I am an egomaniac with an inferiority complex. I appear tough, strong, in control, calm, cool, and collected, but inside I'm crippled with fear, doubt, and insecurity on a reckless and wild roller coaster of dysfunction and pure mayhem. I find pleasure in pain. I treat the loneliness of my own depression with still more isolation. I keep people at arms length yet become saddened that no one ever gets close to me. I appear to be independent, yet I'm co-dependent to an extreme, only secure when taking care of someone else. I want to be recognized, but do not want to be watched. When I am right, all should take notice, when I am wrong, all should take cover. I hate my parents, yet desperately seek their approval. I'm disgusted by the opposite sex, and still desperately yearn for that fairy tale of happily ever after companionship. I build walls but have no boundaries. Trust no one, but tell everyone everything about me. I've been labeled as bipolar, bisexual, ambidextrous, passive aggressive, anti social, and yet I'm a social butterfly. I enjoy serenity and am attracted to chaos. I'm a loner, but I'm popular. I'm overworked and underpaid, an addict, a gambler, a stunt driver, a negotiator, an artist, and a muse. I am a best friend and a worst enemy. Let me talk you in or out of anything. I can steal your wallet and help you look for it. I'm born to help and full of hurt, therefore any behavior, substance, or lifestyle that produces enough pleasure to take ME out of me for even a split second... I will become instantly addicted to, constantly chasing any and all feelings of relief to the end of the line, as though I'm on a quest to discover the meaning of life.
Every single part of my life is an extreme in one way or another. I want everything in an instant, or I want nothing at all, I seek absolute perfection or see grounds for immediate dismissal. I am considered overqualified, yet I fall short and will almost ALWAYS underachieve. I am the epitome of spoiled, a textbook example of the purest childish entitlement, this stubborn "all or nothing" attitude. My thermostat is completely off or on the highest temperature, the volume of music has to be turned to the max. I take the hottest showers, and drink the coldest coffee, I barely nap during the day, and stay up all night. I want nothing more than to get to the point, so I find myself reading books and directions backwards. I know better than anyone, I even under-mind my GPS. I make lists but never use them. My best intentions ALWAYS yield the worst results. I detest and repudiate from the rules, instinctively break laws, undoubtedly resist management, defy government, debunk religion, shun politics, and nix the teachings of the like. I abide by my own principles based on logic and my personal experience and knowledge of all of the above. I live to challenge the so-called experts. I will argue semantics just to make you second guess yourself. I adamantly reject any notion to conform, I subscribe to virtually nothing, I've adopted no trends, I cannot follow blindly like a sheep. I don't smoke nor believe in modern American medicine, I refuse to conform or to be enslaved by the inconvenient conveniences of modern society or anyone else's selfish, self righteous agendas.
Isolation: Trapped inside of my own mind, terrified of the light, of the dark, of the outdoors, of death, of people, of expectations, of rejection, of the air, of the water, of reality, of the sun, of the rain, of the truth. Like being imprisoned in a room, bound to a chair, embedded in concrete, looking for my purpose, looking for one good reason not to blow my fucking brains out. It doesn't matter though because my arms are too heavy to raise a gun and my fingers too frozen to pull any trigger.
Trusting no one, as they all have selfish motives. Not wanting to be hurt means no longer making an attempt to be friendly. The last one to do it hurt the most, and it was my own fault for giving another person power in my life. I would never fuck with another human being's feelings, emotions, or life the way people have done to me, I do not wish to be a victim or a martyr, I am so confused and so broken. I cannot comprehend cruelty I do not wish to do so, I struggle with society and the way it tells me I should be. I will never be that person, that woman, that wife, that daughter, that mother. I hurt. My soul is empty, I have no faith, I try to let go, I try to let it in, I cry out for help, for relief, for love. I come up empty.
I laugh when people talk behind my back about me. It really doesn't bother me, it's fear, and it's not mine. Writing and blogging is what I do to let off steam, to vent frustration, or to self-soothe. I am not hurting anyone, ever. However there are those who are no longer in my circle who STILL read this blog. To those people I give recognition here:
Judge me, I don't care. You have no power over me, you won't ever have any power, so run your fool mouth, make assumptions, read into my bluntness and let your paranoia feed your ego into believing that every post is about you. It's not, it's about ME, it's about MY life, MY feelings, MY thoughts, MY recovery. ME. If you don't understand it, you aren't supposed to. If you don't like it, don't read it. If it makes you angry, go punch your wall. If it makes you sad, go have a good cry. If it makes you horny, go fuck yourself. If you are uncomfortable with my blog, you might consider working with someone to overcome your fears, doubts, and insecurities of self.
