My Daily Diatribes

Monday, June 24, 2013

Humbled

My phone has been crashing a lot, due to the fact that there is little to none internal storage and I don't feel like hacking the internal memory space to flip files over to the external storage as my phone JUST NOW started reciving and sending picture messages. I'm certain one thing has nothing to do with the other, but it'd be just my luck.

So in order to free up memory space, I un-synced one of my email accounts. It's usually just filled up with spam so I look at it infrequently.

And I noticed today that 6 days ago a wonderful person dropped $100 in my PayPal account.

And I feel LIKE THE BIGGEST ASSHOLE AROUND!

I've chatted with her, bitched about my life, and not once did she say, "Uhhhhh, why don't you STFU?"

For this I'm so sorry. And humbled. And touched.

I am so grateful and blessed to have people in my life who help me out when things look bleak to me.

Sunday, June 23, 2013

5 Minutes

One friend I made through Band Back Together is Jana. She lost her son her Charlie on the 24th day of his life, due to Late Onset Group B Strep. Her story is heartbreaking and powerful. She is a wonderful woman with strength I wish I had.

Each Sunday she poses a challenge to herself and others to free write for 5 minutes straight. No filter, just whatever happens as your fingers dance across the keyboard.

I realized today, after the enormity of some news I've gotten, that I need to write through this confusion and pain every day. Even if it is only five minutes.

Off to set the kitchen timer.

300 Seconds Inside My Brain
I think the bbq I ate for lunch was bad. My stomach is rolling.

Maybe it's because of the news Jeremiah's shrink gave me the other day. My son has Tourette Syndrome and GAD aka Generalized Anxiety Disorder.

WTF.

I'm still reelling. I knew things weren't going right back in November, so I started getting help for him. I knew in the back of my head that he had issues, but when the doctor said these out loud it made it all the more real.

If one person asks me if my son curses uncontrollably i will PUNCH THEM IN THEIR STUPID FACE.

Will I get jail time for that?

I can't think straight. I'm going a little crazy today. Yesterday was terrible for him. He stayed with a friend who was also watching two other kids. They were girls. Horrible, obnoxious, brats from the outer rings of Hell. I think they could annoy Satan.

He was great while he was there, but the moment he got home, all hell broke loose for him. All the pent up rage and frustration boiled over. He punched his dummy. He laid down on the bed and kicked. Screamed into his pillow. Threaten to punch himself in the head.

Friday, May 24, 2013

Today. It Sucked.

     "I see you like to color coordinate. Does the carpet match the drapes?"

   "I like when women say whatever they want. I might be married but I enjoy 'interesting" conversations."

"Caroline, LinkedIn thinks you should connect with X (your rapist).

The P in PTSD is post. As in after. There is no time limit to how far removed this post situation might be. It could be 14 years later when a deep-seated fear and hatred is triggered.

You don't expect an inappropriate remark to detonate a well of emotions that leaves you silently crying for 2 hours while you drive up and down I-95, while your child plays Angry Birds, fortunately unaware of the crazy train sitting in the driver's seat.

I don't put much effort into my looks. Besides coloring my hair blue (which I realized today is nothing but an attempted security blanket), I don't style it very often. I rarely wear make-up. Now that the weather is warmer, I'm wearing long, flowy skirts that aren't all that flattering, but I feel comfortable in.

I don't set out with the intent on appearing like I'm sex on a stick. I don't bathe in milk and honey. I don't roll in pheromones. At this point I would be a better spokesperson for The Cheesecake Factory than Abercrombie & Fitch.

Yet, I wind up in situations where complete strangers say the most inappropriate things to me. And it terrifies me. It makes me so angry and sad. Like the only thing this person sees before them is a sexual object.

Once, I was nothing but a sexual object for someone, for 5 miserable months. "You're incapable of having an intelligent conversation with me, but your body makes up for it."

I've admitted previously that I struggle with self-harm. One of the reasons why self-harming is such a struggle for me to stop is because I secretly believe that the cuts, welts, and scars will be such a turn-off that if a person is really interested in me, it will be because of my sense of humor, my intelligence, or my inability to laugh silently.

For the love of God, I don't want strangers to assume that I'm comfortable with sexual innuendo because my bra cup overfloweth.

I'm so scared and so low right now that if acid were splashed in my face right now I'd probably be happy. I feel like I'm 18 all over again, trying to believe that I am more than a hole for someone to fuck.

I'm trying to tell myself that I'm not a bad person, that I wasn't asking for it then as much as I wasn't asking for it today. And it's really hard to listen to it.

I can't get a hold of my therapist, so writing it out will have to do. I haven't hurt myself in the last 2 hours, yea, so there's a win I suppose.

It's gotta be better tomorrow. Or at least I'll fake it. My little karate kid is going to test for his yellow belt and mommy's anxieties don't need to overshadow his big day.