Dear Ex

Dear Ex,

Why does your presence still haunt me? I still love you but have hard feelings towards you at the same time. I’m hoping by getting this off my chest that if you were to come running back tomorrow, I’d have closure enough to see the truth. 

You were abusive and I don’t think you realize that. Pressuring me into gaining weight is emotional and bordering on physical abuse. You weren’t thinking of me when you were talking me into those things. You were thinking of your sexual desires. Being 600lbs is not my idea of fun. But you wouldn’t hear that. You said you’d love me at any weight but constantly told me you’d only be sexually interested in me if I was over 350lbs. Love is unconditional in my view and you placing a weight limit on it isn’t unconditional. 

I was with you over 4 years. Hadn’t seen you in over 2 1/2. You wouldn’t meet the people most important to me but you wanted to get me pregnant to get me away from them. And so I would gain weight. Did you really want the little girls with brown eyes like you said you did? Cause I meant it when I said I wanted green eyed boys. Was the hatred truly there towards my molester? Would you have truly came if I was in trouble when he escaped from prison or was that a lie too? Was I the only girlfriend? Were you really single? Did you love me like you claimed you did? I was hesitant saying the words. You said them first and made me believe you meant them which warmed my frozen heart. Were they true? Or was it just words to get me to drive 2 hours one way just to hop into bed with you? You seem like you cared but everything about you fooled me so why not be blinded by that too. 

I needed to get these things off my chest even if you never read them. You aren’t the man I thought you were. I’m glad I found that out now. 

Sincerely,

The girl who’s heart you broke 

So.much.shit

Ugh. I haven’t written anything since August and with good reason. 

1) relationship with my family got volitile. 

2) relationship with my boyfriend ended. 

3) was almost put into the hospital again. 

4) taken out of the care of a incompetent nurse practitioner and back into my psychiatrist. 

5) new case manager assigned. 

6) hours away from being put into a group home. 

7) had a biopsy done on a place on my leg I thought was a bunch of keloids to only find out they were tumors that I let go for over 5 years and are cancerous. 

8) started to travel 120 miles one way to see doctors that specialize in this type of cancer. 

Hmm. I think that sums up the last 4 months in 8 point. 

2016=clusterfuck 

Bipolar disorder, borderline personality disorder, PTSD, and cancer can all suck it. 

Hurt

There’s only so much hurt a person can take and the past few weeks have been hell. I’m trying to better myself for me. From demanding what I’m worth from my boyfriend, breaking up with him, getting back together with him with conditions. To getting my septum pierced and my father saying he was ashamed of me. To my dad forcing me to shower in the basement (which that bathroom hasn’t been used in 15 years and the basement hasn’t been used in 10 except to deposit stuff) because “I broke my shower”. Me cleaning up the bathroom. Me getting approval to move into the basement since I’m being forced to shower down there. Me getting the approval to become my own rep payee. Actually becoming doing it. Getting a new case manager that I like. Losing 50lbs in 3 months because of stress and not trying at all. My grandma going into kidney failure. Friends losing friends. Friends turning into enemies and enemies turning into friends. So I’ve made some decisions. I’m going to start a process that I’ve been toying with for awhile. I’m really flexible for a fat girl. So people have made the comments about me being a yoga instructor. So I’m going to try it. 

But somethings hurt. Especially when people who say they have your back, talk about you behind your back. I’m so tired of being a joke. I’m not a joke. I’m a person who can and does get hurt. Especially by friends. Especially by family. I’m so tired. 