This is my blog, it is for me. I don't associate my name to it, this way it is somewhat anonymous. I don't feel it's going to make me millions, or gain me notoriety, I do not find my ranting to be of any literary genius, I just write, it's what I do. People are afraid of me because I speak and write about things that are difficult for them to say out loud. I don't do this for anybody but me, and it keeps me from acting out in ways that would get me arrested or hurt, even killed.
I write in a public blog instead of a private journal because I believe it can help people. Sometimes, people feel the same way, people who don't know me, people in another place in the world. Sometimes I identify with people that I have nothing in common with, people whose lives would never cross with mine through any other forum. My blogs are not self help articles, I am not a shrink or a philosopher. I have no credentials that can help fix anyone, but if you have issues, I can tell you what works for me, and how I began my journey.
Who knows, I might catch the attention of someone who truly feels alone in this world, someone who is at the end of their rope, who may be screaming desperately for someone to understand them, and no one is answering. I was that person. I was misunderstood. I was all alone and frightened. I was about to take my own life. I desperately wanted to fit in somewhere, anywhere. Today I do fit in, not always, not every day, but today, I am sure that I belong in this world and even though I am whacky, I am loved.
I needed to pay my car insurance, it's now Monday and I had been trying since Friday afternoon. They wouldn't accept my VISA online or over the phone, so I brought cash to the office, they can't take cash, in fact, they can't take a payment at all, and there is no option to do a wire transfer, so how do I pay if I need it to reflect TODAY? I am going to be cancelled tomorrow. Jeezus, will somebody just take my fucking money, PLEASE!
The thought of a strong arm job crossed my mind, but those things never end well, I could see it now on the 6:00 News, "Crazed Woman Holds Insurance Office Hostage, Her Demands: 'PROCESS MY PAYMENT', More at 11."
CLEARLY, I am out of my mind, is it time for a lobotomy? Do they still administer shock treatment??? How can I exist in a world where the shortest distance from A to B is around and around and around? I'd be less frustrated selling porn to impotent blind men.
Is it just me? Everything seems upside down and backwards! Am I stuck in some parallel universe where everything is inside out? Has there been a cosmic shift where the lunatics have taken over the asylum?
Help me see the logic! Nothing is making any sense to me anymore. SOMEBODY hit me with a bat, or a TRUCK!
What a shit show! My head hurts, I am sick to my stomach. I don't know whether to laugh or cry.
Prince Charming was a closeted homosexual bitch-boy which clearly explains why his hair was so perfect and he always rode a stallion. "Happily Ever After" referred to his safe existence, after the Princess pulled him up out of the moat after the King's men ran a train on his ass and beat the ever living shit out of him for being such a fucking queen. Shortly after Prince and Princess move in together, there was some strange accidental chemical reaction between two cells and a parasitic infection occurs inside of the Princess.
This growing parasite thrives on it's new host, controlling everything from body temperature to mood swings, appetite, sex drive, nipple tenderness... It grows and depletes all of the natural supply of vitamins, minerals, emotional stability, shape, and memory of the suffering princess.
Eventually the parasite becomes too large for the host and must be expelled by any means necessary, it seems biologically driven in the direction of the door that it's foreign, paternal cell used to enter. The Princess suffers through an excruciating event, for which drugs may be introduced, and not a moment too soon. Large doses of opiates and sedatives are just the perfect combination of pharmacology to create a bond between this now external parasite and it's hosts, for it is not cute, it is all wrinkly and yellow, an under-developed, barely human, fish-faced, dependent organism. It does NOT smell good, at first it may smell like bad food, fermented amniotic fluid, afterbirth, blood, and over-worked pussy, then they get cleaned up and some asshole brings it back to you smelling like Ivory Snow and Baby Wash.
