I posted this on December 7, 2022, according to WordPress, now JetPack. Except, only as a draft it seems. Then again two months later, with the Hello section added below. But that was just a draft, too?! Ahh!
My Blue Room by DÅL|é
Hello, DÅL|é !
Some time in the early months of year two of the pandemic (you know the one), I gave myself the gift of a lifetime membership to a photo editing and drawing app. I then decided to sign my artwork with a representation of my grandmother’s nickname for me when I was a kid, “Dolly.” (She was the only one who could get away with calling me that, so don’t even think about it!) My initials are DAL — A for Anna, after my German (other) grandmother, pronounced with schwas coming and going. I drew my new art signature first and discovered it has a tail. In written/typed form, the tail became an e. I added diacritics and a line for visual effect. And because one of my favorite artists, Salvador Dalí, would have approved. Thus, DÅL|é.
Maybe 18 months later, my photo artsy app rolled out a new feature, free for us lifers: DALL-E*, the user-friendly, AI-driven digital image generator. Having given it a test drive, I do not call it an art creator. Many of the images are indeed entertaining, some hilarious, some surreal … depending on the prompts of the user. Most images are astounding in their intricacies and precision! All are well done. Indeed, they are perfect. There are no happy accidents. No mysteries. No hidden agendas. No inconsistencies. No je ne sais quoi. So, no relation whatsoever to Dalí! Nor to DÅL|é!
That, my lovelies, the side by side development of DÅL|é and DALL-E, is a real-life coincidence, an example of convergent evolution of names for tangentially related things. Only significant connection is from my perspective.
OpenAI, please, don’t sue me!
*Just like WALL-E, but without all that soul! (Or Disneyfied fatphobia.) Or how most folks mispronounce Dalí (yeah, I said it); again, without all that soul! And mustache wax!
Yes, it's my birthday And I'll freak the fuck out if I want to
There is a grace period, a profound relief After telling the pros the depths of one’s despair And receiving sincere care, retaining agency It’s almost euphoric by contrast
Yet, it is brief, this grace period It does not bridge the gap From when the dosage was increased To when the drug takes effect
And so it is the Year of the Rabbit Good fortune for all but those of the long-eared sign Cultural appropriation the (in)sincerest form of flattery? Or just plain common?
No one asks me what I want Even now they think I like surprises Once arranged, I'm given my part to play I’ll do my job and not let my loved ones down
I should count among my loved ones Yes, yes, I should
She lived 60 years, 322 days, officially 321 days if you forgot 2004 was a leap year My mother outlived hers and the others Will I outlive her?
I am trying I am working on it I am always working on it I am so very, very tired
We had rabbits for 25 years Their pandemic hit here first 2019 was not a leap year I can not raise rabbits again
And all the death that followed And all that came before
We regret to inform you That the recipient of your birthday wishes May not be able to fulfill The “happy” aspect of your heartfelt missive
Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness.
Oscar Wilde (obv!)
That last part has long been a challenge, but after 3 years of pandemic and being a burden, leaving the house is getting harder and harder!Here’s looking at you, kid!
CONTENT NOTE: Essentially, all the warnings and alerts for readers, especially those who feel they are in a precarious emotional and/or mental state. Bookmark this for later. Or never. Whenever is best for you. In this multi-part post I address various forms of domestic violence and reference other forms of violence. I get personal. I do not write about any abuses in graphic detail, but oftentimes the muted, even mundane details can be the most triggering. And I write about some lasting effects, including mental health/illness crises and self-harm. Take care of yourselves and thank you for reading.
Part III. When Barry Met Sally
Somewhere in all this, the titanium-hipped hubster and I binged the latest/third season of Barry on HBO. ⚠️ENTIRELY RELEVANT SPOILERS AHEAD. ⚠️Also, FAIR WARNING TO FAMILY: I’ll be talking about You Know Who. Continuation of Part II. Dis Closure
Barry started as a dark comedy. The title character is a charming if not too bright antihero, a veteran (with PTSD, it seems, maybe) turned assassin for hire hiding in plain sight. He’s in a relationship with Sally, a survivor of domestic violence. In season 3 Sally is helming her own TV show about domestic violence. She seems to enjoy being busy and in charge. She’s often sincere and caring. She’s also dismissive and manipulative with staff/friends, Barry. She’s all over the map emotionally and clearly in denial about her progress regarding her past — and her present relationship with Barry. It’s a brilliant portrayal of a survivor of abuse grappling with success and failure and other people’s perceptions of the realities and marketability of victimhood.
