Off to the races

My mind is racing. My heart beat is Mach 5. Rotten dreams stirred up fears and emotions that I long ago processed.

I want to run until I'm tired. I want some sort of physical activity to break the chain of thoughts.

I'm supposed to be heading to Mass, where in the still and quiet, I should be able to speak to God from the depths of my soul. But I'm afraid I'll sob in front of my child.

A child who doesn't need to know the pain running around in my head. This is the time when it gets dangerous for me. I want to hurt myself, just to let my brain find some other source of pain to cling to.
My shrink tells me to write it out when I get like this. That bringing this insanity out of my head and on to paper for others to see will help. That bringing this shame out of the dark and into The Light will give me more control. That sharing this secret might help me conquer this silent shame.

For almost 20 years I've subjected myself to pain that has left my body riddled with scars. It's time for me to face this, grab this demon by the hand, and force him to march alongside me. So I can show this demon that he can't hide inside my head any more. That others know about my secret.

And that I'm going to fight this out instead of hiding and hurting.

*Whovians will understand this reference. A friend sent it to me. Seems there is a Doctor reference for everything in life.

Go The F*ck To Sleep: The Play

Scene:
           Living Room-- Mother and Son prepare to read a bed time story.  Mother is feeling very proud and slightly superior at this moment for she is ENGAGING Son's imagination and EXPANDING his vocabulary and IMPARTING wisdom.  (Large action words indicates that Mother is envisioning the day that when Son accepts Nobel Humanitarian World Record Prize for his works in the field of Neuro-Literature-Artology, he will recall this evening.)

7:15--Aesop's Fables read

7:30--Son tucked into bed, nightly orisons occur.

7:35--Mother begins work plays on Pintrest; Son announces from top of the stairs that he has to clip a hangnail.

7:37--Son pronounces that all toe nails and several finger nails need to be clipped.  Mother makes mental note to sweep bathroom floor as it is now littered.

7:45--Son bounces down the stairs, pleads for Mother to re-tuck him into bed.  Mother pauses video of duck skate-boarding to act in a maternal fashion.

8:05--Mother hears footsteps overhead.  Sighing, she stops looking at food porn and addresses Son.  He inquires as to her nightly routine, as he is unable to sleep without knowing when she will be finished "working" on the computer.

8:07--Son is re-re-tucked into bed.  Mother wonders if any new articles on Cracked have been published since she was on at 5pm.

8:20--Son stomps downstairs, tears trailing down his face.  He is "sooooooooooooo hot!"  And "has a little bit of a headache, especially when I shake my head like this."  Son imitates wet dog shaking self dry.

8:30--Mother updates Facebook status with a sideways frowny face, informs sister that the new family dog will be named Sherlocka as 'Chelsea' is a stupid name. 

8:33--Mother realizes there is nothing to drink in the house which would give her a buzz, so she makes a cup of herbal tea.  House Mate makes pointless inquiry about Son not sleeping.  Mother wishes to roll eyes but refrains by digging her nails into her leg.

8:47--Mother, no longer dreaming that Son will live to see the an award winning future, much less next day, ascends stairs to threaten child with bodily harm if he rises from bed again. Son is re-re-re-tucked into bed.

10:22--Mother finally feels she has earned the right to relax.

Son has gone the fuck to sleep.

 

  

If Wishes Were Horses

Tonight I would give my left foot just for someone to hold and hug me while I cry.
I haven't slept well in days.
Stress has piled up: money issues, car accident problems, trolls and high school drama, doctors bills, health concerns, not making a sale at work yet, Jeremiah's schooling.
I know I have some wonderful friends and I am truly grateful.
But tonight I'm tired of having to depends on myself. And I'm tired that there's no one here to share the burden with me.
I hate being alone in this bed tonight.

I Will Not Break

Disclaimer for trolls reading this post: 

My writings tonight are not

 (nor have ever been) a cry for pity or sympathy.  

It's just me talking about how my fucked up head 

deals with stuff that happens in my life. 

 That's how I've always intended this blog to be.

I started hurting myself again tonight.

I lost two friends in the matter of 3 days.

I was publicly stomped on by a troll, but when I dared to defend myself, my now use to be friends advised me to stop writing for the public to read, that I should take down everything I've ever written about my ex.

Yesterday I was numb, today I was beating myself up.  Could there be things so awful that I had written that I don't recall?  Am I really so angry that I fail to realize that everything I write is about him?

So tonight as I realized I needed to write out my pain, rather than try to bleed it out of myself, I dove head first into the search engine on my blog.  I needed to see how many times I had allegedly  "misrepresented (my) ex-fiance."

You know how many times I made barest mention of my ex?  3 times.  In the span of 186 posts.

• engaged and ditched at the alter,
• I'm doing TONS better about the whole ex-fiance thing.  It's not like ending a relationship with a boyfriend, for heavens sake, I was ready to pledge my live to him!
• I hate that when my fiancee dumped me at the alter, claiming that I was not trustworthy and would probably have an affair, still angers me.  He came from a broken family, which saddens my heart.  He had problems that he was unable to see, but I still loved that foolish boy.  I know that I would not make the same mistakes and get involved with someone so damaged, but I am still afraid of trusting someone again.