Soon after you bring it home, it reeks of cradle cap and spit up sour milk, then real vomit and straight up shit, the drugs have worn off and you can throw any sign of cuteness out the fucking window, believe me, you are about to! Your delusion of being a princess has disappeared!
Just before you feed it to the neighbors dog, this dependent creature begins to make these alien cooing sounds, while staring all crooked at you. One eye closed, tongue over to the side of their drooling pucker, oh how cute, you are in love all over again.
NO, moron, that's not a smile, the little shit machine is working on a record, filling its diaper and trying to make shit smear straight up his back and out the top of the Onesie and the adorable little Baby Gap outfit that you just spent 60 bucks on.
You won't sleep or get a hot meal for years, the common cold seems to linger longer than average in your home, you sanitize and wash everything until you don't give a fuck if the thing eats a dead rat. You stop wiping snot from it's ever running nose, you stop replacing the batteries in the baby monitor, you stop checking it's mouth for small marbles or lego's, you left those in on the floor deliberately, you are secretly trying to kill the fucking thing, it's sucking the life out of you and it's no longer even on the inside. What the fuck have you done?!?!
The parasite is dependent on it's host for many years to come, food, lots of food, clothing, lots of clothing and SHOES, braces, and CASH, car keys and college, bridal shower, wedding, new home, baby shower, there you go rinse & repeat... it's a horrific nasty cycle for which you spend decades wanting to drown Charming in the moat you pulled him out of, if of course, he hasn't left you for your younger wicked step sister, or the much older and wiser, fairy god-mother.
Now you are an alcoholic, single mom, with a distended, stretch marked gut, wrinkles, yellow teeth, smokers lung, thinning grey hair, a wardrobe which has gone in and out of style 4 times since you purchased it, and it's barely covering your belly, let alone the once perky tits that sag beneath your belt line. What a catch, you go girl!
Inside my mind is a bad neighborhood... I really shouldn't be here alone!"
When I am all alone with myself, the quiet is too much to bear. I am physically paralyzed by emotional pain...To own my part seems foolish, as I did not ask for this life and the fucked up childhood which I did not have a choice in living. Apologizes don't remove scars. Living amends work well for me and those I hurt who are interested in actually being connected to my life somehow. My mother hasn't ever been interested in me, what I wanted to be, or what I strive to do. She rejects me, refuses to see me, and when I show up, never misses an opportunity to point out just what kind of piece of shit I am, or how my status in scumbag-ville has so appropriately manifested in my child, who is nearly an adult, and a very positive specimen at that.
After 17 years of chaos, filled with calculated emotional and physical abuse, my ex-military one time psychologist father, removed himself from my life, and has made very seldom a cameo appearance since. The only contact I have had with him in the past 22 years, I have initiated. Only one conversation has ended with a positive feeling, it was the most recent, and the odds of it happening again are so slim, it may very well have been our last one ever.
Repeatedly, I have tried to be a part of my family. Like touching a hot stove, burned my hand, and beat myself up about it. Time went by, I thought I was to blame and that it was going to be different, because of the work I have done on myself, I gave it another shot, and OUCH! That fucking stove STILL burns, go figure. Most recently, I have made a conscious decision to make no effort toward first contact with either of them, and of course there has been no attempt from either side to have any contact with me. I say that I do not hold any ill will or resentment... This is true as long as I am busy, working, going to the gym, attending meetings, out with friends, listening to loud music, spending time with my daughter, but the pain is there behind all of these band aids that I use to masque it.
The cut is too big for band aids now. It's torn up and the surface isn't sturdy enough for stitches. My hurt feelings and sadness used to only worsen during times when society calls for togetherness of "family", and holiday cheer. The word FAMILY is a hot button, which sends me off the deep end at times. It's safe to say that the pain is now constant and debilitating. I believe it is cutting off my circulation, I cannot breathe, it's stunting my growth. I can't act out in my old childish ways, as I would be incarcerated or hospitalized indefinitely. Medication is not an option for me, as I don't believe chemicals are an appropriate treatment of the root issue, but the outer symptoms... let's start with one chemical then add another, then add one more, then something for the side effects of the first, now the second and so on... defying all logic.
SO I write...
