It's been a while...
Wow, how time flies and life just happens.
I've come here many times over the past few years to write but I always delete what I wrote for some reason. I think it's because I feel guilty that I don't need this anymore.
I'm in a good place and have been for a few years.
I got married in 2009 to the boyfriend I often spoke of in my posts. We have a good marriage, we are happy. We communicate, we trust each other. It is so wonderful to have someone I can count on, who understands me. He has read this blog from start to finish and never once did he pass judgement. I love him!
We had a baby girl in 2010. She is the absolute love of my life. I'm biased, but she is amazing! I thank God for her daily. Every morning is like waking up in a dream, like I've stepped into someone else's seemingly perfect, happy life.
I never, ever thought this would be my life. If I was asked 10 years ago where I would be today I NEVER would have said this. I never would have thought happily married with a daughter was in my future. Based on my past alone I figured I would be a hardened person who was still very much alone.
I guess what I'm trying to say is that there is hope. There is a top to that seemingly never ending mountain we climb on the way to healing. Those peaks and valleys that seem to be like quicksand, sucking you down and holding you in a standstill of pain DO end. I'm living proof. If you can't trust in the process (I had a helluva time trusting my counselor that things would get better if I just keep working at it) trust in me (I know, cliche!) because it does happen.
You DO heal.
You WILL find happiness.
Most of all, you DESERVE to be healed. You DESERVE to be happy.
3rd time, 3 different people
I was sexually assaulted in December 2008. Again.
I just about lost it. I walked into my house and tried calling the police but I couldn't even dial the phone. I just stood there shaking, so full of rage that another person had violated my body that I could have killed him if I wasn't overwhelmed with flashbacks.
My fiance (J) and I were coming home from getting dinner at A&W and this guy was walking in the middle of the street in front of my house and wouldn't get out of the way so I could park. I honked the horn at him and he started yelling at me, waving his arms like he was trying to fly. I recognized him as a crack head who frequents the store where I work. I put the window down and asked him to move, he told me to suck his cock but he at least moved out of the way. I parked and got out and told him he can't talk to me like that. He spouted off more filth, and I walked over to him and told him to shut up and to get the fuck outta here - MY MISTAKE. He reached out and grabbed my breasts, squeezed and laughed. I shoved him, twice, and started screaming for J who was trying to get the tire iron out of the truck. I was going to punch him, pound the living hell out of him, kick him until he was unrecognizable. All I could think was KILL KILL KILL... and then I lost it. I got really scared instead. I saw my father flash before my eyes, I saw Byron holding me down and that twisted look on his face. J finally took heed of my shouting for him and I screamed what this guy did and J ripped off his jacket and started walking towards him. J was going to kill him, I called J back and told him it's not worth it. Let the police deal with it because I'll be damned if I'm not reporting this one.
So that's what happened. I approached when I shouldn't have. I recognized him, had talked to him a few times, knew he was a crack head and thought he was harmless because he was always stoned and could barely walk.
So when I got to the house and stormed through the door, wracked with sobs and partially unintelligible because I was mumbling I said to my mother that I was just sexually assaulted in front of the house. Can you believe I didn't know the number to the Police? It didn't even cross my mind to call 911, no I wanted to call dispatch. I couldn't dial the phone, I was shaking and crying. I could barely breathe. I tossed the phone at my mother and asked her to call the police.
The police show up. They take my statement. I'm running on auto pilot at this point. I answer their questions the best I can, I write an official police report. They tell me they have brought a dog out to find this guy but because the sent is over 30 minutes old it's doubtful they'll find him. I remind the officer that I KNOW this guy from where I work but I don't know his name but I sure as hell can point him out. They promise me that I will hear from them in a few days at the latest. They'll do everything they can to catch him... BLAH BLAH BLAH
I haven't heard from them. Not one single peep. I took a week off work because I was too scared I'd see him again and freeze. I called the Constable who took my statement and police report, he never called me back. My first experience reporting to the police is a nightmare and I am ever glad I never bothered to do so before this. What a waste of fucking time. Not only is it humiliating to explain to a stranger that you have been touched, fondled, squeezed and laughed at but then they do nothing. They can't even be bothered to return your phone call.
I have been struggling with this since it happened. I keep thinking that there HAS to be something wrong with me, that I've done something to deserve this. Three times, three different people. My father who used me for years. Byron. Now this guy.
I don't understand why this has affected me as much as it has. I've been through worse. Much much worse. I'm scared to go out by myself. I carry my knife with me 24/7 and I now have a baseball bat in the truck. At work I don't go anywhere without the bear spray canister. I already know I won't be able to use them. Guess who came into the store last week?
Yep. You guessed it.
I froze for a second after he walked in. The thought of calling the police and telling them he was here crossed my mind for a fraction of a second and then I thought Why? What the fuck are those useless asshats going to do? Show up in 20 minutes after he is long gone? Take another statement and then do NOTHING?
So I simply served him and let him go...
I stopped writing because it's always the same thing over and over again.
"I feel like crying"
"I feel worthless"
Blah blah fucking blah.
Can you tell I'm angry? I am so fucking sick of all of those things. I have absolutely had it with all of this bullshit just creeping up and smothering me.
What do I do?
I don't know what to do.
I'm getting to the point where I just want to scream a big "FUCK YOU" and run in front of a bus.
