Alienated, Full of Rage & Pain, & Fed the Fuck Up

Fuck men who eye rape me while waiting for the bus

Fuck men who are bus drivers who hit on me and make me feel unsafe

Fuck men who take advantage of a full train so they can rub against my ass

Fuck these asshole men who do these awful things all within a 20 minute time span on one fucking day so I can spin the fuck out and fall apart.

Fuck my mom for her half-assed emails that I only just saw because I checked my old email account.

Fuck her for thinking a half-assed apology without meat behind it would make things right

Fuck her for causing me more pain

Fuck the “community” and the goddamn white, well to do breeders for thinking that marriage “equality” was some big win for all of us.

Fuck white, financially well off gay men and women who think they have a right to be condescending to me, a Native American, bisexual, disabled, poor woman, with a long history of abuse in all its forms by telling me how hard life has been before gay marriage “equality”

Fuck WordPress for making me be subjected to their bullshit rainbow header because hey, today they care about all us queer folks. Never mind about all those days in which so many of us have been beaten, raped, imprisoned, impoverished, homeless, and so forth. Yeah, we matter today because those that are well off are suddenly “equal” under the fucking law.

Fuck them, fuck you, fuck everyone!

I’m fighting like hell to not self-destruct right now because there is NO safe space for me, but hey, I now have “equality.”

Pulling the Plug Before It’s Too Late

May and June are very emotionally charged and gut wrenching months for me. Mother’s Day, the anniversary of my very close friend’s suicide, the last time I tried to kill myself, my mom’s birthday, my Degee’s (my maternal grandma who meant/s the world to me) birthday, my birthday, Father’s day, my father’s birthday, and a few other painful memories to boot. I don’t think even the healthiest of people could make it through two months of those horrible days and their associated miseries without contemplating their death. Since I have chronic health problems-my mortality, short, and long term well being are always on my mind, but it’s especially prevalent right now.

It hit me just a few moments ago that if I don’t kill myself at the right moment in time then I could easily end up a shell of a person. Not only would I be dependent upon someone to completely care for me right down to wiping my ass that I might also not even be able to speak. That last bit never even occurred to me until now. What if I was just a person stuck in a body that didn’t function in any real livable way, but it never died? What if I had to suffer literally unspeakable abuse for countless more years?

I’m loosing my body with every minute of every day, but I’m doing all that I can to keep my mind. All I have left is my mind and my spirit which has been ripped away from me bit by bit. The fucking drugs I take are eroding away my intelligence. My memory is a joke and my focus is shit. Of course none of my doctors want to own up to this. I’m not an idiot though. I know that some of the same meds that keep me going are the same meds that are making me fall apart. I accidentally stumbled upon the fact that the 175mg of Wellbutrin I was prescribed on top of all of my other meds was on were contributing to my sleeplessness (not getting to sleep until at least 5am), my DAILY migraines, and depression. If anyone doesn’t need any of these issues made worse it’s me.

I (I say “I” with emphasis) weened myself off of Wellbutrin and I’m doing better as a result. I’m far from good, but I’m better. My 36th birthday is next week on the 12th and I’m a mess though. I’ll spare all of my sadness, anger, disappointments, and so forth with where I am in my life and just say that I shouldn’t be worrying about when and how to end my life. At (almost) 36 my concern should be how to keep my life going and how to do it with the most joy possible. Instead I’m hedging bets about whether or not my mother will even send a card or a text (Forget calling. That takes effort she’d never put forward) and am terrified about when my body will be so dilapidated that I won’t be able to kill myself for relief from all of my life’s pain.

Happy fucking birthday to me.

Questioning my Self-Esteem

For the last few years I’ve thought that my self-esteem was rock solid, but as the many self- discoveries have hit me I am no longer so sure.

My 36th birthday is coming up and it’s a constant reminder that I am utterly worthless. I am not worth a good fucking goddamn to the bulk of family. I’m fat, ugly, stupid, worthless, and an all around waste of all things good and true. 

My father told me when I was 14 that If I wasn’t perfect then no one would love me. Those words haunt me to this day and I don’t know if they’ll ever leave me. Factor in my horrible mom who didn’t give a shit about the abuse I suffered and then there you go. It all adds up to my feelings of worthlessness. 
Birthdays are a cerebration of one’s life, but my life is clearly not one worth celebrating.

I think I might have found someone worth caring about. BUT I’m too fucked up to care about anyone. I don’t know how to care for others and allow them to care for me. I’m perpetually afraid that they’ll deem me unworthy of their love and affectionate and will ultimately abuse me or leave me. 