To both of you:
My poor choices were made after yours, yet mine have always been the ones criticized. What did we do about our precious child trying to slit her own throat at age 7? I know what we did, we suppressed it, after all what would the neighbors think? I have come to accept that once things happen in life, they cannot UN-happen. In my quest for validation, love, affection, nurturing, and emotional stability; I've sought temporary relief in sex, older men, older women, crime, drugs, and when I still wasn't satisfied, dominance, power, and violence. My relationships have been no healthier than the one that brought me into this world, and I recognize today that nothing else in my life can improve until I have successfully released this pain from my heart.
To my mother:
Keeping up appearances was your facade manufactured to keep people from getting close enough to see the sickness inside of you. In a sense I was raised in a lie and forced to lie. Feelings, affection, comfort, were dismissed, discounted, and disallowed. Love and respect were purchased. Trust was a foreign commodity, traded for leverage on the most believable fable. You are cold and calculated, and as you have aged, it has become more clear. When I was a child there was one parent that saw through you, as a teen, a second parent and a third, as an adult I notice that your friends have disappeared, you have just one left, and she will inevitably see through your veil of deceit. You had them all snowed for so long, as if you were some sort of "Mother Theresa", high regarded in your clique of church folk who had no reason to suspect that any kind of evil would lurk in their sacred house of worship.
You are 71 years old, headed in the direction of dying alone, and I don't feel bad, not one iota. Fuck you, for continuing to treat me like I am lower than buried dog shit. I've fantasized about hanging myself at (Your Church)'s altar with a giant sign that reads simply, "(Your Name)'s Daughter", if only the video that plays in my head playing all the fucked up things you say and do could project out to ensure that you wouldn't be seen as a martyr. When I needed a mother, you needed to perform for your audience. The older I got the less fun it was, the promises of fame and fortune were as empty as my soul was becoming. I knew nothing of life, of being a woman, of sex, of my body. I sought your approval through all means possible. The more desperate I became, the less you had to do with me. You have been ashamed of my existence since I was able to form a thought that was different from yours.
To this day you are uncomfortable when I begin to speak in your presence. If you admitted that you've ever had ANY single human struggle whatsoever, I would recoil from such an emotionally angry, and aggressive posture and I would embrace you in MY arms, as you are my mom and I am biologically wired to love you. Even though you have consistently used my need for your love as a way to crush my exposed, unguarded, heart. When I had cancer, you wouldn't even drive me to my surgery, I was in prison, you wouldn't take my calls, rehab, still nothing. Again, fuck you, you sick fucking depraved sociopath. If I outlive you, I will drop trow and shit on your headstone!
To my father:
My role in your family remains undefined, says the grown up forgotten child.
When I needed a Daddy, you needed to chase pussy. You finally divorced from my mother after dragging me around from situation to situation cheating on her for 18 years. Promising me a happy life and a loving family. You never bothered to look at the lifetime of destruction you left in your wake. Your abusive and explosive temper left it's devastation in the form of physical and emotional scars, your cruel and horrific words cut far deeper than that. I was selfish and self centered at 6? Really? You bastard, you knowingly placed blame on me and robbed me of my childhood by insisting that I grow up and accept the fact that I was never going to amount to anything. I sat at your bedside while you threatened to blow your brains out, I cried myself to sleep at night afraid that you actually would. You turned me against my mother who was equally crazy, insured me that you were going to take me somewhere that life would be better for both of us. At 7, you fucking abandoned me with family I never knew and haven't seen since. Then at 17 you fucking bailed on me completely. You left me behind. I was very sick, having surgery in the hospital when you packed all of your shit and the day I got out, you left. You fucking COWARD. 9 months without a call, no forwarding address, not a birthday or a Christmas card. 20 years later, and you've contacted me ONE TIME. Let's not forget about the 17 years of abuse, the holes in my bedroom walls and the scars on my face. Don't worry, the school nurse knows I just fell, but Daddy, why are you mad at me? You never came to see me in jail, rehab, or any hospital, you never took my calls begging for your help. You have never visited, you have never invited me to spend time with you. You and your ex wife both act like once the magic number 18 is achieved, your child is no longer existent. Fuck you.
