Boundaries

I have poor boundaries. It's taken a lot of self analysis to figure out why. 

 

The Most Effective Way To Get People To Share Propaganda Is To Tell Them They Aren't Supposed To See IT

We Are Anonymous. We are legion. We do not forgive. We do not forget.

This is literally one of my hands down favorite photos of all time. Taken a couple weeks after Hurricane Sandy. Kyle and I went to the Halloween store like we do every year to get more home decor and costume supplies before next year, but this time just to look. Instead of being bare and missing most of the good costumes. It was an ENTIRELY FULL costume store. The storm was on Halloween, Gram was convinced she would still be handing out candy apples over planks and puddles like the hurricane years of my youth. Good we didn't let her stay like she wanted to. We needed to buy something, we were also unemployed prior to the storm because of the economy crumbling. We were active internet activists. I had already started writing. Kyle helped me find live-streams to follow and got me screen shot capabilities and all kinds of other sources of information, like satellite images of The Island as I have always called it my entire life while no one else had power back yet but we did within 24 hours. People were out for 2 weeks. While I was on my computer circling peoples houses. Trying to figure out from the air which house is which. Finally seeing that even though it was still underwater, Grams house wasn't knocked out entirely by someone's bulk head that was the size of her house and washed up in the backyard.

So we had already made a joke song claiming to be Anonymous, while getting really into politics and trolling people online who were terrible. And these two weird goth kids, one a girl with short blue hair, wearing all black who were super nice joked up and down every single full isle and imagined being every costume left. I had never before in my life seen a full Halloween store because I always get there 2 days before. I suddenly realized that the families that open those stores must live the rest of the year on the money like people who work the boardwalk. We bought two very over priced, Thanks Capitalism, Guy Fawkes, aka revolutionary Stockholm syndrome, masks and left with a deep seated feeling of it being very wrong when you are right sometimes.

Until Next Time...

With Love,

      Jackie Lane

Another Nightmare

I had another nightmare last night. Usually I don't remember my dreams at all. For some reason Daylight Savings Time is making me remember them. Unfortunately. 

This one was about Craig. It was a short script version of our life together, I love you, I shower you with attention. When you finally cave and give me attention he screams at you how worthless you are and shits in your mouth before leaving and saying none of it ever happened and he "Can't Remember". 

For all you fun friends knowledge. He's told me flat and frankly to my face that he remembers Everything in vivid detail, much like I do with my anxiety disorder. That his mental illness is a scam to get at drugs and female counselors to abuse. I am guessing that's why he needs drugs and alcohol to numb himself.  Because he knows how he has hurt, raped, & maimed so many people. How can you live with yourself knowing you raped your wife & life partner while she was crying? That you fit the textbook definition of an abuser by making her repeatedly late for work over the years. To the point she dumped a half full beer on accident into her lap you left In The Car you had been driving while she was on her way to work. 

And not only have you repeatedly humiliated her, you told other people about these things in public situations. You make fun of and try and degrade everyone like a true sadist. But nothing made me hate you like making fun of your own wife did. Kyle would never make fun of me to other people. He loves everything about me. And saves all jokes pertaining to my insanity between the two of us, as romantic partners should. Privacy is key. Don't snitch on your spouses secrets. Like when you told me her rape trauma story without her permission & as a justification for your current level of domestic abuse. 

After you've done drugs for long enough to replace human interaction, you will eventually lose the high. So you have to move to abusing your family and lying to get the same chemical high from your body. Wouldn't it be worth it to just be good to people and respect them. If you're not so vile as to be unloved entirely, human interaction is better than heroin.

He literally has told me negative hateful shit about every single one of our friends. And he has told every single one of our old friends who talks to him and his wife, hateful shit about me. That's all he knows how to do. Kiss ass until he talks shit. Two of the men sticking by him who have both seen me in public since but now ignore my existence like I am not in the room despite my gigantic presence, he called spoiled rich brats who he used for their cars, surfboards, & money. People he described as wealthy assholes who he just hung around to take from, which is what he does to anyone no matter how little they have, so there really is no difference there other than that he Extra hates people who are better off & more successful than him. 

I've always loathed jealousy. It's such a useless emotion. Maybe because even with all my struggles I've always thought I had a beautiful life. My mom always made it so I had a beautiful life even when the men in my life have tried to destroy me for their own pleasure. 

I see things differently. 

Rose colored glasses. 

Think Pink. 

I think the worst part about being friends with them all those years. Even worse than rape trauma syndrome. Was being convinced by him that I Hated people. That I wished harm on anyone. That I believed people were all terrifying and that I needed to live in fear of them. 

All of those thoughts are the antithesis of me. 

That's how I got out. I studied my younger child-aged self and Knew deeply who I was.

I would never say other people on welfare don't deserve it, Yes I know they are mostly scum fuck drug addicts like you. I am the person who loves people anyway and believes drug addicts deserve basic levels of care and supervision so they don't accidentally die or hurt themselves or rape people, if for some reason drugs and alcohol make you incapable of rape.

I read recently that alcohol doesn't make you do worse things. It makes you do things you already wanted to do anyway but thought better of. I don't necessarily agree with the assumption then that they are things you would do anyway. Although if you kill or rape someone on purpose because you are drunk you were a murderer and a rapists to begin with. Alcohol made me sick and made it possible for me to lie, even with my OCD that doesn't allow for lying. It allowed for the detachment that was the VAST omissions and avoidance of topics with anyone I trusted that allowed for real lying.

I wonder if he's still peddling the shitty book I burned about him and one of his brothers murdering a girl who is the daughter of a cop, to those famous people who don't give a shit. Or if he actually attempted to write another. It's funny because I know actual EDITORS and PUBLISHERS of books and lit. People who actually care about putting out books and you might contact about those things. Who aren't at all "famous". Is there anything more disgusting personality trait than fame seeking? 

It's the Donald Trump method where all publicity is good publicity.

I honestly remember thinking while I was reading "Termites in the Family Tree", this is a short and pointless book. I read it in less than a few hours, it was only the length of a short novella and not a novel. For an hour of that I was at a swim lesson of Zack's. I remember thinking, this can't be the person I convinced myself I was in love with 4 years ago. He's so stupid and misogynist. This isn't the person he presented himself to me as whatsoever. I know now it's because he mimics the good men around women, like my husband, or the other women's significant others, and pretends to be like them, until he convinces you that OTHER men are the enemy. That all men are to be feared. Eventually he gets around to showing you his true colors when he can't keep the facade up and showing you he is the only man you should have feared.

I don't know why I couldn't just RUN then instead of digging so much deeper. 

When I opened my blog for the first time in months the other day I realized he's one of my only 2 followers. Not that he still uses his blog or that I even have that gmail account but it made me think that maybe it's time to start a new blog. It made me sad though to think about abandoning all the work I've done here exploring myself. I like that once you get here you can dig into my history. I wish that I could figure out the passwords to my old LiveJournals and DeadJournal and include those links as well. History is important.

