Element Amenities

A weird, evolving website inspired by addiction and recovery.

37

37

Here we goooooo…. I’m putting my Brandy stories back up. I’ve been thinking about it. They are my artistic expression, they may be weird or hot or fucking whatever…its really a story about me for me you know? Yes, there are people in the characters, but it’s not a true story. It’s more about me ignoring the actual thing that happened and channeling it into something else that came out. I didn’t even think about what I was writing, I maybe read it twice after I posted it. I do that when I write something I know is gonna fucking hurt someone. I write it not to hurt others, but to clear the stuff that’s stuck in my head. I also know that the pen is mightier than the sword.

Reckless, ahhh new person, same old mistakes. 

I was in a bad place for a long time, (obviously..thinking of myself as a hooker) and thinking about men who have … I don’t want to say saved, (cause holy fuck, really? did it have to go down like that?)  but yes, saved me, from myself.  So that’s what it’s about, not the actual shower scene or the fact that he had no teeth…or being with someone who Brandy knew was safe and wouldn’t or couldn’t have sex with her.

Welcome to my fucked up head. Jesters bow.

Manitoba

Manitoba

So for this past week has been so amazing. It feels a little like home here. People are surprised when I tell them I have never been on a Reserve before. I have always wanted to see this so I am really happy to be able to come here and explore. I have met a medicinal healer and the stories she told me were incredible. I heard pow wow, saw beautiful traditional dresses, I met the band member who helped draw the maps. I have met so many cool people.

It’s the weather and the flatness of it, and the people. The Canadian Shield…honestly, I feel really privileged to be here.

Night Time

Night Time

Night time. The time when I think too much….inside my head some crazy, crazy stuff. Daytime I feel good, distracted, doing very fun stuff, like driving and hiking around. These days I let myself go there and replay the memory, to take away its power.

After that fucking, crazy creative writing thing I had going on with Brandy and her dude. I mean, I had no idea the experience I had was going to bring up so many more visual things, memories, and questions to myself. Like how long have I been reckless with my physical self, not actually caring for the whole thing, mind, and body?  I’m reflecting on what happens when you tell yourself, you’re a bad person for a long time. You treat yourself like shit.

Instead of re-fucking traumatizing myself in my head of memories, I think of my good ones. And I write. It’s kinda like having a nice crisp glass of Pinot Gri,  in an expensive glass. This is better though, it’s cleansing my fucking soul. Now if I hear his accent in my head I tell it to fuck off. I mean I am actually saying it out loud. Grreat, now I’m gonna really look crazy. I do it for two reasons, one because it works, and two it gives me back my power. It was the tactile part that threw me. Love is supposed to feel gentle and kind. And comes from a place deep inside. He didn’t have that.

I am very tactile. I love feeling fabrics, and textures. When I lived in London, I used to go to Liberties on Regent St. just to feel the fabrics. They have a spectacular fabric department. The building itself is styled after the Tudor era. Very cool. As I run my hand down the thin motel bedspread and gaze at the 70’s wood-paneled wall, I’m in a very rural part of Manitoba, not many options. This motel is giving me some good creepy creative vibes. I love it. I can picture it in the winter,  a mist monster in our world piled high with snow. That’s just what it looks like. You can tell it’s built for a hard winter, the potholes are insane. The buildings are squat, with small windows so warm air can’t escape in the -40 below it reaches. And you can smell it, I just walked outside to smoke and I smelled that familiar winter is coming smell. 

 

  

Tea

Tea

Processing a lot over the past few weeks has made me realize, I have some pretty dark places. NOT hiding from it either. I have so many funny characters cheering for me in my mind.

Ok, here is the story where I am going to live up to my self labeled name – dry cat lady, Jackie has been bugging me to write this for a while.

I have two cats, one is a 10-year-old small but mighty, blue point designer Siamese.
The other is a massive, white rescue from the pound in Ontario. Yes, my cats are the one thing consistently in my life. They bring me joy, first of all, they are actually hilarious, and second, they are a good pet for people who work a lot. Which I used to always.

I call my house Cat Castle because of these two, they rule me and are a tough team to beat. Especially when they team up. Bae Nut is devious and Mr.P is the king of my cat castle. I am the caretaker.