There are many people to put the blame on for this, but I’m looking at my so called parents. They’re supposed to give unconditional love and support and do all that they can to protect their children from harm. In the words of a very close friend of mine I was raised by wolves. I think wolves would have been kinder. 

New Follower-No Editing Yet Again-Staying True to It All

Today my step-dad decided to follow my blog. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to react to that. Should I block him because he’s had years to connect with me and never did? Should I block him because the only time he’s truly been kind and fun to/with me has been when he was drinking-oh yeah, I noticed this over the years!? How can you only be nice to someone when yhou have a couple of drinks in you? How can you only greet the dogs in the house yet walk right by a human being-your step-daughter, in your home? Oh wait, because your wife only cares about you and not her child. Because YOU only care about your selfishness and fuck your step-daughter and the abuse and pain she’s battling through.

Should I block him and my mom because fuck them for not being there for me when I needed them or for even making me type this?! Should I say to hell with this and him for the years in which I tried to build a family in which I was a part of down to the point of me trying to make myself interested in his bs like golf while he gave not one damn about me and my passions? Fuck him for his arrogance in thinking he can suddenly come around now and try to get a glimpse into my life. Fuck Tom for thinking he can follow me and my writing now like it’s important for him. I’ve been important for decades. Where the fuck have you been?!

Posting without editing. True to form

I began this hours ago, but am just now posting it. Meh, Life happens,

I have so much to say that I can’t even begin to be intelligent and coherent and articulate right now. Honestly, I just feel like I could scream and throw shit and hit shit and hurt myself and fall the fuck apart. I just can’t take my life right now.

Yes, I did have really good parts of my day today and I won’t ignore those amazing hours, but I can’t ignore the painful aspects either. It’s so sad and maddening that the painful parts continually outweigh the happiness. I don’t even know what the fuck to do anymore.

I’ve been without mental health care since October 2014-not that the Western clinical model was doing much for me anyway. This has NOT been by my doing. My therapist left the community health center to go into a smaller practice where they don’t take my poor person insurance just like no one else in private or smaller practices. I’ve been busting my ass for fucking months to find a therapist and psychiatrist that will take my insurance and treat me and it’s been impossible. They either don’t care about poor people or they hear my history and diagnoses and they’re done. Apparently I’m so fucked up that they think I’m beyond helping. I’m clearly so damaged from all the abuse, and I’m too poor, that I’m hopeless. No one thinks I’m worth taking on. So yeah, every day has been shitty and rocky for me for the last several years for many reasons I will not disclose, but these last few months have been awful in ways I can’t even begin to verbalize.

I’m mourning so many countless things right now. At this moment I’m mourning the two careers that I fought for so hard that have been stolen from me because of sexism, patriarchy, misogyny, ableism, racism, colonialism, and elitism. I’m not saying one can’t overcome some of those bearers, but when you have all of those to contend to it’s simply too much for anyone.

I’ll be 36 on June 12th and all I can hear is my miserable father telling me how I’m fat, ugly, stupid, worthless, and if I’m not perfect no one will love me. I also can’t get past my mother who chose a shitty man (instead of me) who didn’t want me around because she was too selfish to care for me. She was too selfish to be there for me when I told her I was raped when I was only 14. She was too selfish to listen to me when I tried to tell her about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father, my classmates, the misogynistic boyfriends I had in the past and I have had up until the last year, etc. I don’t blame her for the abuse others’ inflicted upon me, but I do blame her for not giving a fucking shit!

My mom knows that I finally snapped and tried to kill myself this time last year. She knows about a bit about all the horrible things that I don’t dare talk about. She knows/knew about my birthday on June 12th. Yet, I never heard from her and I still haven’t.

If you ever wonder why I’m a bit lacking in the trust department this is why. I will say though that the fact that I still write, I still lobby, I still attempt to make friends and even date,

Title? What Title?

I began this hours agos, but am just now posting it. Meh, Life happens,

I have so much to say that I can’t even begin to be intelligent and coherent and articulate right now. Honestly, I just feel like I could scream and throw shit and hit shit and hurt myself and fall the fuck apart. I just can’t take my life right now.

Yes, I did have really good parts of my day today and I won’t ignore those amazing hours, but I can’t ignore the painful aspects either. It’s so sad and maddening that the painful parts continually outweigh the happiness. I don’t even know what the fuck to do anymore.