For the love of cookie dough, I didn't even devote an entire post to him!  These are the only things I've publicly shared.

I'm not a bad person.  Looking at it now, I don't think I'm that angry about that relationship either.  If I were, shouldn't more of my writings be devoted to my angst/torch bearing to my ex, as I was accused by the troll.

I'm sad all this unnecessary drama has been stirred up.  I'm sad that a poisonous troll had such power over friends who have known me for over 13 years. 

I'm sorry that my words, spoken in confidence, where used against me.

So no, I won't stop writing.  I won't make my writings private.  Because I said nothing wrong in the first place.

Now I just need to convince my brain to let go of the hurt so I can stop the bleeding on my skin. 

Gone

I lost two friends today.  I really don't know what I feel.
A troll stepped in after four years and stirred up a pot of shit, to what end?
For three days my life became a weird day time high school drama. Why was I told to be the bigger man, and ignore what was being hurled at me? Why was I being told to stop writing? The crux of my writing wasn't about my ex, but about everything else in my life.
I talked to my therapist last night who told me I have every right to be upset. That I have a right to my own feelings of anger, hurt, and sadness.
Trolls suck.

Bat Rhymes With Splat

Now that I've been back in VA since June, I'm quite impressed with myself for learning how to get around traffic by taking more scenic routes at times.  And I haven't gotten myself too lost.

"Welcome to...." WTF?

Until the other night.  When I drove 45 minutes south before realizing I was going in the wrong direction.  It wasn't until I saw this:



No big deal, right?  What's a 1/4 tank of gas and 45 minutes of my life besides money (which I don't have) and sleep (which I get very little of).  I had been talking with an old friend which is why I failed to pay attention to the signs on the road.

Oh well, one can always turn around and start the 42 mile drive back towards home.  I'll just crank up some tunes by Dr. House and hum along. 

Nothing but me, the Blues, The Kiddo snoring in the back seat, a clear night sky filled with millions of twinkly stars, and the wide open road.

And a bat.  A fucking bat flew right into the windshield. 

In that brief second, I swear that bat looked at me as if to say, "This is the start of a bad night for me."

At least my shrieks of terror didn't wake The Kiddo.  

Is This What You Wanted?

I am angry.

I cried today.

I am very angry.

I am disappointed in some.

I am grateful to others.

I am FURIOUS.

But I will get over this.

I sat on a bathroom floor and cried today.

The Upside of Having Trolls ***UPDATED***

Things have gotten so laughable for me in the last 12 hours.  What once might have lead me to days of tears, self-doubt, and loads of self-hatred, I no longer find upsetting.  Instead, I have spent the better part of today reveling in the fact that I no longer care about the opinions of fake people.

I love and respect the opinions of my friends, whom I know by name.  I do not respect people who care to advise or castigate me from the shadows like Deep Throat.

It's funny that all this hullabaloo has come up.  And I actually have My Trolls to thank for this.

See, my rankings and ratings in search engines have skyrocketing in the last 12 hours.  The more times individuals visit my page, the higher my ranking in Google.  So each time someone has commented "anonymously" or not, Google congratulates me and rewards me with a higher standing. 

All the key words that have been used over and over and over again are now likely to be pulled up as results if someone were to search for "liar, slander, malicious, lies."  See, once I mentioned Dr. House, MD briefly in a post.  As a result, if someone types "dr. house" into Google, they land on my blog.

Weird?  Yes.  But that is the beauty of algorithms.


***UPDATED***
 I have decided, as it is my right as this is my own fucking blog, that I am removing all of the "Anonymous" comments and those many of those comments that my dear, good friends made on behalf of my defense.  

I changed some settings around for a bit, so anonymous commenter are not allowed and for a while, I will be moderating my comments section because really, this is not why I chose to write.  

So in short, fuck off trolls, get a life, and I'll write.  But seriously, what good are you doing by reporting back to my ex?  

Hypocrisy, Thy Name is Anonymous

Anyone who REALLY knows me is aware that I am always open to correction.  I may not like having my faults pointed out, but I usually have the humility to accept criticism where and when it is due.  A real friendship in my eyes, is one where you can lovingly approach another about a fault/character flaw/bad habit and in true justice and sincerity point out the error of one's ways.

It's like that crappy, whiny song The Fray did several years ago.  If you really care about someone who is doing things that are bad for them, you run the risk of losing that friendship.  But a deep, abiding friendship between two people can usually help each other walk on a better path of life.

 Oh, The Fray, how I hate your whiny Gray's Anatomy theme song.  My ears bleed.

I had a dear, long-time friend call me today and voice some concern about the hurt and anger that I still carry around from the loss of my almost marriage.  And I do admit it is a HUGE fault of mine that I should work on.  I can accept her just criticism of me because she has spoken these words to me out of love and concern for me.

