Regina Noctis

I spent much of today out. Mom and I headed into Bakersfield for lunch, and did a little shopping, mostly for gourmet cat food to spoil Whiskers with. So I didn’t have to be around John for much of the day.

When we got home, I headed into the back bedroom to drop off the new scratching pad and catnip that we picked up. The bedroom used to be mine and is now my mother’s.

John was there, half-naked, striking poses in front of the mirror.

I acted as if there was nothing wrong with this, dropped off the things, and sat down to pet my cat. John apologized for being there and left, so everything seemed fine.

About a minute later, he was back. He struck a couple more strongman-esque poses in front of the mirror, which would have been ludicrous if you couldn’t feel the aggression and insanity coming off of him in waves.

Unfortunately, the way the room is arranged, him being at the full-length mirror put him between me and the only exit from the room, unless I favored leaping through a window. I was not happy with this arrangement. No phone in this room either, and isolated at the back of the house, where things are unlikely to be heard in the kitchen, where everyone else was. Especially with the TV on in the living room at a volume that would make it hearable over my grandmother’s growing deafness. He hadn’t done anything yet besides pose in front of the mirror, but I was telling myself already just how stupid I was to let myself get trapped that way. Bloody brilliant of me. I should know better, but evidently I don’t.

Some days, I’m a fucking idiot.

Then he turned away from the mirror and began advancing on me. There was violence in the set of his shoulders, in the way he held his arms, in the way he walked. I know those intimidation methods. I should. I’ve used them, and I learned them from him when I lived here as a teenager.

I took a mental inventory of everything in reach that could be used as a weapon if it came to that, and met his look and approach with a cold outward calm I didn’t really feel.

“Gonna smoke out, ho?”

“I don’t do that shit, and you know it.”

He was now very close, crowding me. Intimidation range. When I replied, a smile I can only describe as pure evil spread across his face, never touching his eyes. The only things in his eyes were insanity and rage.

“Sure you do. You can share with your cuz. I won’t say nothin’.”

“That shit makes me sick. I won’t touch it.”

“That shit makes me scar.” He flashed his inner arms at me, too quickly for me to see clearly, but I’m pretty sure I caught a glimpse of fresh needle tracks. I need a better look.

“Then maybe you should stay the fuck away from it.” It came out calmly enough, but I was at war with myself. A multi-front war. Pacifism warring with the instinct to do what was necessary to protect myself from the madman warring with the desire to provoke him enough to do something to me so I could get him put away again.

He edged a little closer, trying to force me onto the bed behind me without actually touching me. His head was jutting far out now, and I knew that if I had to, I had a clear shot at his throat. I’m out of shape enough that it might not have been the kind of crushing blow I was taught eons ago, but I figured it’d still give me a chance to get away.

I could feel the automatic reaction of wanting to strike a similarly threatening pose, since such intimidation tactics have worked for me before, and prevented it. He’s much stronger than I am, and I knew that my best chance if it came down to it was speed and surprise. I didn’t want him to know that I’d already picked my target and was prepared to do what was necessary. If it failed, I’d use the momentum of the movement to put me in reach of one of the possible weapons I’d already inventoried. Once I was moving, if I was forced into this, I wasn’t going to stop until he was incapacitated or I was out of there.

“Remember when you led me and Bobby on? That wasn’t too nice. I think you owe me for that.”

For a moment, I didn’t know what he was talking about. Then I remembered. He was referring to when we were teenagers, and he and his best friend at the time spent a week trying to badger me into having sex with the both of them. At the end of the week, I’d had enough and nothing I said would make them stop. So I went to my grandmother, as the household authority figure. I explained what was going on in hopes that she would put a stop to it.

It was impossible for her to believe, loving him the way she did, that John could ever have suggested something like that. She decided that I was lying about it just to get John and Bobby in trouble, and she beat me for it.

The remembered hurt and rage of that moment came flooding back, and I found myself suddenly in my own version of his aggressive pose. No conscious decision involved, I was just there.

The change in my demeanor seemed to make John realize he’d pushed the wrong button. He took two fast steps back.

“Hey, sorry Oli.” And then he left. He’s stayed out of my way since.

As for me, I sat there and shook for a while.

One more day. Only one more day.

I was right. John is no longer afraid of me.

He began testing my boundaries today. It’s only lightly as of yet, but the underlying agressiveness and insanity is obvious.

Just little things, like crowding me when he needed to walk by, even though there was room for him to pass without doing so. He walked with his arms pointed slightly out, to make sure that he pushed me a little as he went by, and smeared his sweaty arm across my back. He’d just come in from working out. My back was damp for a while afterward.

