Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Wednesday, August 28, 2013
I was 15 living at my stepdads house. Not even officially my step dad, she did marry him til years after she left him when I was 12. He was the only dad I'd ever known. The only dad that had ever wanted me back around.
I got myself into school, on my own at 15, and he let me raise myself. Which is what I wanted before I knew what I wanted.
I got myself in all sorts of messes. I learned a lot about who I was and what I stood for.
Until I got into a mess I couldn't get myself out of.
I got raped. In my dad's house. By a man he trusted.
Instead of standing up for myself, I ran. And I ran hard. I lived with my sister Lana because she offered me shelter. She was the only person to see the bruises on my chest, and I didn't mean to show them to her. She just happened to walk into the bathroom at her house while I was in the tub trying to scrub them away. She's the only person with definitive proof it happened, but only if she remembers it.
I was a shit with her too. I turned 16 a week later, and lost my mind. She put up with me for two months and then she kicked me out. For good reason (I wouldn't hold a job and pay for food/rent). My family didn't seem to care or believe that I'd been raped. Mom didn't care, I couldn't tell dad (not face to face at least, it was a two part deal of not wanting to crush him because it happened in his house and how mad I was for him being so drunk and allowing this dude to live in our house that did that to me). I think the guy still lived at his house months later, but I really lost all contact with my dad for months after that.
I lost my shit. Raped at my dads, sister kicked me out.
I moved in with the only guy that I new had a place I could stay. I spent three months there...it was like a teenage version of Funny Farm. NO one gave a shit about what we did, yet everyone was against us. We were a band of misfits, and we clicked. That's where I met Bobby.
Bobby had 2 kids. He was only 18. He lived with his girlfriends parents and their kids. Two blocks away.
Him and I got close. He became all I had, or wanted. We spent three months together this way. Me as the misfit sidekick/slut. Maybe I was being misled, but I really feel he wanted to get out of there.
We were chasing drugs and fun, and that's just what we did.
Bobby and I spent a night at his mom and made plans, with his mom, that we were going to move in with her in two weeks. We talked for hours with her about how we were going to do this, and the plans to make it happen. The date was set (it seems so foolish now to say it, but we really had a date...before he got sick).
A week later, Bobby came down with pneumonia. He has asthma, so it hits him especially hard. Within 24 hours, he was in the ER. They put him in a medically induced coma. Said it was best
I spent the next week somewhere between depression and them pumping fluid out of his chest using these nasty puss filled tubes. He was so bloated and unresponsive. I remember vividly his mom coming up to me and telling me that they are going to shut off the machines because he was in septic shock and he was going to die.
I wrote poems about him, that was all I could do. I had no "proof" of my love for him. I was and illegitimate lover and an illegitimate family member and an illegitimate person.
He was my way out, and he was dead. I loved him. He died just along with everything else I'd ever known.
I fell even farther. I felt more alone than I ever knew was possible. How could anyone understand how a slighted slut, bigot, misfit could feel? I wasn't allowed to feel.
At his funeral, some our friends tried to run me off the road because I told his girlfriend and mother of his kids (when she confronted me at the funeral) I loved him and I wasn't sorry for it. But no one in my family were there nor there after it happened.
The night of his funeral, I got drunk at my friend Jennifer's house with his best friend. Lots of Jack Daniels until I puked on the dress she let me borrow. His best friend took me into the bathroom and cleaned the puke off me...
We end up in the shower together, and then on Jennifer's floor. I wanted to take this whole world on, it would fuck me, I wanted to FUCK IT and the closest thing to Bobby was his best friend.
You wouldn't guess what happened next. I'm having sex on the night of Bobby's funeral with his best friend Brian, and the mother of Bobby's children, that he hadn't officially left yet and knew who I was to him....walked in while I was fucking his best friend.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsYrPtDrX8o Yeah, that lends credence to my story that I loved him. That we were going to be together forever.
FUCK ME!!!!!!!!
Well, Brian did. He fucked me for the whole three months I lived with him. He only lived two blocks from Bobby's mom's house. And I became a major meth head. Bobby's mom was a meth shooter.
Why the fuck would I care about anyone when no one cared about me? I guess this is life. Or at least this is what I thought at the time.
It wasn't until I broke up with Brian that I got into being a shooter myself. Without the help of Bobby's mom, I found it on my own.
I was 16 years old. Alone. Putting needles into my arms. IT'S NOT SOME FUCKING BIG MYSTERY WHY I FUCKED IT ALL UP. I WISH MY PAST WOULD STOP HAUNTING ME.
I got myself into school, on my own at 15, and he let me raise myself. Which is what I wanted before I knew what I wanted.
I got myself in all sorts of messes. I learned a lot about who I was and what I stood for.
Until I got into a mess I couldn't get myself out of.
I got raped. In my dad's house. By a man he trusted.
