Tag: ptsd

  • July 7, 2003

    Date: Mon 7 Jul 2003 10:32:30 -0700 (PDT)
    From: “Caroline Ellison” <cosettecie@yahoo.com>
    Subject: A not-so “Manic Monday”
    To: “Jared Price” <maxtheape@yahoo.com>

    Jared,

    I had a great time during our chat as well; the time really went by too fast! I did have a good visit with my grandparents; though I’ve only lived an hour or so away for most of my life, they love having me ten minutes down the road, and I go several times a week to have dinner with them.

    I look forward to hearing anything you’re willing to share about Jerusalem .I think the most intriguing thing I’ve heard from other people is visiting the Western Wall; the social dynamics of how strict they are about keeping the men and women separate fascinate me. But I’ve only heard the Jewish perspective on that; How does it work with the other faiths?

    My absolute favorite song in the entire world is Josh Groban and Charlotte Church’s version of “The Prayer”… :) Their voices make an incredible combination.

    Well, I’m calling it a short day at work today; during the week I do data entry, and I just can’t stare at the computer screen to edit our database anymore! It’s pretty deserted because lots of people are still on vacation. I love my job and the fact that it’s a flexible schedule, but the downside to that is that sometimes there’s little motivation to make myself stay all day!

    I hope we can chat again soon,

    Caroline
    ____________________________________________________________________

    You know, I abandoned my Yahoo email account probably about 2007, maybe earlier than that. I’ve long wondered what fragments of thoughts might be hanging out in those old archives.

    But I don’t wonder enough to hunt down wherever Yahoo data breaches have ended up to see if anyone was willing to fish around for it for me.

    Not that interesting.

    And anyway, I have a sizable amount of my old emails printed out. For instance, the one quoted above that I sent my now husband.

    But, I figure someone out there has access to my old cosettecie@yahoo.com archives, because someone in China pinged my Google Analytics yesterday with the precise time stamp as if they were trying to access a post like this on my blog.

    So since someone was so interested, or maybe even had read it already: here it is for the rest of the world.

    There’s other interesting tidbits in my Google Analytics; lots of nonsensical links that would naturally take someone to the search field on my 404 page. Which is why my 404 page is now customized with a photo of myself in my ex Chris’s foyer, holding Muffin, the cat that I gave him at some point in probably early 2003 after she nearly destroyed some very sentimental family items and scraped up my face and hands with a scar that I still have on my left hand, in fact.

    And, actually, someone or some bot simultaneously from Coshocton, Ohio, and Lake City, Florida, looked for /7-July-2003/ on my blog earlier today, as well. In fact, the Lake City, Florida visitor remained on my 404 page for three minutes and three seconds.

    So, whoever you are, if you have access to my old cosettecie@yahoo.com archives, good for you. I’m sure there’s a lot of heartache and happiness and just general drama around in those old archives, as that was one of my college emails. I feel really bad for you if you are stuck sorting through that melodrama on behalf of anyone.

    While you’re at it, you might as well hunt down my old Hotmail archives as well, I’m sure caroline_gsu@hotmail.com archives would be a read of melodramatic young adult drama, as well.

  • Current Mood

  • two minutes late

    We were having lunch on October 20. That room-service grilled cheese was among the better grilled cheese sandwiches I have ever had in my whole life— it was a double-stacker with cheddar cheese and despite the room-service delivery, the bread was not soggy at all. Perfect temperature, too. I guess that’s what you get with luxury hotel room-service.  

    There was a client call to make. I offered to step out of the room. He said it wasn’t necessary. He called two minutes late; I had to remind him he had to make the call because we were busy talking. 

    I listened as he made the call to the client in question. They were on speakerphone, so I heard all.

    And as I sat there chomping on my grilled cheese sandwich, slightly concerned the party on the other end of the phone would hear my chomping, I sat, thinking about the absurdity of it all.

    This guy made a power play by giving client advice, right in front of me, on speakerphone. 

    He gambled that I would remain silent for the call. And, I did. 