So we went over two of the men who have chosen patriarchy's side, but as far as the women go. One of the women who stands by him and who I never could figure out why she would hate me but now makes perfect sense since he only has Secret friendships and she broke up with the man he convinced her to have a baby with right before I met him the time we actually became friends when my son was 3. Right around when we all became friends she convinced me and his then fiance to go out drinking with her. She brought her son into my salon so she could get her hair done by my cousin Lindsey and her son had double pink eye, which I told her and she shrugged off. I wound up getting the horrific eye infection from him since I was holding him while she got her hair done to go out that night, and he was touching my face as babies do.

If he's been saying the kinds of things he and his wife said about her to me, and that he says about everyone, to these women about me all these years. It now makes perfect sense why they don't like me. He told me that this woman who used to breast feed openly in front of him who sexualizes pregnant and nursing women all the time at his wife's grandmother's house, hit her significant other who was younger than her, at the time. I believed him. This was bullshit. 

That grown 20 something year old man he claimed was domestically abused is now a public BDSM sexual abuser and was one of the men I saw at the women's march in January after Trump's inauguration. I no longer attend protests or think the police can protect us at them. It's the men we need protecting from in the first place. Why are they armed and patrolling our marches "for protection". Benevolent sexism is still sexism. We need men free marches if we want to see change. If men respected female only spaces the way men only spaces are revered. Then we would see change.

One time while he was doing his pretend I don't exist phase, after Jack was born even though Jackie Baby's name, as he insisted on calling him in front of both his wife and myself was INSANELY triggering to both of us, I had gone to a party at their house on a Saturday & Zack left his water bottle for school there. The next day or the day after I stopped by to pick it up. I was there for about 5 minutes. While I was there my cousin was there bringing breast milk for Jack. I know that he fetishizes breast feeding in a really disgusting way, and I'm certain that if I had a husband like that, I wouldn't be able to feed my baby either. Also evidently you're not a good & crunchy enough mother if you can't breast feed because of rape trauma & you have to use formula. These are the kinds of things that are making me stop talking to people even though I really love everyone and don't care what they do. I don't care if your a sinner, I just prefer you're not a judge.

This cousin of mine who gave them breast milk she had stored, has cheated on her husband who she's been with since she was a teenager. And I have a feeling was abused by SOMEONE as a kid since we all show similar symptoms, but when I tried to vent to her & have someone, another woman, to talk to when at that point I had no one, as my literal LIFE LONGEST FRIEND. She told me to seek professional help. I have since found out who my real friends are and have support networks of women online to turn to and who don't blame women for their own suffering and abuse.

When you have mentally ill friends who have been mentally ill most of their life & definitely their entire adult life & they try and talk to & relate to you about depression & in this case men & sexual abuse. Don't tell them to talk to a professional. Mentally ill people need real friends. Maybe we wouldn't show such signs of emotional neglect if we had families that acted like families. It's honestly not even the sexual abuse that kills you, that your body has defense mechanisms for protecting you from fully remembering. After people find out, it's the having all your family & friends change. It's how many people just start pretending you don't exist, because if you exist than it is real. And if you don't exist they can keep pretending they don't know anyone who rapes. It's not the knowing a victim, everyone knows a victim or two. Unless you're to untrustworthy and misogynist no one will even tell you that has happened to them. But we all know people who have been sexually abused. No one needs to imagine that. But very very few of us, think we know a sexual abuser well. And I statistically guarantee you, that we all do.

So after months of my cousin Alexis not answering me like a friend should. She then tells me after I block her for being abusive about my mental illness through her own Facebook page by immediately signing into her husband James' Facebook page, who just received his DOCTORATE in physical therapy. And his Facebook page says that he, the most passive person I've ever met, who I really can't see jumping into a fight with me and his wife over mental health to give me a misdiagnonsense or about ANYTHING, says he thinks I have Borderline Personality Disorder. Which is a highly offensive thing to do for anyone. But Especially someone who thinks they are a doctor. You don't diagnose your friends unless they become patients somehow, and really that's considered a conflict of interest in most cases.

As someone who has studied the DSM in depth and read more than one book on it and on the history and origin of the American Psychiatric profession. I believe Borderline Personality Disorder originated as a way for male psychiatrists to diagnose their patients as having "poor boundaries" and being "irresistibly sexual". Because they, the doctor, in the position of power started an improper relationship with a patient and needed a way to diagnose the patient into the blame. In my humble fucking opinion, saying an abused woman (or male child, I have seen this in my life too) has BPD (which can also be BIPOLAR personality disorder) and medicating them into silence is the same thing as Drapetomania. Of course people in a psychiatric office because they have suffered grooming style abuse, will be more easily groomed and abused. 

As a matter of fact, when I was groomed by the last person in adulthood, I knew and was well aware of my history of abuse, but because I was still carrying it around as a secret I was still vulnerable (a few friends & my husband knew). I thought that being educated would protect me. But I didn't realize one of the people closest to me still was one of my abusers and he told me to be friends with DAn so I trusted DAn WAY too much. Nothing Really bad happened to me in that instance, but I know now it could have, I also know how humiliating it was and how it almost destroyed me to find out the truth, since my current abuser hid from me that DAn was a for real child molester and rapist. 

The desire of slaves to run free was a psychiatric disorder. Just like modern psychology is trying to blame the eating disorders, muscle spasms, & emotional meltdown screaming of rape trauma syndrome, emotional neglect & abuse, because let's face it, they all go skipping happily into the future together, on the person who was abused instead of on the people in this culture who were brainwashed into abusing them. 

A 3rd woman who hates me because of whatever the fuck Craig said all those years ago, was his first girlfriend officially. When I figured out that I had aspergers through online psychological testing and reading a lot of shit related to that, I was afraid to tell anyone that I had figured out why I wasn't good at judging that people are going to be bad to me and hurt me. Autism or aspegers if your low on the spectrum means you have an issue with processing social cues. This had suddenly explained to me a lifetime of just not "getting it". No one knows if this is from heavy metal exposure, or a life of emotional abuse and gas lighting, or a gene, those are just some theories but it doesn't matter if you're born that way or become that way through abuse. It's still a challenge when you constantly assume people are being good to you when they are not. I decided to tell this person before literally anyone else because her son was the only person I knew with an official diagnosis at that point. I thought someone whose most loved person in the world had the disorder would be someone who wouldn't hate me for admitting something obviously was off about me. I believe she accused me of making it up. Why or how anyone would Make Up the symptoms of OCD and agoraphobia is beyond me. I was this person, I researched what my symptoms were and found out what happened to me and who I was. I didn't find out about abuse, and how kids with social processing disorders are more likely to be abused and decide I was that. I discovered I was that.

She is a writer for the Asbury Park Press and basically has what my dream job would be if journalists actually covered real news and were allowed to write in their own voice instead of this manufactured falseness that makes even the worst bullshit in life sound flowery for The Papers. 

Capitalist propaganda is not really news. 

I gave her some photos and a few story ideas while we were friends, those things are free to me, I don't sell my art. She attacked me for being mentally ill and told me that it's not possible me AND her son have Aspergers cause that's a thing, once someone has a thing, no one else can figure out they have it... I really looked up to her as a person before she told me off for being autistic, whatever that means.