The Emmy goes to …
It’s a short season of half-hour episodes, but they pack a wallop (pun originally not intended and then I decided to let it stand), so abuse survivors beware. That Barry is a violent man and not the safe haven Sally chooses to believe and present to others is revealed to her workmates in a heart-pounding scene of verbal ferocity. In the scene Barry does not hit Sally or anyone else. He does not produce a weapon. He does not throw objects. He arrives at Sally’s work unexpectedly, wanting a favor from Sally. He will not take no for an answer. He will not leave. He does not care that he is interrupting her meeting and stalling the entire production. He gets angrier and angrier, his verbal assault reaching a terrifying apex with Sally against a wall, Barry towering over her, his face spewing invective just centimeters from hers. It’s a wire-walking feat of cinematic accuracy in portraying a type of violence and intimidation that leaves no visible mark, but feels as if it should.
The Emmy goes to …
Hard as it was for me to watch, I deeply appreciate this spot-on portrayal of a violent man perpetrating a type of abuse that so many of us experience and do not know how to name or document. Barry finally storms out and Sally goes to her meeting, newly clothed in denial. The three witnesses bounce around the unseen devastation left in their wake. That was bad, right? We should report it. But … Denial, dismissal, and fear compete with naming the abuse, honoring feelings, taking action. They default to inaction and disperse, traumatized and confused.
(Hopefully welcome spoiler alert: One of the witnesses does eventually confront Sally with the truth.)
Just take all the Emmys already!
This sunflower is not big enough for the two of them!
So many times my father was that screaming assaulter. Although he would go off on service personnel when he felt slighted, his favorite victims were family, especially, in my limited childhood experience, my mother, his mother, me, and my sister (all but me long deceased). (Not to minimize the harm he inflicted on his siblings and others which I did not often witness.)
None of us ever knew when my father’s tirades would erupt or end. Or when he would lash out physically: slamming a door, throwing a paperweight, pressing a fork into flesh just to see the imprint fade away. One good, hard slap. Or sometimes two. An occasional reminder that he could back up those incessant threats whenever he so chose. We knew he was capable of much worse.
But according to him, never. Never ever. He was a very good father. A great father to me under the circumstances, really. He did nothing wrong. All blame lies solely with my mother, the witch who divorced him and took me away. He was blameless.
He was the victim.
When it rains here in Burque, our turtles dine on their very favorite: escargot! Photo by Jeff Hartzer @abqonscene
Admittedly, he sounds much more like real-life Johnny Depp than fictional Barry. (Sounded, that is. 7th anniversary of his passing coming up in January/Tevet.)* Unlike my father and Depp, Barry is aware he’s done bad things. Criminal acts. But he’s not all that self-aware or all that smart, which is part of his antihero charm. Barry’s a contemporary, land-lubber Jack Sparrow without the stench of rum and dead pirates.
This spoiler-laden article sums up the momentous shift in this latest season of Barry, “Season 3 rebuffs this audience instinct [to roo t for Barry despite his mounting body count]. Barry descended from a bumbling anti-hero to full-fledged villain by threatening the two people he claims to love.” According to the article, the show also demonstrates how Barry “equat[es] violent acts with love” and is “driven by animalistic fear for his life and what might come next—not true remorse or a desire to actually earn forgiveness.”
Why would someone like Barry or my father or Johnny Depp need to seek forgiveness when in their minds they’ve done nothing wrong? When — from their perspective — just the accusation is yet one more insulting campaign against their entitlements, which have been ridiculously threatened and denied repeatedly, instead of honored with gratitude?
[Digression number (oh, I don’t rightly know at this point) … This may well remind some or all of you of a certain plate- and invective-hurling American political figure, who I choose not to name here and now. And wouldn’t you know it, those who vociferously defend That Guy, are all-in Depp supporters — and were from the very start.]