What I CAN NOT STAND FOR THE LIFE OF ME are those who dare offer council to me when they have done absofuckinglutly nothing for my life.  These people are called trolls.

And I had a troll post a message to me on my previous post WHY.  I raged for a few minutes then realized the absurdity of it all.

So this is what I had to say.  After all, these writings are my own fucking diatribes.  I'm not forcing a gun to anyone's head to read my drivel.  I am not emailing it back to ANY of my exes.  And of the people who read this blog, many do not know my ex fiancee.  So I can only conclude that the person who sent me this note is someone who I haven't spoken to in 4 years, but makes it their disgusting duty to read up on my life and report back to my ex.

• Anonymous, all I have to say to you is that since you lack the courage to give me your name (though I have a feeling who this is) I do not owe you any explanation. In the past 4 years, that is one thousand four hundred sixty days, you have not called me, nor written, nor text, or even sent up smoke signals, save for this and two comments on a previous blog.
  
  Quiet simply, you are a coward and you like to stir the pot. Why do you feel it is your duty to read what I write and then report it back to my ex? If he has had an issue with me writing, than it is his duty to ask me to cease and desist. If I were asked by him to no longer talk about the demise of our relationship, then I would do so. So far, I haven't heard anything.
  
  Also, if you actually read my blog, there is no way that I have ever insinuated that my ex fiancee was the man who was responsible for raping me.
  
  Lastly, and I'll be done here, the words "COUPLES COUNSELING" were N....E....V....E....R brought up.
  
  Oh, and one more thing, since this is MY blog and the internet is a public forum, this conversation is now fodder for my next post. So in a way, thank you for giving me a reason to write tonight.
  
  And I was so afraid that I was going to have writers block. 

 And in case this wasn't already apparent, I'll make this clear:

• Yes, I still bear the hurt that comes with being left at the alter, four days prior to my wedding.
• Yes, I still bear the hurt that comes with losing about forty "friends" in one fell swoop.  It's sad that of all those who claimed to be my friend, only two people of that former pool of "friends" bothered to call me.  I wrote letters and made calls to all those friends within hours of the end of my engagement and NOT ONE SINGLE FUCKING PERSON had the decency to call or write back.
• Am I a lot farther on in my healing than I was four years ago?  Yes.  Of course I am.  It was four fucking years ago.  And when I occasionally mention what happened, it's typically in reference to me learning to over come my fears.  Things well up in my head, and like a tea pot, I have to let some steam out.  But once again, this is my own fucking blog.

So now that I have blown off my steam, lest my readers, friends, or trolls think that I am an unhappy person, here's an awesome, hysterical video.  This will help wipe away the blood dripping from your ears, if you happened to listen to the crappy Fray song. 

PS- Troll, fuck off.  I'm a writer.  I write. 

Right In The Feelers

Over the past 24 hours I have been bombarded with so many messages of love and support that I can't process everything.  I can't believe so many people have reached out to me with words of comfort.

A friend messaged me, cautioning that I might have some triggers or flashback pop up because of Lord Douche Bag's comment, which I initially brushed off.  But around lunch time I was getting upset because I realized the sheer enormity of awfulness of what he said.

I am so thankful to each and everyone of you who have offered to take care of LDB, however I won't take up your offers for vengeance.  The most fitting punishment is that he has to live with himself, a worm-eaten, rotten, hollow shell of his former self.

I can't write anything more, because I'll cry.  Mostly tears of gratitude.  So I'll leave you with this to laugh at.  I hope my little brother will forgive me for posting this.

You Can Go Home, But You'll Sometimes Find Assholes There

Went back to my Alma Mater for homecoming yesterday.  It's been 9 years since I graduated, leaving behind the tiny college I called home for four years. Four long years of debates in the class room, thousands of hours procrastinating writing papers, and scrubbing toilets to pay for my tuition.

Got all dolled up in my Red Dress of Courage.  It has been 8 years since I saw many of these people, almost 7 years since I gave birth to my son.  I needed something to make me feel wonderful, proud of myself, and all the achievements I have made in the last 9 years of my life.  

Was asked by a former classmate if I enjoyed being raped. 

Was too shocked to come up with a good reply, but wish I had retorted, "Of course, why do you think I'm dressed like this?"

I noticed many nasty glances and pointed fingers but didn't care.  Was ignored by people who were my friends when I was engaged but who didn't even bother to call when my fiancee left me at the alter.

I went for me.  I went to prove that I could go back there and not be ashamed of who I am, of the path my life has taken.  I'm not ashamed of my blue hair, of my views on the world, of the fact that I write openly about my rape, struggles with depression and anxiety, or the fears that run around my head.

I went because I am so my bigger than all the nonsense that use to keep me down.

And for all that I say with a smile on my face, I might not be the best Catholic out there, but at least I'm not a hypocrite.  And I can live and strive to do better than that.