He is ranting, just crazy stuff. And this time, I’m getting included in his rants, at least a little. He’s fired a few shots at me verbally. I can feel it again that he’s testing my boundaries, trying to see if I’m weak enough for him to be able to dominate the way he does my mom and my grandmother.

I wonder how long it’ll be before the break comes. I wonder if it’ll come while I’m here, or after. I actually hope in many ways that it’ll come while I’m here. I’m younger than the people he usually has to target. I’m stronger. And I haven’t been pushed down by more than a year of living on a day to day basis with his insanity and violence.

He has left for the time being. He went off to Bakersfield to see his children and supposedly give them money so Jiovanni can buy a hamster. While he’s gone, I have time to prepare…

What kind of Goth would you be?
brought to you by Quizilla

My fingernails glow in the dark and yours don’t!

What Labyrinth Character are you most like?
brought to you by Quizilla

I think it’s time to fall over. Past time, really.

Damn game. Sucked me right in. I didn’t even notice that the sun was up until just now.

SSSSSSLLLLLLEEEEEEEEEEEEPPPPPP!!!!!!

Honey, men like him are a dime a dozen.

Well, here’s my dime. Where’s my dozen?

Even a short talk with is a good thing. I can feel a number of the internal knots have been loosened. I’m not sure how he does it. Maybe it’s just the long history we have together that he’s such a comfort. Even just the sound of his voice can be enough to start relaxing me.

I love my Sylvan.

There’s been a running internal chat in my head all day long.

Okay, more like argument. It’s still going on, to a degree.

Proof of lunacy. There are too many people in my head today, and they just refuse to agree.

So, a vacation at last. That’s good. I need out of that office for a while. I need out of the Bay Area for a while.

Sure, but did you have to say you’d head down to Delano?

Hey, I haven’t seen Mom in a while. And considering what the cat just went through, I want a chance to see him too. Who knows how much longer he’ll be around…

Yeah, but you know the feeling you’ve got…

Oh, shut up. It’s nothing.

How can you say it’s nothing?

Because it is.

No, it isn’t. Not when it’s this strong. Something’s going to happen.

That’s ridiculous. Even if I believed in that sort of premonition or intuition… and I’m not sure I do… it’s just another trip down to Hellano.

Ridiculous? What about the last time you knew that something was going to happen?

Shut up.

You felt the warning bell go off, and sure enough…

Shut up. I don’t want to think about it.

And then you talked yourself into believing that you were wrong, and it’d all be okay…

I said shut up. This is not open to discussion.

And it isn’t okay, is it?

Fuck off.

Touchy. Okay, what about the time before?

What about all the times I thought there was a warning bell, and absolutely nothing happened?

That was different. You know it. Those felt different.

Not really.

Oh, yes they did. You remember, even if you don’t want to. Every time it’s been strong enough to make your heart pound, to tie you in knots, to have you damn near hysterics, the feeling’s been right.

Bullshit.

Bullshit, huh? Remember when you flipped out over the trip to LA?

He wasn’t on that flight.

You didn’t know he’d switched tickets to leave the next day. And the plane did go down…

A coincidence. I was just upset that he was going off to LA to fuck someone else for a week.

You believe that if you want.

I will believe it because it’s the truth.

Then what about the dream back in 87? Going to say that was a coincidence too?

Fucker. You would have to bring up that Valentine’s Day.

You knew what the call was before you even picked up the phone.

…I did. But that was still different. That was a single dream, and it was something that was going on right when I dreamed it. I didn’t have these days of dread leading up to it. And it’s this feeling of dread that’s wrong. It’s just paranoia.

And tell me again just how many nightmares have you been having every night? And not all of them about the things up here that have you tied in knots?

That being tied up in knots is exactly why I’m sure this is nothing. It’s just angst and drama carry-over.

I’ve let you convince me before that it was just paranoia or angst. And guess what? Every time you decide it’s just paranoia, exactly the thing you fear happens. Not going there this time. And speaking of not going there… Let’s not do this Hellano thing. Call her back and tell her something came up.

I can’t do that. That’s not right. You know how much she’s looking forward to a visit.

Is giving her a visit going to be worth it when the shit hits the fan?

Nothing’s going to happen. I’ve gone down there to visit before when John was living there. He kept his distance and stayed on his best behaviour. He’s scared of me.

What was it you told Mom when she was saying she’d be fine because he was scared of her?