2 or 3 years later during the period where I talked to no one but Craig he told me that this woman, when she was a girl, was being raped by him orally (he said head, I changed it to rape since I know he's a HEAD PUSHER! and legally they were children) and her own father saw what was happening and instead of saying, My BABY CHILD TEENAGER shouldn't be subjugating themself as their first sexual act, get the fuck out of here with this teenager bullshit, he shrugged it off as normal and let it continue. As a mother, thinking of myself as a teenager from my mother's perspective, however I TRY AND SLICE IT!! What fucking father sees their child (girl OR boy) sucking dick of a disgusting already on drugs kid, and is like, that's cool. I'm not gonna say anything...

What kind of future does a daughter have when their father has treated them in such a way. It reminds me of my father saying to me "only girls who suck dick have their tongue pierced". Which lead me to getting that done as one of my first piercings and then NEVER SUCKING A DICK WITH IT! Just having it because I liked it. I feel like I am dressing and looking attractive these days for similar reasons. I may be beautiful conventionally sometimes, but if you touch me I will beat you to death with my broom stick. I'm a trap.

I hate that he has filled my head with stories of how he abused women. I wish no women were ever abused & yet I was able to forgive & love & care for & protect someone who has done the worst kinds of damage to people I consider loved ones. People I trusted with my child's care. People I wanted to be my close female friends because they have been through similar life experiences as I have. I wanted them to fight back with me. I want them to realize I was never their enemy.

I have to write about some of the stuff with the kids. My kid even. Some of the things that should have been red flags that made me "go insane" or jump ship long before I was able. But this is long and gross enough for now. I just can't wait until next year when all these memories are out already and behind me.

I just want my life back. I want my sanity back. I am just starting to feel like I have agency of my body. But I won't stop until I have my mind as well.

Until Next Time...

With Love, 
- Jackie lane

Science Fiction

If it helps to imagine I've made all this up. By all means. You wouldn't be the only one. 

The book I am reading is validating how I could have convinced myself back then that keeping these lies and not hurting everyone else even though it hurt me all the time was the right thing to do. It's not good really. That we always think we are right. That's why I keep the type of people around me who will argue with me when I'm wrong. Some of my smarter friends and wiser family has gotten me this far since I seem incapable of learning the social cues that mean someone shouldn't be trusted. 

It explains why I feel really good with the decisions I made even though they were all bad. Because now I am safe and this research proves that it is Very unhealthy for me to see them all the time. I don't know what I'm gonna feel about the house, but with the swing set gone. And the playhouse where Zack and DD played at Nanny and Pop Pop's back yard in as babies and that I was raped in when they were 9 and barely speaking to either of us. I just want it gone. I am trying to tell myself that I am fine. That this has nothing to do with me anymore. But that is really an unrealistic expectation of myself at this point because I think of myself as a cartoon character internet persona super hero and not a broken human being. I don't know if I will EVER heal from what happened and that scares the shit out of me.

But I AM and I always was the hopeless optimist getting made fun of by people like you because I believe that a world where humans care and nurture one another can exist instead of one where we expose and violate people's privacy. 

It is the suppression of the word that gives it the violence & the viciousness. Talking about things isn't violence. Violence is violence. And poverty is violence. The ways in which we talk about things or don't has the power to change them. The culture of fear has stopped us from exploring ideas to save the beach during climate change, has overlooked ways that precious metals could be used to make solar panels or hydroponic food towers or MOTHER FUCKING SPEED TRAINS BITCHES GOD DAMN IT. Is anyone listening? 

Don't threaten the ones you love. And to anyone afraid of me... I go to work. I go to local music and art shows and I Occasionally but not in TRUMPLAND really go to protests. I is trying to stay off lists these days. I am trying not to be a member. I have pretty much decided I wouldn't want to be included in any group that would have someone like me as a member. We need to start over. We dun fucked up. 

Until Next Time...
Love,
Jackie Lane

Waiting

I decided to finally type out and publish the poem that I wrote in the police station. I had already waited over 2 hours for a female officer to come help me, once she read what I had to say it took another good half and hour before they told me a female sex crimes detective wasn't available and that they only had 2 and insisted I talk to the male detective even though he shook my hand, made fun of how I looked, and dismissed me coldly. 

Here is the poem I wrote while waiting for her to come back after being the only person at that point to read the worst things I thought were crimes. Like being assaulted while screaming no or while unconsciously drunk. 

 I have aspirations of reading it in public someday or of making it a song or spoken word art but we will see. For now. This.

Waiting

Why did you wait so long?

Why didn't you say something the first time?

How can any female remember the first time being harassed?

The first time a man "unintentionally" grazed our ass?

As we walk past the graves of those before us

Was it someone who should have cared for us?

Someone who said they loved us?

Just some strange dude on the bus?

When do you know enough is never enough?

When do you stand up and call their bluff?

When do you realize they are not so tough?

You have all the stuff

You can stop them 

You can say no 

But it is something you have to be told


Until Next Time...
Love,
-Jackie Lane

"If you're not angry, you're just stupid, or you don't care."

 This is a real photo of the full moon taken yesterday. Credit: Guido Bibra

I almost never remember my dreams these days. 

I prefer not to remember them. 

It's never worth it. 

Last night I had a nightmare. I didn't even want to describe it to my husband when I told him I felt sick after I woke up. Sadists in charge of children really has me sick lately. It's very common. Men who don't hesitate to hurt women are raising another generation of human beings. They think it's their right and freedom to terrorize people into a life of constant fear. 

You are The Man, the big brother we are supposed to watch out for. 

It is literal. 

You are the imperialist if you believe in fear. 

Fear of terrorists, fear of violence, fear of Nazis, fear of rapists. 

The fear is what controls you. 

You just sit there afraid of all the things you're constantly bombarded with when the only thing to be afraid of is wasting the short precious time that human life consists of. I would like to say I'm not angry anymore. To say that being angry lets the bad guys win. But I'm honestly outraged at people's lack of anger. 

How can you know any percentage of the child population is trafficked into slavery or raped before they should be old enough to know what sex is, and not be in any way angry at that fact?

How can you know husband's hit their wives for talking to other people, or for trying to look at what secrets they hide in their phone and not be the littlest bit angry? 

How can you know indigenous people are barely respected any more these days then they were when we first started raping and murdering their people and their land? How can you know their children were stolen from them and broken to behave like "white" citizens and not be angry? 

How can you know that CEO's of major corporations are profiting off the illness and death of millions and not be angry? 

How can you know that father's rape their daughters and their daughter's die of overdose or the father dies of health problems and those fathers are lauded as loving doting pillars of their community and not be angry? 

How can you see Donald Trump as the leader of "The Free World" and not be angry? 

How can you see your rapist walking freely down the street, still never there for his family, still lying his face off to all of society and going to entirely get away with continuing to be the scumbag drunk, addicted to pain pills and sexually assaulting everyone they know, without being angry? 

How can you know that the most popular pornography on the internet is violent gonzo rape porn and not be angry? 

How can you know that a majority of the human adult male population thinks that it is somehow a turn on sexually to see women humiliated and degraded and not be angry? 

How can you know that every day women are choked and displayed like chunks of meat for auction and that society is condoning this as a potentially feminist act and not be angry? 