Instead of standing up for myself, I ran. And I ran hard. I lived with my sister Lana because she offered me shelter. She was the only person to see the bruises on my chest, and I didn't mean to show them to her. She just happened to walk into the bathroom at her house while I was in the tub trying to scrub them away. She's the only person with definitive proof it happened, but only if she remembers it.
I was a shit with her too. I turned 16 a week later, and lost my mind. She put up with me for two months and then she kicked me out. For good reason (I wouldn't hold a job and pay for food/rent). My family didn't seem to care or believe that I'd been raped. Mom didn't care, I couldn't tell dad (not face to face at least, it was a two part deal of not wanting to crush him because it happened in his house and how mad I was for him being so drunk and allowing this dude to live in our house that did that to me). I think the guy still lived at his house months later, but I really lost all contact with my dad for months after that.
I lost my shit. Raped at my dads, sister kicked me out.
I moved in with the only guy that I new had a place I could stay. I spent three months there...it was like a teenage version of Funny Farm. NO one gave a shit about what we did, yet everyone was against us. We were a band of misfits, and we clicked. That's where I met Bobby.
Bobby had 2 kids. He was only 18. He lived with his girlfriends parents and their kids. Two blocks away.
Him and I got close. He became all I had, or wanted. We spent three months together this way. Me as the misfit sidekick/slut. Maybe I was being misled, but I really feel he wanted to get out of there.
We were chasing drugs and fun, and that's just what we did.
Bobby and I spent a night at his mom and made plans, with his mom, that we were going to move in with her in two weeks. We talked for hours with her about how we were going to do this, and the plans to make it happen. The date was set (it seems so foolish now to say it, but we really had a date...before he got sick).
A week later, Bobby came down with pneumonia. He has asthma, so it hits him especially hard. Within 24 hours, he was in the ER. They put him in a medically induced coma. Said it was best
I spent the next week somewhere between depression and them pumping fluid out of his chest using these nasty puss filled tubes. He was so bloated and unresponsive. I remember vividly his mom coming up to me and telling me that they are going to shut off the machines because he was in septic shock and he was going to die.
I wrote poems about him, that was all I could do. I had no "proof" of my love for him. I was and illegitimate lover and an illegitimate family member and an illegitimate person.
He was my way out, and he was dead. I loved him. He died just along with everything else I'd ever known.
I fell even farther. I felt more alone than I ever knew was possible. How could anyone understand how a slighted slut, bigot, misfit could feel? I wasn't allowed to feel.
At his funeral, some our friends tried to run me off the road because I told his girlfriend and mother of his kids (when she confronted me at the funeral) I loved him and I wasn't sorry for it. But no one in my family were there nor there after it happened.
The night of his funeral, I got drunk at my friend Jennifer's house with his best friend. Lots of Jack Daniels until I puked on the dress she let me borrow. His best friend took me into the bathroom and cleaned the puke off me...
We end up in the shower together, and then on Jennifer's floor. I wanted to take this whole world on, it would fuck me, I wanted to FUCK IT and the closest thing to Bobby was his best friend.
You wouldn't guess what happened next. I'm having sex on the night of Bobby's funeral with his best friend Brian, and the mother of Bobby's children, that he hadn't officially left yet and knew who I was to him....walked in while I was fucking his best friend.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IsYrPtDrX8o Yeah, that lends credence to my story that I loved him. That we were going to be together forever.
FUCK ME!!!!!!!!
Well, Brian did. He fucked me for the whole three months I lived with him. He only lived two blocks from Bobby's mom's house. And I became a major meth head. Bobby's mom was a meth shooter.
Why the fuck would I care about anyone when no one cared about me? I guess this is life. Or at least this is what I thought at the time.
It wasn't until I broke up with Brian that I got into being a shooter myself. Without the help of Bobby's mom, I found it on my own.
I was 16 years old. Alone. Putting needles into my arms. IT'S NOT SOME FUCKING BIG MYSTERY WHY I FUCKED IT ALL UP. I WISH MY PAST WOULD STOP HAUNTING ME.
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Thursday, May 31, 2012
First post from phone
Trying to see how well this app works posting from my phone. If this turns out well, I might use this blog more.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Not a drop of alcohol for over two weeks now. I have my ups and downs, and today is another struggle. Not to want to drink, but a struggle not to want to control everything and everyone around me. I'm not sure if this is just a general 'drinkers' need to control things or some personality disorder issue because I can't seem to control my own brain so I'll control what other people do instead.
With Justin living with us, it has been easy to fulfill that desire to control. He puts himself in the child/victim roll soo easily that I just instantly take that parental/caregiver roll. I realized it last night and I hate it. Well, I hate the downsides to it which are that it stresses me the hell out, then I get irate that he isn't listening and say something to him which I end up regretting and feeling guilty for. And it's not even a normal type of guilt. It's the kind of guilt I feel when I scold my daughter too much. Not healthy to have that with a full grown man.