To the ex-best friend who thought my world revolved around her

Dear friend,

Your friendship with me ended 4 days ago and I know you think I’m the bad guy in all of this. Me sinner, you saint. I get it. Yes I withdrew from you. But the thing is you brought it on yourself. Things crumbled last August when we had our trip to see your friend. Yes I have a great memory from it, my Papa’s memorial tattoo. But that’s about where it ends. The entire weekend I was the odd man out. I knew nothing. These weren’t women I knew much about. In fact I only knew one in passing. Whatever. Then came the looks that made me feel like I was a complete moron anytime I opened my mouth. You were my only mutual friend. Things totally fell apart when I got sick the second night and decided to return to the hotel room. What you didn’t know was that I woken up when you and your other friend were back and were having a conversation about me behind my back. And your other friend. Bashing both of us. That right now sealed the fate of the ultimate end of our friendship. I reserved myself. But all of this began to become noticed by you 3 months ago. I had one of the most difficult times of my life come when my hold onto myself finally broke. Thing is I waited to see if you would win back some of my friendship. Redeem yourself. Ya not so much. All I got from you was crickets. Whatever I have a new best friend who has opened my eyes to the opportunities that I’ve never had. Only when I text you and tell you that I’m deleting another mutual friend did you decide that I was in the wrong. You were there when my cousin overdosed on heroin and died. You knew my stance on drugs. Including pot. I don’t take kindly to being told I’m being mind controlled over the government because I would rather take synthesized drugs to help my illness instead of taking the illegal route and purchasing pot to medicate myself. No. Not gonna happen at all. You knew all of this yet became hostel when I told you my plan. You questioned my mindset. You questioned my newfound confidence and I thought we finally let things drop. At least for that day. The very next day you questioned my decisions yet again. Then you tore me down. You ended it. Deleted me from all your social media which I find hilarious. And then almost an hour later you twisted the knife. Telling me that there were other ways to find my voice other than throwing people away with no regards to their feelings. I picked my battles with you. And then I thought back to a few months before our trip and how you asked for space to figure yourself out. Fine. I gave it to you but still checked up on you. I find it interesting that when I wanted space, I was not allowed to have it. It was almost like you were not complete unless I was turning to you with all my problems. Like you thrived on my drama. Maybe you have a hero complex. I don’t know. But you ended it. I was fully prepared for you to just step back for awhile. Any friend would have done that. But instead you cut me out. Um fine. All I want to say is, toodles. Bye Felicia. Sorry, not sorry. Me sinner, you saint. Keep telling yourself that. 

Baptize yourself and purge your soul

Except in this case I’d wash away my sins and purge my stomach of the contents. I’m so tired. Tired of being used. Tired of contradictions. You’re old enough to…you can’t do that because we think you’re not old enough mentally. We can give your brother $200 a month, we can buy $300 a month in things we don’t need at all. But when I want something, even though I pay rent and rarely buy anything for myself, I can’t be loaned the money to pay half a repair bill (that I ALWAYS pay back) to fix a vehicle I’m ALLOWED to drive, that’s in their name, that I use 85% of the time to do shit for them. And then I get dirty looks when I receive a package in the mail (a $10 item) but when someone else gets a $300 package there’s nothing much said. And then it’s a crime when I say I need new clothes because 95% of my clothes are 5+ years old and are falling apart. The only new stuff I get is usually for funerals because my old funeral clothes have gotten too small or have fallen apart. But then I’m limited to what I can buy. I’m exhausted by all of this. They can’t stop poking me with a stick closer to the edge of a cliff that I can’t come back from. I’ve started keeping track of all the miles I log just for them and then take out what I need out say food costs. We shall see how much I rack up their bill comes to. I’m ready to sell shit and just disappear. 

My brother the golden boy

Some days you lose, then some days you lose so badly that you’re the laughing stock of wherever. 

My great Aunt Jo passed away this week. Today is her funeral. I’m supposed to go but I think I caught a stomach bug and stress over a ton of things doesn’t help. And yet again my brother, who lives 100 miles away to go to school and work, comes riding in like the white knight everyone believes he is. Don’t get me wrong. I love my brother. I miss him not being around all the time. But yet again I’m inferior to anyone who shares any DNA with me. Brother, cousin, uncle, aunt, 3rd cousin twice removed…whatever. And if I do something remotely wrong, oh do I hear about it. Even when I do my best and give 110%, never as good as ~insert so and so’s name here~. I’m the only female who can weld in my family. Yet I’m told that ~insert female cousin~ could do it better because they have depth perception even though they have never touched a stick welding rod before in their lives. I just want to be good enough for anyone. I’m sure I’m just okay to mom. To dad, my brother does everything better. And to my boyfriend, well I don’t know if I’m what he wants. I just want to be the top of someone’s list. 