How can you know that society condones the subjugation of the female sex class and not be angry? 

Your pacifism is the way in which evil operates. The Fog of War. People can not see the evil right in front of them while using flowery language to explain away the current atrocities of human existence. Loss will always be. Life will never be forever.

Life is not torture. 
Life is not beauty. 
Life is what we bring into existence.
Life is what we believe.
Life is how we care for the environment that cares for us.
Life is how we call into existence everything that is.

I am genuinely concerned with the lack of care I see taking place among families. Lack of money which is just a representation of how we live, spent on hygiene & health. So much money spent on chasing youth which is not real, as time isn't linear & all life consists of a steady aging as we perceive it. We invest in comforting devices & products instead of realizing what we need is human contact. 

I always knew that is what I needed. But time & time again people have told me heaping mounds of lies to my face about what a good friend to me they were while talking shit to anyone else who will listen behind my back, or just never being there for me at all unless it helps them. 

The same people who take my money, my time, my artistry, my muse, and my strength kicked me in the face while I was down and told everyone not to trust me. But guess what, it's easy to trust someone compelled to tell the truth. So I've kept and gained a lot of wonderful friends while trying to break free of misogyny. And it's a lot easier to tell who the scum bags are these days now that I've seen what a pill or alcohol addiction can really turn someone into.

 Now I see your example in a million other faces. 

A monster groping at the light inside of everyone ripping the gentle hearts out of those entrusted to their care. 

Taking away everything that makes them feel secure until even spending time with the emotionally riddling addict is better than being entirely alone and isolated. 

Eventually you pray for the isolation anyway because even the void feels better than constant pain. 

You wish for death often. 

Being entirely alone might as well be death. 

Nothing is funny when you're always the butt of some assholes sick joke.

The fear can never fully end. Now I see men in charge of children everywhere I go. And I wonder, what the fuck is the patriarchy doing? How do we think men can watch filmed rape and torture porn in statistically significant numbers, see it in a significant amount of divorces and allow them the right to raise children? 

Anyone documented as watching gonzo and contributing to the capitalism that enslaves and rapes the female class should be hung after having a firing squad aim only at the dick & limbs, & set on fire slightly before kicking out the barrel. 

I am so proud of writing this last paragraph that I show it to Kyle immediately. 

His response was so good it's also getting included, "seems too quick."

I have somewhere I am going with this about who Should raise children and some other connecting ideas but I want to end on the seems too quick joke. When it goes on longer than this many words no one is following along and interested anymore anyway.

Until Next Time...

Love,
-Jackie Lane

Raising Lazarus from the Dead

My mom has had to work almost every single one of Zack's Halloweens except this one. So this is the first year in 11 that I get to hand out candy. Except I can't open the door because the kitten is going INSANE! So I have the lights on and my front screen door open so I can talk to people and a giant basket full of candy. It's so fun. I got to see Jack and Matilda dressed up. I don't know why she came this way. She turned at our house. I wouldn't have said anything. She could have walked past or even taken candy. I wouldn't say anything more or less than I would say to anyone else. "Happy Halloween! Take as much as you want... Have a good night." Over and over. Zack trick or treated at our old house where Sara lived a couple months after we moved out with Janet's kids, like he was used to then, it's hard to even remember now how much he missed our old life even though he loves his new one so much now and 3 years went super fast. My cousin didn't even say hello to him.  Someone who had helped me raise him since he was born and I was always working and always a screw up so Errrbody helped.

I can't pretend people don't exist. It just feels cruel. I'm not angry with them. I never was. It isn't easy knowing I am doing the right thing by never talking to them again. I feel better every day all the time. So they must as well. 

I knew I was going to write a blog post today. I have all these other experiences to get out. To get down. I feel like I am in limbo but I don't know what I am waiting for. I guess I am waiting for them to leave. There's so much more that probably hasn't spilled out. Someone asked me if I knew Joshua Fink and I said yes, I have his poetry book. I didn't read it yet. I started to but I related more to Skylar's at the time and read that chapbook multiple times. I got The Bones of Madness at Jon's Addam's memorial show at The Saint. I was supposed to go to the diner but instead I went to see some more really loud music somewhere else with myself. I could barely talk to people in June. I had to go to court in June. I was so afraid all the time. I threw up all the time from the winter to the spring even when I quit drinking. Constant fear and anxiety until I owned my own story. On some level though in my mind I am still protecting them. I haven't read my own 4 full journals from those years since we moved back here. I had forgotten about them even while they are always at the back of my mind. Until someone asked me about Fink. His poetry book is in the sparkling sequined Star Wars backpack with Zack's Pop Figures Joker and Harley Quinn key chains on the zipper pulls that has the journals in it behind my living room recliners. Nothing for me is a coincidence. Everything is part of this larger puzzle I will die trying to figure out. But really today. I skipped smoking my bowl and fell into a deep moment of zen under a giant soft pink sweater and my "cat Tea" as Zack and Kyle call it [a microwavable heating pad that smells like tea] with the cool wind from after the storm whipping through the house. 

I saw him sitting on the wood that I spent hours walking back and forth on today waiting for someone to get there, facing the other direction. Always pretending I do not exist. Which is how I would prefer it. Just pretend I don't exist in somebody else's neighborhood. I hear Alaska is really nice this time of year. 26 degrees and the runway that should be frozen is thawing. Nibbler (the kitten) finally passed the fuck out. She was RUNNING non stop from the time the trick or treating started until just now when she passed out in the chair next to me. It's dark and pretty damn cold out now so I doubt I will see too many more kids. Even the older kids don't stay out late in this world. It's a crazy thing. We wouldn't even want to go out until it was dark out when I was a kid. Only one trip right after school maybe. I always went on the Island in Lavallette at Gram's and in Toms River as a kid. Never in Lakewood when I moved there. In Island Heights weirdly in 7th and 8th grade. That's when I saw my first hairy pimply male ass. At night trick or treating in I.H. at like 13 years old. I'm sure it was a big deal at the time. Looking back I'm glad they just mooned me and I wasn't one of the girls who had to either A. See or B. Suck their little child dick's. 

I went to a Halloween costume required party. I was too afraid to wear my aggressively feminist costume. I dressed like Wednesday Addam's in honor of Jon (in my mind cause I'm weird like that) and said, "this is my costume, I'm a homicidal maniac. They look just like everyone else." Let's help Rachel Bloodgood (way to be the first person I am calling out by name in my blog for a good reason) get her hands on Jon Addam's Art and have a show for him with it. Cause when you're an artist you're never really gone, you live on in the hearts and minds of all of the people you connected with and intertwined roots with. Also being a good friend is neat.

Shout out to the friend who had to walk me to the outside, Almost to my car even though I didn't actually let him, I just hauled ass walking the well lit block to my car by myself because I INSISTED I not be afraid even though I was terrified after being leered at and then after finally deciding the inside was full of mostly drunk men looking for the last lonely drunk women to escape with FINALLY going outside to have someone yell, "it's cold out here, sweetheart!" or something equally meaningless and insane to yell at a human being from a distance and then stop and turn back and watch them from the direction they were supposed to be going. Thanks secret super strong man friend, hahaha, who I CREEPILY  lurk around when I feel unsafe in social situations at shows because I feel like you Are safe. He's not the only one. I met a pretty decent spread of "good men" on my merry travels about the art scene this year when I needed to be busy because I lived alone for a year. Sleeping with Christmas bells on my door.