And hereabouts is where I’ve been stuck. I was going to cite some of Depp’s tirades, which include threats, insults, absolutist demands, with violent gestures, such as slamming cabinet doors,** and consumption of alcohol and/or drugs. But you, my dear readers, don’t need to read his ugliness here. How the jury believed this man was only defending himself, was not really violent; you know, not like that — not abusive! Well, I have ideas I’ll address in Part 4.
Instead I’ll posit that angry, violent people create a pervasive atmosphere of fear and intimidation around themselves. Without effective intervention they do not tend to be pull back on their own and look inside. Those whose language is replete with self-aggrandizement and control are not naturally given to introspection.
September brings lesser goldfinches hanging upside down as they feed on our sunflowers. Distinctive song. Hard to photograph. Love them!
I do feel very sad for Depp’s children, who apparently testified that Depp was a terrific father whose years of significant substance abuse and multiple trips to rehab did not adversely affect them. Depp asserted the only person who suffered because of his substance abuse was him and a number of witnesses appeared to corroborate.
While I’m not a big fan of Alcoholics Anonymous for reasons well articulated in this 2015 Atlantic article, that organization along with most if not all others would find Depp’s idea laughable. Whether or not alcoholism/addiction is a progressive disease, it generally fits the model of a serious, ongoing disease, and thus necessarily affects those in the user’s milieu, like ripples expanding outward from a pebble tossed in a still pond. The closer to the center, the greater the impact. Not all substance abusers are angry and/or violent, of course. Some when using are morose or reckless or hypersexual or suicidal or … But one thing they are not is present. Under the influence, they are unavailable as engaged parents, partners, friends, or colleagues — as they might otherwise be when clean and sober. Not that they don’t want to be. Many a person with an addiction wants nothing less than to hurt anyone. (Except maybe themselves.) But it’s just not possible; it’s a big part of what it means to be “impaired.”
2000 miles away from my father, I lived most of my childhood with my mother, Aunt Lore, and Uncle Tom. They were remarkable people with traumatic pasts and admirable resiliency. Among other things, the sisters had both depression and alcoholism in common. Neither ever found or could commit to appropriate, effective treatment for either disease. There were times when I resented each for not trying harder. But I know, too, that medicine and society did them no favors.
Some time in the future I will write about the trio who raised me. Suffice it to say, being adversely affected by a loved one’s substance abuse does not preclude loving that person. Denial of the problem is not a winning strategy — except in the case of this trial, it seems. I guess, I hope Johnny Depp’s kids are getting paid very well for their “good father” testimony instead of … something more controlling.
Coming up … Part IV. Backlash and The Antihero Fantasy
Yes, this is what I do with my time! @Clusterduck
*Yup, took me this long after his death to get here. Even so, my heart is pounding hard in my chest as I write honestly about him for a public site. Sometimes, I feel dread is physically embedded in my tissues, comparable to how toxins are in the cells of those living near Superfund sites.
**At one point in the trial Depp was shown in a drunken rage slamming kitchen cabinet doors. He bemusedly admitted to “assaulting a couple cabinets” and the audience/jury/courtroom murmgured in delight. But this was not an inconsequential display. Depp was not alone; he was railing at his then-wife Heard. Had the jury considered Amber Heard’s point of view, they might have sensed the intimidation. I’ve slammed a door in anger a couple times and instantly regretted each. Because I saw the fright in others. Which was not my intent. Or was it? Scheiße! Was definitely not my primary goal, but, yeah, there was a little of that desire to intimidate, to reflexively reassert my perceived loss of status. Damn! Gotta bring that up in therapy!
CONTENT NOTE: Essentially, all the warnings and alerts for readers, especially those who feel they are in a precarious emotional and/or mental state. Bookmark this for later. Or never. Whenever is best for you. In this multi-part post I address various forms of domestic violence and reference other forms of violence. I get personal. I do not write about any abuses in graphic detail, but oftentimes the muted, even mundane details can be the most triggering. And I write about some lasting effects, including mental health/illness crises and self-harm. Take care of yourselves and thank you for reading.
Part II. Dis Closure … a MyGoodWolf exclusive
This time it’s personal! As in, truly personal history. Note cautions above. (Was not easy to post this.)* Continuation of Part I. Did you hear what I Heard?