I’m not her. I don’t live there. He doesn’t get a chance to get used to me and get past being scared of me.

What the hell makes you think it’s anywhere near that rational? He’s psycho, you idiot. He could snap on you before you have a chance to blink.

Better me than them.

Oh, is that it? You and your paladin complex charging off to save the damsels in distress from the monster?

No, that’s not it, because nothing’s going to happen. It’s just another visit with the family.

Okay then. You believe that all you want. If you’re going to go in spite of the clear warning in your head, I’m going to stay paranoid, if it’s all the same to you. Maybe it’ll work the other way, and if I’m paranoid, it actually won’t happen. Unlike the times I’ve relaxed and agreed that it was just paranoia and everything will be okay… because it’s never been okay when you ignore that bell and convince me to do the same.

Fine. You do that.

Just tell me one thing…

What?

Which is it that scares you more… that he’s going to snap on you and put you in the hospital or worse, or that you’ll have to do that to him in self-defense?

…Both. Neither. Leave me alone.

Thought so. At least you did listen enough to give yourself a couple days before you head down. Get everything in order, see the people you care about and make your goodbyes.

Oh shut up, you paranoid freak. I’ll see them all after I get back.

And people wonder why I say I don’t make decisions. It’s not worth the argument.

Really in need of someone I’m really close to right now. It could be a number of people, just someone. Someone to talk to. It began as a need to talk to someone specific, my silly , but it’s getting to the point where any one of the friends who I love the most will do.

We got about 20 files fewer than we were expecting, so we were done at midnight thirty. A good way to start a vacation.

I’m not okay. Not even a little.

I don’t wanna talk
About the things we’ve gone through
Though it’s hurting me
Now it’s history
I’ve played all my cards
And that’s what you’ve done too
Nothing more to say
No more ace to play

The winner takes it all
The loser standing small
Beside the victory
That’s her destiny

I was in your arms
Thinking I belonged there
I figured it made sense
Building me a fence
Building me a home
Thinking I’d be strong there
But I was a fool
Playing by the rules

The gods may throw the dice
Their minds as cold as ice
And someone way down here
Loses someone dear
The winner takes it all
The loser has to fall
It’s simple and it’s plain
Why should I complain.

But tell me does she kiss
Like I used to kiss you?
Does it feel the same
When she calls your name?
Somewhere deep inside
You must know I miss you
But what can I say
Rules must be obeyed

The judges will decide
The likes of me abide
Spectators of the show
Always staying low
The game is on again
A lover or a friend
A big thing or a small
The winner takes it all

I don’t wanna talk
If it makes you feel sad
And I understand
You’ve come to shake my hand
I apologize
If it makes you feel bad
Seeing me so tense
No self-confidence
But you see
The winner takes it all
The winner takes it all…

I periodically turn off the private or friends-only or one-friend-only marking on some of my posts. When the situation that inspired them is far enough in the past, when it’s not so much of a risk of hurting someone. I hate making private posts, for a number of reasons I don’t want to get into.

Call me an exhibitionist if you like. You’re reading my journal… you voyeur, you.

I don’t expect anyone to go digging for any of those old posts. This is, after all, nearly two years of my rambling we’re talking about here. That’s a lot of digging.

But, somehow, I’m just more comfortable with this thing if I’m not hiding stuff.

At least I got to engage in S&M on the table at Denny’s. Once Saturday night, once Sunday night/Monday morning. First time with and second time with . Dev had a lot more stamina for it than Locke did. He only managed one, short round.

Been way too long since I did that.

and I watched Shadow of the Vampire tonight before I drove him home to Berserkely.

I didn’t even stop to think that there might be something about it that would affect me. But there was. I’d only thought to escape from everything, for a little while, into the movie. I can usually manage suspension of disbelief so thoroughly that I’m living and breathing a movie that I’m watching.

It is, of course, a fictional story about the making of Nosferatu, a silent film. And that’s why I couldn’t do it this time. It actually was difficult to watch it.

I’ve loved silent films most of my life. It’s been a passion of mine for a very long time. My introduction to silent film was Metropolis, and it has remained my most favorite.

It’s a passion that I share with few people. Most don’t find silent film as enthralling as I do.

does. When we were discovering how very many interests we had in common, that was one that surprised us both. And he told me about a theater he knew in LA, where they still showed the silent films, and had someone there in the theater to play the piano with the original scores for the films. He was going to take me there someday.