Deuces to America’s healthcare system (and this shit started even before Obamacare)

4 weeks tomorrow. That was when I started seeking help. I’ve searched the entire state of Missouri and neighboring states for help. Here’s what I hear:

1) we are more based towards drug rehabilitation not mental health. (Okay well considering I’ve never touched an illegal drug in my life and I refuse to even if I were prescribed medical marijuana, I’m not going to go down that road. PERIOD!) 

2) you have state insurance and we don’t take that (says every facility outside the state of Missouri) or we just don’t take your insurance (because Medicaid and Medicare don’t pay as good as other insurance companies).

3) I’m too high functioning for a “residential” (which no one in the damn state can agree what “residential” care is) because it’s more geared towards nursing home type care. 

4) I’m not acute enough (meaning I’m not homicidal and/or suicidal) to be in a hospital setting (which I would refuse anyway. The only way that’s gonna happen is if you get a fucking court order for a 96 hour hold on me and I’ll still fight you over it).

5) go to this one agency because it’s the only one in the freaking state that MIGHT be able to help me. And then trying to get a call back from the fucking place is ridiculous. 

I don’t know how many phone calls we’ve made in the past 4 weeks to state officials, state agencies, friends who have somewhat gone through the same thing, to facilities themselves to get help. Hell we’ve even tried to get Dr. Phil’s help. But I guess I’m not flashy enough for him to help me. Whatever. 

I’m totally thinking tomorrow is a curl in a ball and lay in bed all day day. Screw responsibilities. I do too much anyway (so I’m told by some). I don’t remember ever being this mentally drained even in my worst years in the very beginning of my 16 years of being diagnosed. I’m just tired constantly. But I guess having over 20 psychological problems running wild in your head will do that to anyone. 

Times like this make me wish it was legal to do lobotomies again. Now I know why I was always fascinated by them even when I was little and learned what they were. I knew I wanted one. To have everything go quiet in my head…God that sounds great. Where can I sign up for one? I’m even thinking electroshock therapy might help. Anything to get some quiet in my head. 

*no I’m not hearing voices. Just rapid thoughts and distorted thought patterns*

And then I broke

My mind has been like a natural fiber rope for the past 4 1/2 years. Every little situation starting probably from the moment we picked up my cousin so she could see her great grandparents one last time which almost caused a physical fight between me and her step mother has broken a fiber in each strand in my rope. A week ago today the last fiber broke. It didn’t snap which in my mind is a violent action but it slowly just frayed and pulled apart. 

Let me go back to the day before the break. My mom and her sister went out shopping and they talked of course. And mom just laid out my feelings when asked about them from my aunt about my feelings towards her and her cheating rat bastard ex husband who is living with her again. So when I was finally able to ask mom how the day went last Monday she told me that my aunt wanted to sit down and discuss my feelings with her. That’s when the fiber broke. I refused to do it. Still do. A lot of things were discussed about how I have only grieved the death of one of the four major deaths (out of the 25 in the last 4 years) to how I’m not at all handling my mothers illness to how I’m not living at all. I had the opportunity to go to North Carolina with a friend and she’d pay for everything. That triggered some of this too but my anxiety about being away from my stability (my dog) and my odd anxiety of having to be in my room before or at 7pm unless I’m out with people I trust with my life and not for more than one night in a row helped push everything. Mom and I discussed hospitalization possibly. I told her a hospital setting wouldn’t help because they’d just mess with my meds and its not a med thing. My meds are great really. It’s a cognitive thing. I’m not having rational thoughts. My thinking is impaired. I’m not a danger to myself or others but my thoughts are definitely destructive. At first I refused residential treatment centers. But then I decided I needed to do it.

So I spent all of last week looking up residential treatment programs that aren’t just for drug rehabilitation (extremely hard to find anymore) in my state. Very limited. I’ve had an appointment with my nurse practitioner and she agrees with everything. 