I am a survivor several times over. Meaning I’ve endured multiple traumas and lived to generally not tell the tale, except in therapy. (And even then …) I have hinted at my trauma history here and there in this erratic blog and some people know bits and pieces of my history, but very few know the whole picture. Those who do are my husband and a couple psychotherapists. So yeah, I can keep a secret! Almost as well as those who took certain information to their graves. My PTSD (post-traumatic stress disorder) has surged to crisis levels more than once these past few/several years, most recently over the roughly 6-month period this last November-April.
This is not a digression.
Here’s a listing for the first time all in one place. You’ve been cautioned. Not all on this list are traumas in and of themselves, but contribute to an overall environment of instability. Some stuff listed below may be the result of trauma. Some … just needed to be on the list.
◦ I’m the child of parents and a guardian with largely untreated mental illnesses. (My mother was also a victim of malpractice in this regard.)
◦ I’m the child of parents with likewise untreated eating disorders.
◦ I’m the child of a parent and a guardian with debilitating and on a few occasions life-threatening alcoholism. (Also untreated/under-treated)
◦ I’m the child of domestic and sexual violence. I was witness to and subject of these abuses, perpetrated both in person and from afar. Our abuser had a diverse portfolio of tactics. Abuse enabled in part through legal and medical systems.
◦ I was the victim of a sexually and emotionally abusive teenage relationship.
◦ I grew up in an economically depressed area with an undertow of racism, ableism, anti-Semitism, and stark classism. Sometimes, I was the target of prejudice. More often I was witness to bigotry directed at people I liked and folks I loved.
◦ I was a victim of sexual harassment before I knew what to call it. Colored my education, from junior high through college, with the worst offenders being teachers and professors. During my dance career, I also experienced harassment from strangers disguised as fans.
◦ I’m a survivor of suicide loss several times over. Most notably, my mother died by suicide. And a couple mentors. A colleague. The list goes on … surpassing numbers of loved ones who died due to AIDS.
◦ I am mentally ill. Clini D,** bad nerves, and shell shock; i.e., Clinical Depression, Generalized Anxiety, and PTSD. I’ve “entertained” suicidal thoughts more than a few times throughout my 59 years. In therapy/treatment for last 40 years and counting.
◦ I’m a recovered bulimarectic. (Yes, autocorrect, that’s the proper term for a person with bulimarexia, so stop already!) I do still suffer from body dysmorphia. In between is my self-harm … thang. Manifested in different ways. (Mostly past tense. Working on it.)
◦ I’ve lied more often than I care to admit. Usually to keep “secrets” related to the above, at the behest of others, stated or implied, and out of a terror I often could not name. I tend to get caught in other kinds of lies. Except, of course, lies to myself.
◦ I’ve worked with and for victims/survivors of sexual and domestic violence in various settings for half my life now. Somewhat diverse group of adults and teenagers, though majority were female and white. I am an advocate/ally/activist for survivors, doing what I can, when I can, now from my altered reality of early retirement due to disability.
◦ I have no children. I have had no children. I have had 3 miscarriages, an oophorectomy, and a complete hysterectomy (entire uterus, cervix and all). One-ovary menopause was awful! I don’t recommend it.
◦ I’ve literally survived a few near-fatal asthma attacks and one burst appendix yearning to be free! Thank you, AMA medicine! I’ve also been a victim of medical gaslighting and malpractice. Dammit, AMA!
◦ 28 years ago, a man, seemingly under the influence of a psychoactive substance, crashed onto our front porch, shattered a glass lamp, and sliced open my husband’s forehead. While I was on the phone with 911, our dog Joplin chased the man away, saving the hubster! Assailant never caught by authorities. Hubs stitched up nicely. Thanks, AMA doc!
Studs Turtle in a contemplative mood
While there’s much more to me than this list, I have been undeniably shaped by trauma since infancy. (Adverse childhood experiences correlate with later development of autoimmune diseases; I intend to write about that.) I’ve also been molded by directives to keep secret “personal issues” like alcoholism and depression and to deny abuse outright. Not only do I view the world through the lens of one who has survived domestic and sexual violence, but also as one who has endured and witnessed other forms of violence that are pervasive and still largely tolerated, although they’ve become progressively less acceptable over these last 6 decades, at least according to public policy.