It’s a constant battle of wills between the castle caretaker, and the spoiled royal brats. Their main objective at the Castle is to trick the caretaker (and anyone who enters), so they can fly out an open door to freedom.
The royal brats love escaping and have escaped as a team, and solo. The caretaker is convinced they plot and scheme, after all, those brats can get over any fence the caretaker has ever built for them… She even had to bring expert help from maintenance to add scare tactics. Big long white danglers and ominous dark black bars. Escaping Cat Castle is difficult and quite dangerous.
Mr.P has his own poop “moat” on the inside of the gate, which he works on morning, noon and night. There he stands guard until the rest of the castle is up and about. He is very good at keeping away night creatures that lurk on the outskirts of the Castle at dawn, waiting for their chance to steal his heavily guarded magic fountain. You see, Mr. P has one thing that he must protect at all costs, his magic fountain. It brings soaring treats of delicious fowl, of all colors and sizes. A stalk, a chase, and a kill is the only way his kingdom can rest. Bae watches the entertainment very closely from whichever perch suits her fancy, so she can get all the information she will need for her world domination. P faces terrifying obstacles, the dreaded green water bottle, and the booby-trapped gate. The caretaker wields the bottle with the precision of “le porteur de lepee” and the fence is a love-hate, so tempting but also dangerous. Long ghost-like fingers, sway and howl in the wind, and the spikes, they have jagged edges and are hard to navigate. he has encountered them before and was rescued by the caretaker, luckily, as he may have missed eleven-zies! He made another daring dash for it the other night, and those damn spikes almost got him again, and he had to return with just his foot bottom slit. Poor Mr.P.

Bits and Pieces

Bits and Pieces

I know… this is another fucking sad story, but that’s the point for me. My life has actually turned around since I stopped drinking, and I’ve been thinking about how I am going to continue to stay sober. That’s the only thing I am doing differently, thinking about what will help me stay sober. And this is my AA. So if you’re reading this, you care, and thank you, If you’re reading this and you don’t care, well… you do you. I’m gonna do me.

I have a lot of guilt about what happened in my relationship with Rae. I just wonder, what kind of headspace is someone in when it happens. I mean, what was I actually giving off in terms of energy. Now that sounds ridiculous, I know, but it crosses my mind all the time. Was it my fault? Did it really happen the way I remember it? How can someone who I choose to share my life with, for 9 years be so fucking cruel? And it felt so violent. Is my judgment that bad?? No, well yes..maybe. See? Ha… everyone tells me it’s not my fault, and on a conscious level, I know.

I still hear his voice in my head, (it’s been three years) and of things he would say, pet names he called me. I think of how we met, and how persistent he was to win me over and to keep me. It’s hard to think of the good things actually, I haven’t had a kind thought towards him since. I mean the last 6 months were bad, with a lot of drinking. Around this time I was starting to experiment with hard drugs 😕. And I was partying, and not easy. I was a right cunt to him a couple of times. And I talked shit about him behind his back. I don’t know man, I don’t want to give him too much air time. Because he would love it, and it hurts.

This is being processed in bits and pieces. Uggggh I don’t know what’s going to come out and how. Anyway yeah.
Sunshine and 🍭

Weird things are coming up for me, like first the sex then the intimacy, and the safety.
Because there were times when he physically, and mentally cared for me and was gentle. And I remember the three hairs on his left shoulder that I used to love. I was thinking about the self-care in this sober life I choose. I don’t know what else to call it. I mean I exercise every day because I know that’s one of the ways I stay sober. I really try to live in the present. That keeps me sober. I think I have always done things in the moment, but not always in the present if that makes sense 🤔.
I swear to God I always do everything backward…dyslexia or self-sabotage? lol
Cognitive confusion. That’s a good name for a band.

Peace in the Valley

Peace in the Valley

So this feels weird blogging from my work trip, but it’s fine. I have downtime and I have hours that I work. I’m disciplined about my time management. Hairdresser skill. This trip feels good for me. It’s like this magical loop opened up when I sobered up. I love traveling solo. We have a team here, but it’s mostly solo work. I am kinda worried that I will never want to fully immerse myself into regular society again… I actually enjoy my own company. And other people too, for a limit. I just don’t know how to regulate my energy sometimes. So writing on my downtime is necessary. Helps keep me sane.

This trip really is a bit like pressing reset. I had a blast today. I drove all up and around, Peace River. What a beautiful piece of Canada. Huge blue sky, fields, and valleys of a million colors of green. It really is god’s country. The only other drivers on the road were large work vehicles. And the occasional large pick-up with a Farmer. None of the nav worked consistently so it was a paper map and occasional bursts of internet. It was pretty cool. I haven’t seen anything like it before in my life. Got lost a few times, found super kind people. Fort St John doesn’t quite have the same beauty as where I was today. It’s a hard-working town, that’s for sure.

I’m not sure where I will be exploring tomorrow, I don’t mind either way. I love the adventure.