Thursday I started thinking about my aunt and how I needed to say my peace first because once she got going, I’d hear hers and she wouldn’t hear mine at all. So I sat down and wrote her a letter. 8pgs worth. I put it all out there. From my feelings towards her ex, to how I had been protecting her for the past 20 years since her ex’s nephew molested me. To how her son protected me against said nephew from rape and my feelings on how her ex, in my eyes, killed my cousin by his actions. How I knew years before the divorce that her ex was cheating on her and how I was willing to bulldoze him for her but her stupidity kept me in a state of anger by running back to him time and time again. To how her words about me not knowing love cut me to the bone and how totally wrong she was. 

I let mom read it and said it was going unedited and not rewritten because she needed to see the emotion and the anger in my writing. All my mother asked was that I make her a copy so we have a reference one in case asshat gets a hold of the letter and twists my words. Fine by me. And then we called a family meeting Friday night and told my grandma and her oldest son who has a different father, what I did and I read what I wrote. And that they maybe caught in the line of fire. That was a fun conversation. 

So now we await the fallout and placement in a 30 day treatment program. Fun fun. 

Run, run as fast as you can, you can’t catch me

God the last 5 days have been a total mind fuck. There’s only so much a person can take before they split wide open. I’m about there. Friday night I found out, through  our county prosecutor’s weekly arrest report, that my molester was back in not only the county but town. Possibly staying about 5 miles from my house. I tried to reach out to my 2 main friends. Women who I consider my best friends, but heard freaking crickets. That stung even though the numbness that froze me over. Saturday I basically tried to make my favorite coping mechanism work for me, but apparently sleep has up and left my body. Even before finding out he was here. I didn’t want to leave my house but I did to get supper because I didn’t lay anything out. I at least felt safe in my suburban which I have nicknamed my monster. My monster could protect me. I fell in a fitful sleep. Come Sunday I was still upset but not as frozen. I eventually told mom what I found out. She had heard the whole story and the events surrounding it. I told her about what he did. I told her what I found out from my cousin, what he wanted to do, my conversations about my cousin’s drug abuse and how I tried to help, I told her about when I told her, I told her about (which she doesn’t remember this part) the confronting of my married into uncle and how we hid it from my aunt to “protect” her, how the man himself lost all my respect and how his mere presence creeps me the fuck out. I told all I could tell. I told her how when I told my boyfriend why I was upset the day before, how he reacted and that no one I’ve ever dated reacted that way before. Some said that they were sorry it happened to me but never had anyone threatened to protect me the way he did. I think if I hadn’t loved him before, that this would have tilted the scales in his favor. I’m still afraid to leave my house. I don’t want to even set foot in the store to try and grocery shop because large groups of people still freaks me the fuck out. Yesterday was ok. I was able to work on one of the fiction stories I’ve been writing and felt better. And then today. I watched a television program that brought up a story about a child who was molested by other 10 year olds and how the state they lived in wouldn’t do anything with the children because they didn’t charge children under the age of 12 with any crimes. I was 10-11 when I was molested. My abuser was 11-12. The logical part of my brain said that this is reasonable. Kids that age probably didn’t know much about what they were doing and didn’t know right from wrong. Then the victim in me hurt for the kid. I wanted justice for them. I wanted the kids who did it to pay and the parents of the offenders (yes there was 2 offenders) to pay too because the kids shouldn’t know how to do those things. I couldn’t handle my emotions when it came to that story. Luckily I found a way to distract myself for awhile. I thought I was ok even though it still hurt that my friends didn’t try to talk to me about it. One offered a little bit of wisdom but I think it was a half assed way to acknowledge my hurt but not offer support. I needed support. I was trying to be my normal wisecracking self when I posted something on one of their walls. I was just informed that she deleted it. That hurt. She’s allowed other such jokes in the past but now she’s not allowing them. Again I feel like I’m a punching bag lately. I try and defend myself but am blindsided by yet another punch. I’m seriously trying to stop myself from jumping my physical obstacles I have in place to keep me from getting to my old trusty razor blade. I want the physical hurt. I want to see the red blood to appear from the pretty little line I just drew with the edge. I want to feel the bite of the edge. But I guess I’m stuck in my own little hell by myself again. Whatever. I’ve been here before and have survived. I think I can do it again.