As with the George Floyd murder, I began paying much closer attention to the Depp/Heard trial after the small group, come-and-go drug-lounge that is how I like to think of the infusion clinic. Full disclosure: I did not go back and watch any significant portions of courtroom testimony. I read and watched as much as I felt I could safely consume. Then one night, my husband and I saw a clip of Heard’s exclusive interview with Savannah Guthrie on the evening news.
“She’s just so … odd.” [Hubster, aka my life partner]
And there it was. First comment from the love of my life, who to that point had seen but a fraction of the trial coverage and commentary I had. Celebrity scandal is even less his thing than mine. And he’s been concentrating his energies on recovering from hip replacement, as he should. (He’s progressing quite nicely!)
Hub’s comment caught me by surprise. Since when have we been fans of normal? Is watching the evening news a sign of our descent into normalcy? Do we need an intervention?
Up to now we’ve been casual fans of Johnny Depp. We like his weird movies, but not the Disney pirate franchise. Despite eschewing tabloids, celebrity gossip shows, et cetera, we’ve heard tales over the years of Depp behaving in ways ranging from inappropriate to clearly abusive. Tales often spun later to portray Depp as a harmless eccentric, framing his hurtful actions as aberrations, made possible only by consumption of impressive amounts of alcohol and/or drugs. No lasting damage!
Because that’s how a male celebrity off the rails and in the throes of chemical addiction is presented. Especially, a proven cash cow like Depp. (Major misnomer there, eh? Shouldn’t that be cash bull?!) Instead of being painted as a drunken, drug-addled freak lashing out, or an alcoholic/addict in need of anger management and intervention, he’s pictured as a lovable eccentric, hailed for both his macho ability to remain standing after consuming inordinate amounts of alcohol/drugs and his manly stamina through multiple rehab stints. Such heroic personal work! Yet, little to nothing about how any of this affects the people in his life. (We’ll come back to this later.)
Celebrities of lesser stature are painted with an entirely different brush. Women and girls on a separate canvas altogether.
Yes, Amber Heard is a little odd. Plus, some say, she is not a perfect victim — whatever that is. Johnny Depp, who looks great at 59, is extremely odd. His talent, good looks, gender, connections, and well-channeled weirdness have made him a wealthy man, adored by millions around the world. He may also be a very accomplished (spousal) abuser. Not perfect, mind you, just really, really good.
Do I believe Amber Heard? I don’t want to sift through the testimony from the UK trial and/or this US one and risk a major PTSD episode so that I may play pretend juror. I have enough on my plate with my memories. I have reservations, mostly, I think, because I (kinda) hate that the Washington Post op-ed at the center of the US trial was written by folks at the ACLU. Even so … yes, I am leaning in her direction.
Do I believe Johnny Depp?
No.
I mean, are you kidding me? No!
Fuck no!
From my perspective, shaped by surviving and witnessing intimate violence, the image of Johnny Depp presented at trial fits that of a domestic violence offender to a nearly comical degree. He was calm and charming. Personable. Confident and relaxed. Unwavering. Absolute! He never hit her! Never assaulted her! He never started anything; he only defended himself. He never hit her; she started everything. He was always the victim. Excellent use of the DARVO tactic: Deny, Attack, Reverse Victim/Offender!
Johnny Depp easily “justified” abusive and violent language about/or directed to Amber Heard by simply dismissing each as irrelevant, out of context, mere fantasy, a joke between friends, etc. So comfortable were so many with him, that when he admitted to assaulting cabinets and joked about excessive alcohol consumption, many in the courtroom laughed, smiled, and/or nodded. Yes, they were entertained!
And the jury was won over. Somehow the jury felt they “abused each other” and that canceled out the harm, just like double technical fouls in basketball. He was more believable, stable throughout, as you’d expect from a victim. (Say what?!) Amber Heard would sob one minute and turn ice cold the next. The deliberating jury of 5 men and 2 women didn’t know what to make of her. She made them really uncomfortable.
Yup, that’s what we victims/survivors do. Our existence makes you all uneasy. And when we break our silence and speak about our violations and our abusers, we make you all very un-fucking-comfortable. Female types, especially. Trans and other gender nonconforming folks take that discomfort to levels off the charts! Thus, the current hateful legislation around the country.
(I will suppress political rant/digression #4 for now.)