If Jon hadn't died I don't know if Kyle and I would get along as well as we do. If we would have had the talks we needed to have as soon that brought us back together right away. At that point, seeing someone we knew of and their partner split prematurely was enough to make us feel the foolishness of a year apart with stark remorse of lost time.

Right as I was starting to give up on my sociopolitical life. On my quest for the end of rape culture. The #metoo hashtag exploded onto the social scene. Blazing through even the mainstream news coverage. Making old women in my salon recall the many times at jobs and in organizations they were made to feel sexualized by men in authority over them who they could only get in subtle jabs in at, if say anything at all. In a world where that pussy grabbing behavior was legal and the socially acceptable norm. Nobody ever adds that into their hipster nostalgia for the 50's. That women couldn't speak at all let alone speak up. I almost gave up and then the cult of the feminine lifted me on it's wings. Almost everyone in capitalism should be metoo-ing. We are conditioned to sell ourselves lest we be left behind. I never really understood fame seekers. I always had a hard time keeping my circle small enough that I had enough energy to go around and focus on the important people and things. I recently figured out where I fit into this world better than I knew before and it feels very good. I know I believe no ones deserves to be forgotten. I don't believe in a traditional afterlife being an atheist. But I believe that everyone we encounter leaves a little bit or a lot of themselves with us. That is very important. There is no collective consciousness without the collective.

Interestingly I don't even know if Jon would remember who I am. It's not important. He was important to someone I met at a crucial time of my life and who I really needed to meet and a lot of other people in my community who are important to me. I regret all the time I allowed someone to make me afraid. I regret all the years I wasted being depressed and allowing other people to judge who I am as a mother and as an artist. 

I've been doing amazing work lately. Humans make the best canvas. They are so beautiful and unique. I never ask people what color hair they want. I always ask what is their favorite color. What colors don't you like for some reason. The internet allows for much greater communication and creativity among the masses. Without nearly enough people having read and shared my blog and my ideas. The hair and the chalk and the things that I dreamed and put out there into the universe have come to be. I have found, or built or called to into being the community I once dreamed of. It's strange to be around people who are kind after all this time. It was strange at first to be around people who care. People who love me. People who listen. I still miss my old life every day even though I know that this new life is right. Even if I hope that feeling doesn't linger but fades quickly once I can't see them anymore in my view. 

Worse than the bodily autonomy and confidence I used to have that you stole from me is the relationships I had with others. The fact that I can never again be trusted the way I once was, even though I seemed trustworthy before I told the truth, truly empathic people always knew I wasn't. If I lost my mind to the control of a psycho once everyone thinks it can happen again. 

My cousin who used to bring her breast milk to you while your wife was at work during the day called me Borderline. Implying there is a Type of woman who deserves rape and asks for it. I'm sorry for her life and her marriage that she believes in that version of modern psychology. Her and 2 other women I know who have children similar to our children's ages have suddenly become clearly influenced by him over these past years. It makes sense because he and his wife said terrible things about these women and now I recognize them as earlier members of the cycle of abuse we all got swept up into with them. It feels good to know that the only people in life who don't like me aren't going on what I have actually been like to them in person and are instead basing their views of me on my abusers opinion. It basically feels like there is nothing not to like except for his existence in my life, and now he's fucking Long gone. 

More and more people believe me or are leaving me and that feels good. I have had people say they are sorry they didn't know, I have cried to people who seemed to genuinely care. I have had people buy me a drink who weren't trying to fuck me. I have friends that have nothing to do with any of the worst things that happened to me, who came into my life and saved me carrying around a heavy burden I do not want them to bear. I am making it my point to only bring people up from now on instead of dragging them down with my old lie.


Until Next Time...
Love,
- Jackie Lane

The Ground Hog

You know it's something I Have to say when for some reason I'm 2 paragraphs into and almost done with telling a story and for some reason blogger doesn't save it and I still am typing this out somehow again.

Last week Leo was hit by a suburban. Zack swore he couldn't hear as well but he otherwise seemed fine. Went to the vet. Got his vaccinations cause he's been outside a lot more lately since we got Nibbler the black kitten. I felt that we should be keeping him in at night because he wasn't young and agile like he used to be and was acting stupid in the road even in the daytime. But last night he went out like he always does. He's usually asleep on the porch most of the time he's outside.

This morning Zack woke up 20 minutes early and saw a ground hog in our side yard. Much like Alice he climbed down his loft bed and ran outside to see the adorable creature only to instead see our old man cat Leo had been run over right at the edge of mine and my neighbors property. Easily enough space for someone tdeclaw gone around him. I can't believe he wasn't fast enough to get away this time. This was at the opposite corner of the property from where the dead bird was.

Zack was hysterical and Kyle ran outside first. Saw Leo, and pushed me back inside. I tried to go back out but he really wouldn't let me. I'm over sensitive about normal shit. So he was mutilated. And my 11 year old saw. And I hate people who are so careless they run over animals. I can't tell you how many animals I've stopped for and swerved to avoid in my driving life but it's hundreds and it's not that fucking hard to pay attention while you're driving something that kills children or animals or old people if you don't pay
Attention. 

I ran inside and grabbed a drink of water from the counter. Looked out through the Peace Lily through the sunny eastern window and saw my abuser standing at the mailbox pretending to get the mail (he gets the mail every day as soon as it comes) and watching my hysterically crying son and very upset husband clean up Leo from the road.

I'm thankful he died nearby and we aren't left always wondering what happened to him. Nibbles is never going to be an outside cat. She's also never getting declawed.

Rest In Peace Leo.

I yelled from the door because I couldn't see the cat being blocked by the one tree in my front yard that they were being watched. But I didn't dare run outside. What impeccable timing.

Until Next Time....

Love,
Jackie Lane

The Handmaid's Tale

Last year I had a birthday party. I had a lot of nightmares last night, except I didn't wake up until 5pm so that is A Lot of nightmares. My "best friend" came and wanted to fight with my actual Best Friend over a woman who has been dead since 2010. *mind you he is married and was having a 6 year affair with me at this point... I never want to have a birthday party again. And I've had one every year for almost my entire life. I may have only missed a few when Zack was a baby and we were so broke. But I was assaulted at my birthday party last year. I told him to stop and to either join the rest of the party and leave. He told me he wanted to anally rape my best internet friend who had driven for 2.5 hours to see me. Then he tried to rape me and when I wouldn't let him he got really upset berated my friends some more. Took some beer and left walking.

Premonitions: Time Is Not Linear; This Has Already Happened

I decided for once today not to take my coffee and food To Go. I brought my laptop with the implicit purpose of writing this weeks blog post.
A friend of mine owns my favorite coffee place and it has an apartment upstairs and is a block from the Bay and the ocean. It reminds me of my family's business. Without all the personal stress.

Before I left my house I was having more anxiety than usual. I had a massive panic attack from when I left work Saturday until this morning. I still have the brain fog and embarrassment that accompanies them but I think it's over now. I kept thinking it was over yesterday and it was not.