I got myself in such a tizzy last night going over his money situation, and was somehow convinced that he had $800. I was sooo sure of this, and I even ran down the amounts with him and he didn't tell me I was wrong. He was probably scared I'd bite his head off if he questioned me. Now that I'm thinking through the numbers, I have no idea how I could have thought it was that high. But I was convinced, and used that amount to go off on a two hour bitch rampage to Noah about how Justin was a liar and he was hiding money and blah blah blah.
When I came down, it was like I just witnessed someone else taking over. Like I didn't have control over my irrational thoughts. I don't know. It has made me depressed thinking about not being able to control my own brain. So I'm struggling today, trying not to feel like crap.
Justin got an apartment and will be moving out by this weekend, so I hope him being gone will help me to focus on a new normal. When I got up this morning and noticed that he posted on Facebook at 4am, I wanted to get pissed because he knew he had to be at his new apartment around 8-9am to get his cable/net hooked up, but I keep reminding myself that I'm not going to be his mommy anymore. I AM pissed, however, that Noah put his name on the line for Justin by spending 45mins on the phone with the apartment owner, going on and on about how good Justin is and how he'll pay and won't be a problem. The apartment owner knows a lot of people in our small town, especially people on the city council. It bugs me that if Justin messes up, it could affect the view people have of us and our business. Maybe that's just my paranoid anxiety, I dunno.
With Justin living with us, it has been easy to fulfill that desire to control. He puts himself in the child/victim roll soo easily that I just instantly take that parental/caregiver roll. I realized it last night and I hate it. Well, I hate the downsides to it which are that it stresses me the hell out, then I get irate that he isn't listening and say something to him which I end up regretting and feeling guilty for. And it's not even a normal type of guilt. It's the kind of guilt I feel when I scold my daughter too much. Not healthy to have that with a full grown man.
I got myself in such a tizzy last night going over his money situation, and was somehow convinced that he had $800. I was sooo sure of this, and I even ran down the amounts with him and he didn't tell me I was wrong. He was probably scared I'd bite his head off if he questioned me. Now that I'm thinking through the numbers, I have no idea how I could have thought it was that high. But I was convinced, and used that amount to go off on a two hour bitch rampage to Noah about how Justin was a liar and he was hiding money and blah blah blah.
When I came down, it was like I just witnessed someone else taking over. Like I didn't have control over my irrational thoughts. I don't know. It has made me depressed thinking about not being able to control my own brain. So I'm struggling today, trying not to feel like crap.
Justin got an apartment and will be moving out by this weekend, so I hope him being gone will help me to focus on a new normal. When I got up this morning and noticed that he posted on Facebook at 4am, I wanted to get pissed because he knew he had to be at his new apartment around 8-9am to get his cable/net hooked up, but I keep reminding myself that I'm not going to be his mommy anymore. I AM pissed, however, that Noah put his name on the line for Justin by spending 45mins on the phone with the apartment owner, going on and on about how good Justin is and how he'll pay and won't be a problem. The apartment owner knows a lot of people in our small town, especially people on the city council. It bugs me that if Justin messes up, it could affect the view people have of us and our business. Maybe that's just my paranoid anxiety, I dunno.
Wednesday, March 09, 2011
I had a small meltdown last night. I didn't drink, and it wasn't really a fight to want to, although being upset did make me have a couple of "why am I even doing this" thoughts.
Earlier in the day I put a post on Freecycle asking for any furniture anyone wanted to get rid of for Justin (since he's going to need it wherever he moves into). Someone responded saying they had a couch and loveseat, and I was in 'gung-ho mode' and pushed for Noah to pick it up last night since the people offering it were saying it had to be picked up last night or today. I figured since Noah got his customer job finished early (after getting out of his regular work early), that this wouldn't be an issue.
Well, he was irritated because his customer job didn't go so well, so when he got home he spouted off "you're lucky I didn't bring home beer." I was like woah, and instantly got defensive and shot back "that wasn't funny, at all." We didn't argue, and after a few minutes he agreed it was a bad choice of words. I understood that he was under a lot of pressure and he's struggling too, so I told myself to let it go, which I think I did for the most part at the time.
My nephews were over at the house because I watch them on Tuesday nights, so I was busy concentrating on them, plus I had given so much of myself trying to help out a women on the sobriety forum as well as Justin all day, so I was beginning to get a little worn down. Noah probably could have used a few hugs, but I didn't think about it or just wasn't picking up on it due being emotionally exhausted. I was still feeling generally positive, but noticed I was starting to get a little stressed.
