if I failed to provide a loving home for my stooges.

And yet I ate lunch. I paid my state taxes–four digit number (plus $45 “service fee;” there’s a special level of hell for that company’s head honchos, too) via phone, wrote a payment plan check for my federal tax return–another four digit number, and mailed both sets of forms as I set out for Starbucks. Yes, Starbucks. Screw the boycott, though I did send them another complaint a few days ago–yes, while sitting in the damn place. I needed nice music and friendly faces.

Then because I was devoid of hope or light, I wrote the county hospital administration and the two men running for Governor and Lt. Governor about the deplorable conditions in the mental health facility (the psych ward) there and again urged them to switch to a plant-based menu. I told them I’d had enough of the denial, misinformation, lack of information or care concerning the best foods to feed physically and/or mentally ill patients. All patients, actually.

And while Marc Bekoff, whose book, Why Dogs Hump and Bees Get Depressed, I just finished reading, insists humans are innately good, empathetic beings, I disagree. 99% of Americans eat animals when a large number of them know it’s unhealthy, causes billions of animals’ unnecessary deaths, and contributes to the destruction of the planet they’re leaving their children.

I find the excuses lame and selfish, lacking a foundation of truth on which to stand. I don’t live this way for myself. I live this way for all beings, including you and your children, and our planet. Why and for whom do you live the way you do?

YOU KNOW ME SO WELL

Let me preface this by reminding you I have had sex twice in well over a decade. Allow that to sink in for a moment.

For those who’ve just joined us, this sad record is a result of decaying illnesses and marriage. Don’t believe the Seinfeld “Master of My Domain” episode, where Elaine has to put in $200 to the guys’ $100 bet on how long they could go without masturbating. That pissed me off, men assuming women don’t crave, dream about, talk about, write and think incessantly about, and miss sex terribly. It’s a myth. A part of me is starving. Imagine not being touched or touching in an intimate, desirous way for over ten years. It physically hurts.

The “Men: What are They Good For?” post was written while riding a tide of sexual and cerebral frustration. Bitter. Envy, parched, angry, too, after a rough couple of weeks with men in hindsight or the present, the last being my rheumatologist on Friday. Know how to piss off your doctor? Point out he was wrong about three things. Not as fun as it sounds ’cause you trust them to be right. Goodbyes said, I sat waiting to have blood drawn, my confidence in him shaken even as I congratulated myself on standing my ground.

The “Men” post poured forth when this wave of emotions reached almost orgasmic heights. Over ten years, people. Doesn’t take much. And one comment. I don’t write for comments, but…one comment, about my use of “fucking.”

Thank fuck (oops) for my oldest friend in the world. Her text after reading “Men”:

L: “He (Peter Dinklage) is awesome! I loved The Station Agent. So what guy pissed you off this week? Whoever it is he ain’t worth it sister. And I know u know there are some fine gentlemen out there but well if you are tired of all men you could always experiment on the other side…At least they’d be familiar with the g-spot. Lol. Love u!

Me: You know me so well. It’s actually been an amalgamation of men ending with my rheumie doctor who I saw the day I wrote that post. Plus I truly want to shine a light on the stigma that those with mental illness, chronic illness, and apparently dentures–who are open and getting treatment and taking great care of their bodies and minds-don’t deserve to be thought of as sexual and desirable beings. See the photo of the hot chick amputee jogging on the beach? Got several likes for that. Say you have dentures or RA or mental illness…but esp. dentures it seems and nothing. Not one like or WAY TO GO! etc. No legs below the knee-fine. Fake teeth-gross and you must’ve done something to deserve it. You’re a peach and I love ya…

L: People are ignorant, L. It is like blaming me for B having food allergies- it is in her genes. Your RA and genes are the cause of you losing your teeth. Anyone who says otherwise can bend backwards and French kiss their ass. And shit there is way too much judgment going on in our society. We can be so hypocritical. Who of us does not bestow a flaw in character or imperfection in acceptable beauty. Embrace true beauty!

I’m trying, L. I am.

WHAT I DO IS WRONG

WHAT I DO IS WRONG

“What I do is wrong, in spite of its acceptance by nearly 95 percent of the American population. I know it in my bones — even if I cannot yet act on it. Someday it must stop. Somehow we need to become the sort of beings who can see what we are doing when we look head on, the sort of beings who don’t weave dark, damning shrouds to sustain, with acceptance and celebration, the grossly unethical. Deeper, much deeper, we have an obligation to eat otherwise.

It might take incalculable generations of being hooked by and grappling with the ethics of slaughter to get there. But we really do need to get there — because again, what I am doing, what we are doing, is wrong, even terribly so.”

We Animals

We Animals

“Drawn from many photos taken over 15 years, We Animals illustrates and investigates animals in the human environment: whether they’re being used for food, fashion and entertainment, or research, or are being rescued to spend their remaining years in sanctuaries. Award-winning photojournalist and animal advocate Jo-Anne McArthur provides a valuable lesson about our treatment of animals, makes animal industries visible and accountable, and widens our circle of compassion to include all sentient beings.”

Peace on Earth, Good Will Towards All

The Ghosts in Our Machine

The Ghosts in Our Machine

Passionate Compassion Tuesday:

“With the exception of our companion animals and a few wild and stray species within our urban environments, we experience animals daily as the food, clothing, animal tested goods and entertainment we make of them.

This moral dilemma is often hidden from our view.”