I spend a lot of time after panic attacks obsessing over if anyone other than Kyle or my mom has heard me. I suppress them successfully around everyone I don't feel safe around now. Which is almost everyone else. I let them out when I was with the police. Hoping that my symptoms would make perfect sense as a response to what I am claiming my life has been like.

I can't remember what I wanted to start this about. I think it's about a lot of things. It started with a post on my Facebook about lesbian erasure. I lost my Facebook for 7 days a week ago for posting something positive about lesbians that used the word dyke. I then used the word dike in a negative way on my mirror Facebook page Jack Lane where I present as a male with no ban. Then retyped the post that got me banned verbatim on a page where I claim to have been born a male and say horrifically misogynist things that I have heard grown men to say about women to women, that flood my mind all the time. The things women think when they put their keys between their fingers in a parking lot at night. Things the "good men" they know have said. Our fathers, brothers, best friends, lovers. Still no Facebook ban for saying horrific shit about women, as long as I do it as Jack Lane and not Jackie Lane.

My cousin is coming home from college in August. I am not talking to anyone lately. No one makes an effort to talk to me unless they are in a crisis. I am okay with that. I want people to reach out to me when they are in pain. But I don't have anyone I consider a close friend at this point except for my husband. Everyone else seems to have a rape wall built around them since I realized what happened to me was wrong. Since I realized and opened up about the fact that what I did was wrong

I have had multiple people accuse me of not accepting responsibility for what has happened in my life. I in fact accept whole responsibility. As I expect other people to do. Most adults are just semi evolved poorly educated full sized children. We have a culture that makes reading seem uncool and learning only for a chosen elite. 


This post is about women like me. The handmaid's. The ones who see full well that we are participating in grooming and enabling the abuse of other women and keeping them also entwined in domestic violence culture.

My husband asked me what it was, what made me trust and want to be around my abusive ex friend. I was entirely isolated living with my future mother-in-law at the time. I missed my family but I also thought if I never talked to anyone ever again then I would never have to tell anyone in my family what really happened to me. Even if I committed suicide to me it was better than my parents or cousins or aunts and uncles, grandmothers who were still alive, having to live with the fact that my behavior has always made perfect sense if I was being emotionally abused by my father and then physically and emotionally abused by my step "brother". Men and women who have suffered child abuse would often rather die then talk about the things that have happened to us. We think that owning the things that have happened to us and admitting they were wrong is humiliating. We are brainwashed to believe it makes us weak as opposed to the fact that is makes the people who took advantage of power they had over another person weak.

His mom, his mom who I accused of being a pedo enabler. When I met her, she hugged me and acted like I was part of their family. Now looking back it seems like really poor desperate boundaries for a grown woman, then I just missed my mom and my own family and a more fucked up family didn't seem bothered by the little bit of fucked up I was. They were entirely unfazed and now I know it was for good reason. There are definitely levels of abuse. It's a common phrase of emotionally abusive parents to say, "oh cause you had such a bad life?" When adult children try and discuss the painful memories of our childhoods. It's dismissive.

The worse realization, the hardest thing to deal with while processing all of this new feminist literature and knowledge I've taken in, has been coming to terms with the ways in which I helped groom and abuse women. Just like his wife gave me presents and invited me to things and into the family in the beginning, I gave a flower, and other gifts to new women around us. How do we create a culture that doesn't groom women into abuse before we are even adult enough to know what that word really means?

Why does every woman I know assume they're saving anal sex for their husband. That if they do it, it will be while married. Why is that a thing?

Why do I hear women every day say, "he's always on the computer. Who knows what he's doing on there." There's a lot of internet gambling going on, which makes no sense to me, pushing fake buttons to earn fake money that quantifies nothing really because nothing has been accomplished to earn it. It didn't contribute anything to society. It's a waste of time to keep you locked into the screens and not in the streets.

But mainly it's internet porn. I don't need to argue with anyone about this. Because I've read all the statistics. I don't need to argue with anyone that we need feminism more than ever because I've seen the data on how much work we do for society vs. how much of the money we take home or are in possession of. I've seen the data on how much porn there is. I've seen the data on how many people are watching violent porn. You can not say it doesn't have an effect.

I never wanted to watch porn. I remember my mom and step dad fighting about it too much for the thought of it to have been a turn on to me mentally. I can name the 3 times I intentionally watched porn other than the pop up advertisements which were just traumatic stills of women that all computers had when we first got the internet, that are burned into the retinas of all the teenage girls I knew.

The first time I was alone in my room. It was the month I tried to kill myself because I was withdrawing from anti-depressants. I would have tried anything to make me want to live again. All my friends looked at porn. My boyfriends watched porn. My friends talked about it constantly. I looked at a few free things. It didn't serve any purpose towards masturbation really, I had never had a problem with that on my own. It's only effect was to make me feel gross and have more objectifying thoughts about women in general. But I never even experimented with it again.

I had a porn addicted boyfriend the following year and his obsession with women as sex objects cemented for me that I would never watch porn by choice. He had me watch moments of the Paris Hilton DVD that was so infamous when I was in High School but I was too prudish to have seen. All my peers had seen 2 girls 1 cup and I hadn't even seen the most mundane porn out there. I didn't watch it with him but I know he was always watching it without me, or whenever he had a moment alone. He is the only boyfriend who has coerced me into taking naked photos that he could keep and I was happy to find out years later that his computer crashed entirely because of his addiction and I hope those photos are long gone but they might not be. For all I know they are on revenge porn sites somewhere. Someone like me would never find out since I never look at porn.

The second time I intentionally watched porn was at the bachelorette party for Tess. Earlier that day I went and had my vertical labret pierced. To replace the one I had previously needed to remove, because to this day it's still promoting the rotting of my gums in the front of my bottom teeth. I had slept with Greg 3 times, I can't be sure exactly what happened because I was blacked out all the times. Each time I had drank at least 3 Long Island Iced Teas that I know of. Not to mention shots or other drinks people gave me. I got the piercing through my lip to remind me not to say anything or break down the day of the wedding. Pain. A painful reminder not to tell the truth. Plus it made me look tough. It made me not want to talk to anyone ever again. I started using the internet to talk to people a lot more.

The 3rd time, some time after my husband and I moved back next door to my parents. I still hadn't told anyone what I was recovering from. I had read all my old journals, and figured out why I have my panic disorder. Or at least that I had been abused by my brother. There were all these family videos of my siblings and cousins at my old house in the house we moved into. My abusive "best friend" Greg lived only blocks away now. He found out about my brother threatening to kill my mom and that he abused me. I felt pressure from him and Stan Bummer about my relationship to my husband not being sexual enough. Mainly my husband never abused me and never made me react porn scenes, which will get you called Vanilla by people who promote Bondage and Domination, Sadism and Masochism.

My abuser and other men constantly act like my husband is not a REAL MAN because he never wants to hurt me. He never wants to grab me when I don't want to be grabbed. He never wants me to be afraid of him. He FINALLY believes after years of trying to explain it that all females are inherently afraid of males. They are stronger. They are the perpetrators of violence. And until we live in a society where that is never the case we will remain afraid of all men even though we hope and pray to god it is #notallmen.