The people with the couch and loveseat asked if we could pick it up at 9pm. With the snow starting to come in (not that much snow, but there was a chance it could start to get a little icy), Noah didn't really sound like he wanted to do it, and was being kinda snippy. I asked him for an answer so I could tell them and he was like "just wait a minute...they took two hours to get back with you a picture, they can wait five minutes for an answer." I understand his sentiment, but at the time it kinda pissed me off. I was slowly losing my happy positive attitude.
He decided that him and Justin will go pick it up at 9, but says he wants to leave at 7:30. I thought this was kind of weird since the address to pick it up was only 10 minutes away. He said it was so he could go hang out at a 'man store' (local one like Lowes or Menards) and just stare at crap. Whatever, I let it go.
My nephews got picked up, Noah and Justin left, and Miki finished her shower. I had been a little short tempered with Miki about getting in the shower, so we talked a little bit as I tucked her in and apologized to her. I was trying to feel better, trying to get the negative thoughts out of my head. I don't handle stress very well, I'm realizing.
After tucking Miki in I came back downstairs and just watched tv. Sitting there, my head started swimming with thoughts that Noah just left early so he could go get high with Justin. This pissed me off, but I tried to counter it, reminding myself that both him and Justin told me they wouldn't, and that he wouldn't lie to me.
When they got back, they put the couches on the front porch, Noah sat at his computer and lit a cigarette, and they went instantly downstairs to work on the basement. I was like, wtf? Noah didn't even barely say "hi" to me. I began to get pissed because it just felt so "right" that Noah must have gotten high because if he hadn't, he wouldn't be avoiding looking or talking to me, and that is why he went, pretty much, right downstairs.
......
[update]: I didn't finish the above like I'd wanted to. I got distracted. Long story short Noah didn't get high, I've been having a hard time in the evenings not turning into a bitch, and I'm struggling with not realizing I'm in that mode (whole multiple personality thing) until long after the damage is done.
Earlier in the day I put a post on Freecycle asking for any furniture anyone wanted to get rid of for Justin (since he's going to need it wherever he moves into). Someone responded saying they had a couch and loveseat, and I was in 'gung-ho mode' and pushed for Noah to pick it up last night since the people offering it were saying it had to be picked up last night or today. I figured since Noah got his customer job finished early (after getting out of his regular work early), that this wouldn't be an issue.
Well, he was irritated because his customer job didn't go so well, so when he got home he spouted off "you're lucky I didn't bring home beer." I was like woah, and instantly got defensive and shot back "that wasn't funny, at all." We didn't argue, and after a few minutes he agreed it was a bad choice of words. I understood that he was under a lot of pressure and he's struggling too, so I told myself to let it go, which I think I did for the most part at the time.
My nephews were over at the house because I watch them on Tuesday nights, so I was busy concentrating on them, plus I had given so much of myself trying to help out a women on the sobriety forum as well as Justin all day, so I was beginning to get a little worn down. Noah probably could have used a few hugs, but I didn't think about it or just wasn't picking up on it due being emotionally exhausted. I was still feeling generally positive, but noticed I was starting to get a little stressed.
The people with the couch and loveseat asked if we could pick it up at 9pm. With the snow starting to come in (not that much snow, but there was a chance it could start to get a little icy), Noah didn't really sound like he wanted to do it, and was being kinda snippy. I asked him for an answer so I could tell them and he was like "just wait a minute...they took two hours to get back with you a picture, they can wait five minutes for an answer." I understand his sentiment, but at the time it kinda pissed me off. I was slowly losing my happy positive attitude.
He decided that him and Justin will go pick it up at 9, but says he wants to leave at 7:30. I thought this was kind of weird since the address to pick it up was only 10 minutes away. He said it was so he could go hang out at a 'man store' (local one like Lowes or Menards) and just stare at crap. Whatever, I let it go.
My nephews got picked up, Noah and Justin left, and Miki finished her shower. I had been a little short tempered with Miki about getting in the shower, so we talked a little bit as I tucked her in and apologized to her. I was trying to feel better, trying to get the negative thoughts out of my head. I don't handle stress very well, I'm realizing.
After tucking Miki in I came back downstairs and just watched tv. Sitting there, my head started swimming with thoughts that Noah just left early so he could go get high with Justin. This pissed me off, but I tried to counter it, reminding myself that both him and Justin told me they wouldn't, and that he wouldn't lie to me.
When they got back, they put the couches on the front porch, Noah sat at his computer and lit a cigarette, and they went instantly downstairs to work on the basement. I was like, wtf? Noah didn't even barely say "hi" to me. I began to get pissed because it just felt so "right" that Noah must have gotten high because if he hadn't, he wouldn't be avoiding looking or talking to me, and that is why he went, pretty much, right downstairs.
......
[update]: I didn't finish the above like I'd wanted to. I got distracted. Long story short Noah didn't get high, I've been having a hard time in the evenings not turning into a bitch, and I'm struggling with not realizing I'm in that mode (whole multiple personality thing) until long after the damage is done.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)