Unspeakable by DÅL|é
*I’ve experienced an array of internal backlash — ridiculous thoughts, awful rashes, hellacious migraines, etc. —between writing and editing this post. And then again, from editing to posting it. Yes, the extreme heat is a factor. As is this — this thing right here I feel the need to do.
**Thanks, John Moe! John Moe is the creator of the brilliant podcast The Hilarious World of Depression and author of a memoir with the same title. After a pandemic-related hiatus, Moe’s podcast resumed in 2021 on a new platform as Depresh Mode. I recommend all! Even if you don’t have Clini D — you poor bastard!😁
CONTENT NOTE: Essentially, all the warnings and alerts for readers, especially those who feel they are in a precarious emotional and/or mental state. Bookmark this for later. Or never. Whenever is best for you. In this multi-part post I address various forms of domestic violence and reference other forms of violence. I get personal. I do not write about any abuses in graphic detail, but oftentimes the muted, even mundane details can be the most triggering. And I write about some lasting effects, including mental health/illness crises and self-harm. Take care of yourselves and thank you for reading.
Part I. Did you hear what I Heard?
The infusion clinic is often my touchstone on how those outside my immediate circle feel about current events. I just happened to go in and sit there, soaking up the hard-to-fully-comprehend juices for a couple hours, the day after George Floyd was murdered, when all of us with assorted chronic maladies brought together by varied infusion needs were still in denial. Most, myself included, couldn’t yet watch the whole 90-second clip being shown then and had no idea the fatal assault lasted over 9 minutes. We could barely say Mr. Floyd had been killed, much less murdered. White and Latina women in the clinic that day, including nursing staff, as most days.
Occasionally, there will be a Black or Asian or Indigenous person in the chairs. That’s primarily based on appearance and my assumptions. Mostly women, the occasional man. Again, just assuming. Could be trans. Non-binary. Intersex. Infusion clinic relationships are like those “single-serving” ones referenced in Fight Club. Except for the nursing staff. Although there’s been some turnover there. There are a couple nurses I quite miss. Ah, the comings and goings of medical personnel.
[Digression #1: One major oversight in Breaking Bad casting: no Native American medical personnel or support staff. In Albuquerque, New Mexico?! Really strains credulity.]
June First I went in for infusion, just hours after the decisions and awards were announced in the Johnny Depp defamation suit against ex-wife Amber Heard and her counter-suit. We all confessed to not watching the daily trial proceedings, available for live streaming.
“Not a fan of drunken pirates!”
“Yeah, no, but the first 2 movies were good!”
“Who’s got the time?”
“Who’s got the spoons?!”
“He’s so weird! But … I don’t know …”
“I do like the Scissorhands movie! Winona Ryder was so young!”
“Not a good idea for my mental health.” [That was from me]
Some had caught snippets here and there, but over the six weeks of the trial — 6 weeks, FFS! — even those of us who vowed to stay away could not avoid the barrage of sensationalistic press coverage and social media frenzy surrounding it.
Yes, truth be told, the others actually said “total circus” as in media circus instead of “barrage of … media frenzy.”
[Digression #2: As a lover of circus and a disabled/retired aerialist and teacher of circus arts, I object, as modern circuses are well-organized multi-level entertainments that have an overall astounding safety record, considering their activities. Especially if you look at the ones that don’t involve wild animals, which admittedly is the real stain on the modern circus reputation. That and exploitation of artists, the latter being a problem throughout the performing arts world. The elephant in the tent, as it were.]
[Digression #3: I miss # being primarily known as pound or number sign — or for extra geeky credit, octothorp — instead of nowadays first assuming it’s denoting a hashtag, something of fleeting significance on the World Wide Web. I’ll get over it.]
Back to Johnny v. Amber …
“So, Johnny won, right?”
“Pretty much. He gets 10 mil. And another 5 mil. Except he won’t get the 5 mil. Amber gets 2 mil.”
“They didn’t believe her.”
“Did you?”
“She pooped in his bed!” [Delivered as a stage whisper followed by restrained giggles]
“Um … did she, though?” [Me]
“I thought she said she did it as a prank.”
“I don’t … I don’t know … I think she said she didn’t do it. But …” [Not me, for the record, though such were my thoughts]*
*Confirmation: Amber Heard indeed denied having defecated in said bed.
My Good Wolf 