Will we ever live in a society where to be a grown man means to be a protector? Will we ever live in a society where only those who are children and haven't been taught properly how to be a human enact their rage upon others? Will we ever stop belittling men with the phrase "boys will be boys" and allow them to show their true colors? Allow them to show that they can be the bones of our society that we need them to be.

Feminism ain't about women. That's not who it is for. It's about a shift in consciousness that will bring an end to war. So listen all you fathers. Listen up you sons. Tell me which side are you on now? Which side are you on?

Right now we allow the unregulated internet to teach our children. We allow massive amounts of violence to happen to women and children so that men can retain their freedom to abuse. Why is it Any man's right to watch the filmed prostitution and violent degradation of women? How have they manipulated language so much through double speak that we don't even question it? Why do we think that people who enjoy to the point of sexual completion the violence enacted on women deserve to have us respect their opinion on anything?

Porn hurts.

Porn hurts the women in it.

Porn hurts the women who are in relationships with the men who watch it.

I am not even convinced it really makes men feel as good as they say. I think it might be rather humiliating to find you ejaculated to women with cum, food, or even worse feces smeared all over them. It might make you want to commit suicide.

It definitely creates a barrier between you and your real lover if you hide from them what you get off to. It definitely causes erectile dysfunction because it programs people to want graphic visual stimulation instead of physical.

Many people have sex or cum in the dark. Because sex is about feeling and being. Porn is about watching someone be humiliated because they were filmed while they had sex.

Until Next Time....

Jackie Fucking Lane

Death's Too Good For You

Some days I just wake up spinning because the same people who called the police on me being honest about all the domestic violence in my life and were watching me for 2 months, on more than one occasion thought that the police were too scary and too inappropriate to call when people were actually having violence enacted on them, across the street In My House. I'm so disgusted and I don't know why I have to wake up with these thoughts so often. It is probably because I saw him yesterday. It is because I know he is still doing this to his wife and other women. Lying and other forms of triggering their panic attacks because he has sexually assaulted them and then claimed ignorance.

Seeing all the children in the neighborhood lured to his wife's front lawn on the swing set I gave them makes me vomit when it happens. My brother also is raising children. #takechildrenawayfromrapists #maybehesnotagoodfatherfiguresincehemolestspeople
Blog post will happen today since I already wrote half of it. Haha

I spent a larger portion of the day today than I'd ever want to admit is necessary arguing with stupid assholes on the internet about their personal moral justifications for child abuse. After posting an article listing the 5 decades of conclusive evidence that spanking is just as psychologically detrimental to human development as other forms of corporeal punishment they consider more severe. But the good news is, I love any day I lose a shitty hater facebook friend because I get to post Freddie Mercury singing Another One Bites The Dust. I just so happened to tell my new friend about that on Saturday because I saw a local female singer cover it. We were both relieved and impressed to find a female fronted band. I wish that more than one member would be female. It sucks to hear someone say that a female fronted band is refreshing no matter how good they are. There are so few of them we can not compare for taste or quality because women should just be happy we hear them at all right?

Greg Foss tried to tell me we were having an open relationship. Because he knows I believe in them. I am well aware of my ability to be IN LOVE with everyone all the time. That doesn't mean I can't appreciate that there are lines you don't cross morally when you've agreed to any level of monogamy. That having agreed to any level of monogamy means you are cheating if you act on any of the positive feelings  you have towards other people. I have always known and believed in that. As a matter of fact, after befriending my husband for a few months before we started going out I regretted for a long time how open I had been with him. Everyone who kept all their secrets and demons in closets seemed to me to really have their shit together. 

Little did I know, the beauty of my husband and I's relationship is that we were truly friends and equals before we were in a romantic relationship. When we met we were not each others type and didn't have a lot of mutual friends, we just got along great and talked constantly and had a great time laughing, playing music, drinking milkshakes, & playing games whenever we were together.  Even though there was no pressure on the relationship placed on us there was from outside influences.

I had an ex who I kept having sexual encounters with before I ended that entirely and started dating my husband. But it was only about a month between when one ended and another began and when I got pregnant with my son right away I was terrified I would have been pregnant longer than I thought, like had happened to many friends, and that it was my ex's instead of my future husbands. Luckily I found out Right away. I was only 4 weeks pregnant, which is really like 2 weeks after ovulation when I knew. I was sick immediately being super over sensitive and knowing my body really well up until that point and my life wasn't ruined then. My husband and I got lucky to spend those 4 years we did just hanging out enjoying my son's childhood.

Right before my husband & I officially started "going out" a mutual friend of both of ours, who I barely knew, asked me if I was my husband's girlfriend. I wasn't and in prior experiences with men it had gone poorly if I thought a friendship would lead to more so I said no of course not. This encounter hurt my husband's feelings and mine and confused us both since labels seemed irrelevant to either of us. The man who asked me that and caused a hiccup in my relationship has raped at least 2 of the women my husband & I are mutually acquainted with. He moves away and comes back to the area occasionally and is still widely respected and beloved among our group of friends. Just like the man who raped me will remain unless I continue to come clean about how this happens.

You wanna see the correlation between abused kids and mall goth kid culture? Just look at what Corey Feldman is going through. Porn culture and child abuse is obviously influencing his decision making at this point. He's further objectifying himself AND the women he keeps in his house under contract because he exposed massive amounts of child abuse and literally no one in the media reacted at all. They just made jokes about his best friend's suicide on morning TV.  I read his book, he and Elijah Wood should be listened to. If a slew of females with massive public meltdowns isn't evidence enough, can't we listen to the men who suffer the same fate at the idol hands of executives who own their futures and their paychecks?

The week I stopped talking to "my best friend" he told me his wife was abducted and raped by a neighbor when she was the same age our children were at the time. He told me that no one believed her and that she was taught "women make these things up for attention." In my mind that would mean she would want to be free from being raped and abused by a narcissist all the time. I told her he's cheated on her with me for years, including the year I married them to one another. He's cheated on her with every single female friend he keeps around. He doesn't even know how to have another kind of relationship. He even told me he would fuck his male best friend in the ass if he would let him. 

That being said. I didn't expect when I told her about the years of sexual encounters and lying he did to her that she was going to tell me "you're making this up for attention." That's actually what she said. Oh and be nice to my husband, even though he's the one who was begging me to tell the truth all those years since our relationship and friendship even had been developed through sharing everything. We wanted to get back to that. 

We are starting to get back to that now. I feel finally that I have no more secrets. No gotchas anyone can come out later and say to me that I haven't already said myself. Someone yesterday on Facebook tried to accuse me of not taking responsibility for my actions. When in fact society is set up that it would have greatly preferred had I just never said anything at all. If I hadn't confessed the infidelity. If I hadn't told anyone that "my best friend" was really someone who grooms and rapes women and doesn't have a job or life skill or anything else to offer anyone the world wouldn't constantly be telling me to SHUT UP. 