So, during the opening sequences of Shadow of the Vampire tonight, I remembered all of that, far too vividly. The night we were curled up together on the couch at his and ’s place, and he mentioned his love of silent film to me. We were so wrapped around each other, holding each other, legs entwined, my head on his shoulder. And I was so surprised by this particular shared passion that I managed to sit upright and give him a surprised look, despite the way we’d been cuddled up on the couch. He laughed at my surprise, and his own, and said, “Don’t tell me this is another thing we have in common.” I grinned and nodded, and settled back against him. That’s when he told me about the theater, and I told him I was jealous that he’d gotten to experience the movies that way. I’d only ever seen them on television. And he said he’d take me with him to that theater and share that with me. If I hadn’t had to be at work the day he was heading down to take care of the speeding ticket, and then go to visit family and friends further south, he’d have taken me then.

So we watched some videos he had. One of them was even an ode to an old silent film that I love, French made, though neither Lynx nor I could remember the name of the director. Still, a film I adore, and the video was a beautiful ode to that film.

Before the credits were even done on Shadow of the Vampire, thanks to too-vivid memories of what’s gone and over, I was fighting grief again. I didn’t want to burst into tears in front of Locke. I didn’t want him to wind up involved any deeper in my drama. He’d gotten to witness my moodswings enough during the course of his visit. It wasn’t fair to ruin his weekend. So I controlled it the best I could, and settled on the floor to watch the movie.

By halfway through the movie, the awful warning rhythm of my heart had started. I breathed, I concentrated, I staved it off. It started again toward the end of the film, but I managed to keep the arrhythmia from happening again that time, too.

But then, after the movie, as we were getting ready to get on the road so I could drive Locke home, it hit me. It fast and hard. I had just enough warning to stop where I was walking, in the middle of a doorway, and lean against the doorjamb. If I hadn’t, I’d have fallen when the next step happened, and I felt my heart stop, followed by the surge of adrenalin that got it going again.

When I’d calmed down the fear, I was angry at myself. I didn’t want to worry Locke, I didn’t want something like that to happen in front of him. I thought I’d managed to keep it from happening, but all I wound up doing was delaying it, and making it worse when it did happen. It doesn’t usually hurt, it’s just frightening. That time, it hurt when the adrenalin and panic brought my heart rate up.

So now I’m feeling weak and shaky again. That should be gone by the time I get up for work, fortunately. And then I can pour more of the stress into processing files as fast as I possibly can. Work used to be rather stressful, considering how busy we’ve been. Now it’s a relief.

Proof that even a crappy job with a psycho working in the next cubicle can be good therapy, I suppose.

I’m just glad that there’s this journal, too. It doesn’t help a lot, but it does help to have someplace to pour all the negative things out, even if I only wind up repeating myself over and over. It’s an outlet I need. If I can write it out here, it’s often a calming influence, at least for a while. I sometimes do consider that there are people who read this, and feel sorry that they have my extended whining to deal with. But in the end, this is what I need this thing for, and what I’ll do with it. This thing has never been meant as entertainment or something informative. It’s my emotional dumping ground, of things both good and bad, for the most part. Having this place where I can be as emotional as I want, as intense as I want, without having to answer to someone else’s concept of how I should or shouldn’t be, has gone a long way toward helping me get a handle on my emotions in day-to-day life. I used to be all over the place in daily life. So much so, I had a friend or two that told me that I should go get medicated because I just had to be bi-polar. A misdiagnosis by armchair psychologists, who’ve since admitted that they were wrong. I simply tend to be extremely emotionally responsive to the stimulus of the moment. Since I started this journal, though, I’ve been much calmer. I know if I need to rant or react, I can save it up and dump it all here, and then there’s not so much fallout.

Of course, there are some things that hit me so hard that I can’t save it up until I get the chance to ramble about it. I do try to keep them to myself until I can pour it all out while I’m alone with my keyboard. Sometimes, that’s just not possible.

So, for anyone who’s been gritting their teeth and reading all of this despite my lengthy whining and ranting… apologies.

I will now return to being self-absorbed, however, and rant and whine as if no one reads any of this but me. You have been warned.

The cycle of arrhythmia continued another couple of times after I curled up on my bed to try and control it. The breathing exercises did help, some. I eventually passed out, no choice in the matter, around 2 in the morning.

called at 4, and we talked for a little while. I hadn’t really been asleep. There’s a big difference between passing out and normal sleep. But I did fall asleep normally after he and I talked.

When I woke up, it was to the familiar weakness that comes after the arrhythmia. No strength, trembling just from the effort of standing up. The weakness was most noticeable in my arms. I could barely lift them, and shook when I did.