Like a bug on a windshield. Splat. Peace. No feelings. No thoughts. Eternal peace.
Christ. I've lost it. Completely fuckin lost it.
And here I am telling myself this too shall pass... LIAR... this too shall pass... it passes but it always always always comes back.
I'm stuck on some demented merry-go-round. My feeble pleas ignored by the devil in a conductors suit. Oh wait.. maybe that's my father. Or maybe Byron...
Maybe it's me?
WTF is wrong with people
This is a rant about the serious decline of society...
I live by what I think is a basic rule: Treat others how I want to be treated. Easy and simple. Or so I thought.
I was grocery shopping last night and when I came out to my truck I found the passenger door was severely dented and scratched by the asshole in the van parked next to me. Based on the severity of the damage it wasn't a simple opening of their door and hitting mine, it's not a case of the wind catching the door and making contact with mine. This was a blatant opening of their door and smashing it into mine. They couldn't be bothered to leave a note or anything. I wrote down their license plate number and went into the store to have them paged. No one showed up. I sat in the parking lot for 3 hours waiting for them, no one showed up. I called J to come with my camera so I could take pictures of the damage to our truck and the paint transfer on their door.
I don't understand why someone would do that and not leave a note. If I did that, I would at least leave a note with my info or wait for the owner of the vehicle to come out so I could apologize and exchange info. I would feel horribly guilty if I didn't and I couldn't live with myself afterwards.
I work extremely hard for the things I have and I don't have much. What I do have, I take pride in. It makes me so angry when someone damages or steals my possessions.
Speaking of stealing... I put my smoke down outside like I always do if someone comes to the store. I served them and went back outside and in the span of a minute some fucking ass monkey stole my smoke. I saw a few punks walk past and I guess they just couldn't help themselves.
I've lost all faith I had in people. There are good people out there but there are just too few of them to combat the fucking inconsiderate assholes. Where are these peoples morales? Why are there so many of them?
I'm done. Fuck my rule. I have spent the majority of my life treating everyone I meet with respect and respecting their hard earned possessions. If no one wants to do the same, then fuck 'em.
If you can't beat 'em... join em.
I am fuming. I am so fucking pissed off that I don't know what to do with the anger but I'm not turning it on myself so where do I put it?
Am I not allowed to be mad and frustrated? It seems by J's standards I'm always supposed to be smiles and sunshine. I'm not allowed to get frustrated with him and god forbid I try to talk to him because somehow, no matter what the situation, it turns into my fucking fault.
The day I quit my job is the day it seems everything started to run downhill.
J claimed that he was going to quit his job after his parents left and find something that pays more. I've heard this many times so I didn't want to put much faith into it but I guess I did. As far as I know he hasn't applied anywhere. He claims it's because he wants to keep his benefits so we can afford my not-so-anti-depressants. Well, if he got a job that paid more we could easily get Blue Cross and have nothing to worry about. I have been applying for jobs all over the place, but they're all male dominated jobs (warehouse, construction, driving) that I'm not getting call backs. I'm really struggling with this as I can easily do those jobs, earn great money but because I don't have a penis I'm not even given a chance. J could easily do those jobs but he won't even apply.
I feel like I'm in a pressure cooker with all the shit J is putting on me. There was a great job I interviewed for, and the person who referred me told me the manager said the interview went great. I haven't heard back. J constantly kept telling me I hope you get that job, you better get that job... Well I didn't and because I didn't I'm under even more pressure to find something else.
I don't understand why it's solely up to me to improve our situation.
I feel inadequate. I feel like a failure. I feel lost.
The inadequacy is partly from my mother. It seems that nothing I do or how hard I work is not good enough. Last week she had me in tears. More than tears. Sobbing to the point of hyperventilating. You know as a little kid when you would get so upset that you gasped for air during a tantrum and breathed snot bubbles? That was me - minus the snot bubbles!
The woman is always on me about something. I do my best to block it out and ignore it but sometimes it eats through my extra tough exterior and just breaks me. Examples of such are completely eluding me at the moment which is probably good thing as I don't need to be reminded of the poison.
I heard back from C, thankfully the answer was yes we can still work together. Now I just need to figure out how I would like to proceed... email or phone sessions.
Phone sessions are more helpful. Emails are easier. I need more helpful. I want easier. I'm afraid I will sabotage myself with phone sessions by not talking about what I need to talk about. I'm good at that. Too good I think. C is even better at not letting me though.
Aw fuck... phone sessions. I'm making a pact with myself not to sabotage, not to fuck around but to be real and talk about what I need to talk about.
Running On Empty
I feel like screaming. Yelling. Shouting. Breaking something.
I'm fucked no matter which way I turn.
I've been on my own for almost a year now. In that year I think I've undone everything C or T helped me do. I'm an emotional wreck that even the jaws of life couldn't save.
I'm scared to contact C again and ask for help, although I have figured out a way to pay for sessions... the good ol' tax refund. With that I would be able to have 10 sessions. I'm worried that I'll waste them, that I won't be able to talk after all this time has passed. Maybe I'll ask C for email sessions to begin with as I am better at writing my feelings and thoughts as opposed to verbalizing them. Or is that just a way out from my fear? I really don't know.
OK, I did it. I sent C an email asking if we could still work together.
Now I wait...