It's weird because while I was begging Greg to tell his wife, for her sake in my mind at the time, and he was promising me he would. He was also telling me that this might happen. That that she might just FLAT OUT refuse to believe that he cheated on her for so long, so many times, with so many women. I just couldn't believe anyone could do that until she said to me verbatim the words that were said to her as a kid, "women make this up for attention" and at that point I hadn't used the word rape. That was in November and it took me until he threatened me in January to realize I had SCREAMED NO and he had anal sex with me anyway while I screamed (during the first encounter in 2016 outside their house in my car) and that was the definition of rape. I just couldn't IMAGINE it happened to me. My brain would not allow for the fact that all those years Tess and I had been in love with a rapist. Someone well aware they get off on rape which was why he constantly told me, "I'm not a good person." I always argued with him. About everything. But especially this. I loved him more than I loved myself. I tried to save his life and his family over and over again and he never once returned the favor. 

The two days leading up to telling his wife were the day before the election of Donald Trump and the day of. The night before when my tenant Larry was screaming at me and humiliating my in public. "My Best Friend" didn't even Try to stop him. He didn't say, "hey man". He didn't say "stop." He's worse than a coward. He's an opportunist. He didn't intervene whatsoever, cause he thought he could keep the band and keep the girl he had living in my house to fuck across the street. AND HE DID FROM NOVEMBER TO FEBRUARY because they had legal possession of my house and I had to take them to court to remove them because they are not respectful adults. They are user drug addict squatters who think the world OWES them something. And instead of help me since he got me into that situation and say, "Jackie is right, call the electric company and have them change the lead in line and stop cursing her out in public..."

He claimed it had nothing to do with him. He claimed he couldn't help me and I was on my own. 

So I handled things my way. I confessed to my husband and every friend I still had left who would listen the details of my life for the prior 6 years and tried to warn the people around me of how dangerous my ex friends were. I tried to talk to the women closest to him to give them a heads up but it seems as though he has already groomed them by A. the way they talk about him. B. they way they dye their hair. C. the fact that they all start dressing more childlike. That last one is the one piece of information that bothers me most. I noticed that the woman he got high and drunk and fucked after me was ALSO dressing more juvenile and "little girl" like while they were hanging out. That is the same symptom I noticed of the woman who lived in my house. Mocha Coco was using an alias on Instagram that contained the same name as Greg's younger daughter. But his was 999 and hers was 666. HOW CUTE. Also because those women were reporting every word I said back to him. Like he used to try to get me to talk to Mocha Coco  and Tess for him and see what they had to say.

Even though I know his wife is in complete denial. I just keep wishing I could tell the kids therapists which I know they still go to. I wish that the people entrusted with their medical care knew they came from a severely alcoholic and drug addicted environment and were treating them with this kind of emotional abuse in mind instead of entirely hidden, with the kids trained to hide it and accept it as normal. I wish that their therapists were aware of how emotionally abusive it is to pretend to them that none of this happened. Oh and how psychologically abusive it is to tell children, that someone who cared for them for a decade wants to hurt them. Telling the truth about the fact that their dad is a raging alcoholic with massive medical and mental problems because of it, isn't hurting them. Kids know. Especially genius kids. 

You can decide to stay with your spouse when fucked up things happen. And in fact that is sort of what makes them your spouse. My husband and I while living separate were still inextricably tied. I can imagine for people who want to entirely erase their marriage and prior life this would be an awful side effect. For us it was good because no matter how much I felt a wall between us the more lies Greg made me construct around me, we never stopped talking, we never stopped being friends even when I was being the worst friend ever to him. 

I thought I would die. Greg told me that my husband would kill me. He told me that his wife would kill me and kill him. Little did he know, she doesn't even acknowledge it's a real thing that happened to all of us. I honestly thought at the time that he would be the one who killed all of us. Being the only one obsessed with guns and actual violence.

People keep telling me I need counseling. But the internet is my counseling. I went to therapists simultaneously while blogging online actively from age 15 to age 20. The internet helped me, my counseling didn't. I stopped when I had my son and became very afraid of the brutal honesty I had grown accustomed to. Grown ups didn't know how to find my livejournal. They didn't know what a blog was. They wouldn't be bothered to take the time to read it. Now they were all on Facebook telling me to stop being who I had been on the internet since the conception of my adult self. 

While I was spilling my guts on the JLaneLove blog from 2011 to 2012 before and after Hurricane Sandy my family knew about it but didn't necessarily read what I said. Not all the way. They didn't take it in, I could tell by the way they responded to me. I was never this honest with a therapist, I can tell you that much.

My husband is afraid of this new iteration of me. Of the new blog. What will his family & friends think. Which is funny because he doesn't usually care what other people think at all of himself, he is afraid for me. Rape though. People want to blame women for that. Talking about sex at all is taboo. But this isn't just sex. It is me recovering from violence and seeing real violence, and being so close to it I could smell it and taste it. I was a sensitive person from when I was born. I have always been told so. I am still can tell on a regular basis that my crying hard is an unacceptable social behavior. I try to keep it to my mom and my husband mainly, but I can tell even they want it to be less. I keep it often to while I'm driving around. Always while I'm in the shower. I cry a lot and I always have. Greg told me that when he was gone no one was going to listen to me anymore. That no one would care that I cry about these things. I know he was wrong. 

This is my proving him wrong. Someone will care that girls are raped and abused. It can start with one. And in fact since my "Donald Trump has been elected and I officially live in a post apocalyptic society" moment, I have met many people who feel the way I do. They just feel that way more silently. But I can tell in their actions. They want to go to work and perfect their crafts, they want to make art. Small businesses are blossoming. Community centers are opening. Mobile anarcho-library-kitchens are happening. They may be a lot less specific than my art. Blogging is a most raw form of art. It's talking about your only perspective in the present moment, instead of painting something in your mind, or from the past or future. 

I got banned from my Jackie Lane Facebook page for 7 days for saying the word Dyke, in solidarity about lesbian erasure, ironically, of all things. Jack Lane on the other hand can say he likes to watch dikes making out, and that she's a shitty feminist cunt, and nobody bats an eye. I have been posting SO MUCH on Facebook since I got it back. Every time someone says they have me hidden I take it as a victory. I know that person also will come look at it all at once periodically. But the protest is that there is a RIGHT way to social media. The protest is that there is a right way to process your traumas in life. If sharing mine for other people's comfort is how I process mine, that is my prerogative. I actually would prefer if everyone would just spit it out and tell me forcefully exactly what they mean all the time at the same time they are wishing I would shut up. The other solution is to find the people you connect with and don't try and force a connection that was never there. 

I have a strange perspective. My husband and I's best friend was also the person who hurt me. But I just wish none of that was real. I wish he had just slept on our couch. I had married them. We had raised out kids together. I wish he had never lied to me. I always knew I wasn't his best friend, he's nobody friend, he's just a pile of favors. But I liked him anyway. I miss listening to he and my husband play music in my living room before any of this happened. I eventually loved him. It taught me good things about people and myself. I can find whatever light is left in anyone. I naturally want to forgive. I naturally am compelled to do the right thing. Anxiety comes from living a life you don't want to live. You don't have to. You can do whatever you want. I know it seems like you can't, like you are trapped in a small space. But it's all a choice. You can move.


Until Next Time...
Mister Jackie Fucking Lane