    I did not ask questions. He offered just enough information after the call to let me figure out later exactly who he had been talking to, though. 

    It was a reckless show of pretend power by a very arrogant man with the maturity of a 11-year old boy, showing off to me.

    It reminded me of sitting in his office in the late winter or early spring of 2000, transcribing bits of his cornerstone paper.   

    It didn’t take me long to realize exactly what had happened, or exactly what it all meant.

    It didn’t take me long to realize that we had come full-circle from November 12, 1998. 

    It was later that afternon that he asked if I wanted to show him the concerning skin spot that led to my recent diagnostic mammogram and ultrasound.

    It was later that afternoon that he asked if I ever dressed up as a school girl for my husband.

    And it was about the middle of watching the movie “Uncle Buck” with him that I realized the entire situation was absurd; that he was not interested in substantively helping me with my job search or with career advice. He was not even really interested in being my friend.

    He was interested in himself. And that was pretty much it. 

    And so, I left. 

  • school-girl fantasies

    Let’s talk about school-girl fantasies.

    It’s a tired trope, isn’t it? I mean, isn’t it the most tired, boring stereotype that a lot of men fantasize about being with a school-girl in the bedroom?

    Apparently it is something alive and well, nonetheless.

    And it never, ever occurred to me, though I suppose it should have, that I have, for the entirety of my adult life, been the object of that precise fantasy. A fantasy that did actually play out in real life 27-22 years ago. 

    The realization hit me like a mild ton of bricks a couple of weeks ago. 

    It’s so boring though, isn’t it? 

    I’m going to talk about something personal here— I mean, we don’t need fantasies or games or role playing fantasies in my marriage. Just saying. That bond is just that intense, that real for us. 

    So when, recently, the person I talked about in my last post suggested that I should perhaps “dress up as a school-girl,” for my husband…. I remained silent, as I recall, and said no, when he asked if I ever do that. 

    Because I don’t. The honest truth is, I absolutely 100% do not have to. 

    Of course, it was none of his business, but that was beside the point. I knew that too, and I know harassment when I see it. I may not have known it 27 years ago at 18 years old, but at 46 years old I 100% do now.

    And I recently have actually started wearing my hair in pigtails, actually, at 46 years old.

    And I realize I do look slightly younger than my age anyway.

    And I realize too that even though the pigtails are legitimately the best way (and most comfortable way)  to put my hair up at its current length:

    I am aware of the stereotype that hairstyle, especially at my age, feeds into. 

    sigh

    Except when I was an actual college student, I ignored the possibility that I was being objectified.

    I was so desperate for positive male attention. I was so very desperate to escape the emotionally manipulative relationship I had been in for so many years at that time that, to be honest: my standards were not high. I was attracted to what I read as confidence at the time, that I so clearly see now was exhibitionist narcissism. 

    And that’s the honest truth of how I let myself become objectified for so many years: I wanted to only be with one person sexually forever, and it happens that something unfortunate happened and I latched onto someone who objectified me. 

    And it’s true that that happened to me at age 19 while I was in the midst of a psychotic episode. 

    And for years, after I realized the truth of that situation in 2010, I really and truly thought I was the defective one.

    But that is clearly not the case, in so many ways.

    I was ill but I was in no way defective. 

    My character was not defective. Still isn’t. 

    Except now I am 46 years old. And I pay close attention to what happens around me. Especially when intimate details regarding my marriage are questioned, except it’s funny because actually, my particular husband would 100% find that particular old school-girl trope completely repulsive. 

    Because he has no perverted tendencies at all; my Jared is the real deal for sure. 

    And, you know what? I didn’t actually wear my hair in pigtails when I was in high school or college. I was much more likely to go for a french braid. 

    So, I am going to wear my pigtails, at age 46.

    And I am going to hold my head high, knowing that I stuck up for that college-aged version of myself that didn’t know she needed to be protected. 

    And I am going to write my stories, and I am going to continue to get stronger and stronger. Because I am no longer afraid; I realize I was never the one that was defective; and I am on a rampage of telling my truth.