I didn’t let that stop me, though. I had things I needed to accomplish today. I didn’t get all of them done, not by any manner of means. But I did get some done. I just ignored how I felt, and forced myself up and out of the apartment.

I’m in the eye of the storm, now. I know the calm is temporary. But after a bout of arrhythmia, I just haven’t the energy to feel much of anything. It will probably take another day of much sleep before I start feeling much of anything again.

Right now, it’s a relief to feel not much of anything, happy or sad.

The only thing I really feel right now is tired… but I’ve got no time for tired. Locke will be arriving in about an hour, and then we have some running around to do, and then off to CS, to see if he’s able to get in. See if we can sneak him past getting carded, or something. It’d be fun to go dancing with him.

Of course, he’s not typically Gothy or anything, so it should be an adventure getting him outfitted for the club before we go. Hopefully without too much outlay of money, since we don’t even know for sure whether or not we’ll be able to get him in.

Of course, if we can’t, it’s not the only club in the world. I might be able to drag him somewhere else sometime, so whatever we get doesn’t have to be a complete waste.

John and the threat he brings to my family. My cat’s illness. . To much bad stuff all at once. Not dealing well.

I got home tonight to find an email from my mom. Whiskers almost died. And now it looks like his brain was starved for oxygen long enough that he’s taken brain damage.

Whiskers got really sick starting about the time that Lynx put the finishing touches on ending things between him and me. He was coughing all day last Saturday. The asthma medication seemed to be helping, but it didn’t help enough. By Tuesday, he was barely able to move, completely unresponsive, despite the prednisone and other medicines that Mom gave him. His tongue was nearly black from oxygen deprivation. She took him to the vet, and Whiskers was given three kinds of cortisone.

He wound up in an oxygen cage for an hour and a half, since the cortisone wasn’t helping. And while he was in there, his pupils started dilating… a sign that the end is approaching when dealing with a cat in these advanced stages of asthma. He was expected to die then. The vet said that Whiskers has the worst case of asthma that he’s ever seen in any cat and the cat still living. Whiskers should be dead already. And while my poor cat was in the oxygen cage with his pupils dilated, the vet was expecting him to take his last, agonal breath at any moment.

Somehow, Whiskers pulled through, and after being kept for observation, was finally sent home. He was breathing normally at the vet’s, but by the time Mom got him home, he was not doing very well. She pilled him with more asthma medication, and he passed out. He was out for hours today. And since he’s woken up, his breathing seems fine, but he’s acting strange. It sounds very much like he’s taken some brain damage.

I can’t take all of this at once. Worry about my cousin and what he might do to my family, especially my mom since he has targeted her specifically, has threatened her life, and has hurt her physically already. Fear for my cat, and that this is the beginning of the end. Pain, so much pain, over Lynx.

Stress-related arrhythmia. I was at the Mini for a little while after work, forcing myself to eat something so I can keep on keepin’ on. I wound up seated at a booth that had a set of memories associated with it, memories of Lynx before he went off to deal with his speeding ticket. It was too much for me, and my heart started pounding in the way I’ve learned is my warning sign. It thumped so hard that it felt like it would pound its way out from my chest, and my body was rocking, ever so slightly, in time. I couldn’t stop it. And then my heart just stopped for a moment, just long enough for the panic and the adrenalin, at which point it went back to the pounding.

When I got home, and read the email, it happened again. And again while I’ve been here, trying to write this out of my system, trying to find the calm in the middle of the storm.

The erratic heartbeat is still going on as I write this. This isn’t helping. I was hoping it would, but it’s not. I know it’s building up to another moment when it will stop for that brief time. I don’t want to feel this. I don’t want to feel anything right now, but most especially this.

I want to be able to reach out. Not to just anyone, one specific person. And feel him hold me and tell me it’ll be okay until I can believe it, at least for a little while. But I can’t. Even if he was there, Lynx is not mine to reach for. Not anymore, if he ever was.

Must concentrate. Must breathe slowly, deeply, and evenly. Flooding the blood with oxygen will help slow my heart. It works. Sometimes.

Should I go tonight? Should I not go? I can’t decide. Still. And tonight is approaching.

I want to go. And I don’t. I have very strong, very valid reasons for both wants.

Hopefully, I’ll be able to figure it out while I’m at work.

Must make myself angry. I function better at work when angry than when trying to fight off tears. I can pour all that angry energy into processing files. The files get processed faster, and the anger gets channeled into something useful, gets drained until it’s gone for the time being.

Where’s my music list…