I’ve been without mental health care since October 2014-not that the Western clinical model was doing much for me anyway. This has NOT been by my doing. My therapist left the community health center to go into a smaller practice where they don’t take my poor person insurance just like no one else in private or smaller practices. I’ve been busting my ass for fucking months to find a therapist and psychiatrist that will take my insurance and treat me and it’s been impossible. They either don’t care about poor people or they hear my history and diagnoses and they’re done. Apparently I’m so fucked up that they think I’m beyond helping. I’m clearly so damaged from all the abuse, and I’m too poor, that I’m hopeless. No one thinks I’m worth taking on. So yeah, every day has been shitty and rocky for me for the last several years for many reasons I will not disclose, but these last few months have been awful in ways I can’t even begin to verbalize.

I’m mourning so many countless things right now. At this moment I’m mourning the two careers that I fought for so hard that have been stolen from me because of sexism, patriarchy, misogyny, ableism, racism, colonialism, and elitism. I’m not saying one can’t overcome some of those barriers, but when you have all of those to contend to it’s simply too much for anyone.

I’ll be 36 on June 12th and all I can hear is my miserable father telling me how I’m fat, ugly, stupid, worthless, and if I’m not perfect no one will love me. I also can’t get past my mother who chose a shitty man (instead of me) who didn’t want me around because she was too selfish to care for me. She was too selfish to be there for me when I told her I was raped when I was only 14. She was too selfish to listen to me when I tried to tell her about the abuse I suffered at the hands of my father, my classmates, the misogynistic boyfriends I had in the past and I have had up until the last year, etc. I don’t blame her for the abuse others’ inflicted upon me, but I do blame her for not giving a fucking shit!

My mom knows that I finally snapped and tried to kill myself this time last year. She knows about a bit about all the horrible things that I don’t dare talk about. She knows/knew about my birthday on June 12th. Yet, I never heard from her and I still haven’t.

If you ever wonder why I’m a bit lacking in the trust department this is why. I will say though that the fact that I still write, I still lobby, I still attempt to make friends and even date, shows that there’s still a fire inside me. It may be in serious need of tending to, but I’ve managed to keep them from completely breaking my spirit and soul in two. 

Owning My Pain Induced Fault Lines

I’ve recently come to some hard realizations regarding my past and how they are impacting my present. This may be the only time in the immediate future that I can get this out so I’m taking the plunge without editing so that I won’t erase the honesty of my situation.

I’ve thought that my mental illness presented itself when I was eight years old, but now I think it was childhood abuse and trauma that was coming through. I was standing in our ugly shower that’s the color of unhealthy bacteria laced phlegm sobbing with my mom’s disposable pink lady Bic razor against my wrist. I have no idea what upset me and how I learned that cutting one’s wrists could end one’s life, but there I was. For the last few years I’ve thought that that was the beginning of me becoming crazy and fucked up. I’ve viewed it as the start of me being damaged goods, but the reality is that it was the abuse in my house that led me there. I can’t even remember anything but bits of pieces of my childhood before the age of eight and I don’t have constant memories before the age of ten. This is also something I’ve only recently come to understand and grip the gravity of as unhealthy and abnormal.

I was raped when I was fourteen by my then nineteen year old boyfriend. I’ve always known that that I was young and just a kid when that happened, but because I had been through so much already and was smarter than average I never really thought of myself as a child. I didn’t see it as childhood sexual abuse. I never saw myself as a victim of childhood sexual abuse. That’s what it was though.

I’m not sure why seeing this all for what it was has been so difficult for me. Maybe it’s my own internalized self-blame and hatred. Perhaps by seeing myself in the role of more of an adult I was able to give myself more power when it was all taken away. I’m not sure, but I know that this has been unbearably painful and has rocked my sense of self-worth and ability to further cope in my current shitty life circumstances. There are things that have been a part of my life for the past several years that I can’t publicly speak about for a variety of reasons, but they only add to the trauma that I face. They add to the alienation I feel from people. This is all such a large part of why I’ve further pushed people away. Granted, I haven’t found many that are understanding and patient for me to let in, but the few that have come my way I somehow kick out of my life through a series of tests. Only a few people have had the understanding and compassion to stick by me through this all.

I don’t blame those who I don’t understand and it’s too much for them to deal with, but this is a small taste of what I’m going through. Every minute of every day I’m in pain. Between the fact that my body is a worthless hunk of junk that has continually let me down (now I have a lump in my right breast to contend to) or the trauma that I carry in my soul without any relief or comfort I simply don’t know how to let people be close to me. How do you let yourself open up to the idea of being loved when the overwhelming majority of your life you’ve been told time and time again that you’re so unworthy of life that you deserve abuse? Seriously, someone tell me how because I really don’t know.