Not only did you make a million promises you did not keep, you left me DAD, you walked out the door and found yourself a pre-fab-family, then you forgot all about me and made them your 2nd chance! Those kids grew up loving the fact that they have 2 fathers, and now an extra grandfather to their kids. Do you ever wonder how your biological daughter feels about not having a father at all, or your biological grand daughter wondering why she has a grandfather, but he never talks to her or sees her or sends her cards on her birthday? FUCK YOU. I often wonder how my life would have been had you died from taking my penicillin instead of your percocet on the plane that day... what a convenient oversight it was for you to be having an allergic reaction in the hospital while I was running the streets of Oakland at 15. I've always had a knack for finding ways to have my kinda fun.
I made my amends and you claimed that you too had made some changes and found your own program and way of life, funny how nothing has changed for you and I, but what a great man you are today. When holidays come, use your fucking head... I don't want your fucking photographs of your family and your happy life. I don't want to hear about the wonderful family vacations you've taken with my grandmother, aunts, uncles, or cousins. I don't want to know about how much better a Dadda you are to someone else's kids, or "grand kids"... You have ONE grand daughter, you piece of shit, you didn't even bother to acknowledge her when planning for your mother's 80th birthday celebration. YOU sure as fuck don't want to hear how I struggle every day of my life with the strength to not put a bullet in my own fucking head. Yeah Daddy, just like you did when I was a little girl, I sit in the dark on the edge of my bed contemplating suicide. Thanks for the inheritance, shove it up your fucking ass. I should blow my brains out all over your dining room during your beautiful loving family's Christmas dinner!
I was a head strong little girl, much to the dismay of my parents. I never took no for an answer, I rarely did as I was told, I refused to accept fact as fact, I wanted to be just like the people who proved the world wasn't flat. I hated myself yet I held myself at such high regard that I thought the grown ups around me were idiots. This was the birth of the human oxymoron.
Running was what I did whenever I felt the chains of society bind me. I refused to be confined or enslaved, I wanted to explore, I wanted to discover, I wanted to uncover, I wanted to be recognized for a groundbreaking historical find. I've not given up this quest!
As I got older I was impossible to tame, I played sports and was always arguing rules and semantics and never taking any answer as the right one. My teachers and coaches were at a loss. Parents wouldn't let their kids play with me. I was angry, and defiant. I ate what I wanted, slept when I wanted, drank, did drugs, had sex, fought, stole, ran away, worked, went to school, lived away from home, went to college, worked, and fell apart over and over and over again. I went to prison at 19 years old. I got out and more discreet about my beliefs, I kept my opinions to myself and my close friends, I stopped trying to be so extreme with my reckless behavior, I gave up select drugs, which I was sure were the cause of my problems. Inevitably, I was back to the old me in no time.
I had a kid at 21, I was a complete train wreck, I defiantly took her without help gave her a home. I subjected that child to the most depraved and unhealthy moments in my life. I settled for less than what I truly deserved, and I got exactly what I had coming to me. When my daughter turned 7, I dropped her off at my mother's house and never returned for her. This was the moment that I became free to live the way my addiction wanted me to live. I had no morals, no spiritual values, not a lick of common sense, no affinity, no allegiance to anyone or anything but cocaine, my one and only true love.
Cocaine called all the shots, for the next 5 years. Every breath I took was around using or obtaining it. It never rejected me, never neglected me, never hurt me, never promised me anything, it was always there when I needed it most, it always made me feel better, I was popular because I always had it, I wasn't a criminal, I was a rock star, I wasn't hiding, I was advertising, I wasn't lonely, everybody loved me.
Until it stopped working. Nobody trusted me, I was alone, isolated, hiding, paranoid, miserable, full of guilt, shame, remorse, pain, anger, and rejection. I wanted to end my days on this planet, the pain was great enough for me to try one last time to check out for good. I did it, I definitely did it, but nothing happened, my heart should have exploded, it should have stopped, I should have dropped to the floor, I should have had a seizure, a stroke, a heart attack, something. Nothing fucking happened.
The realization that my work here was not yet complete gave me one option, to get help, and there was no better time than the present. My mission was simple, "How the Hell do I exist in society without putting poison in my body? How do I learn to stop fighting everything so furiously?" That's all I wanted, it's all I needed. It's coming true, the answers are being revealed, more and more each day.
It's now 6 years later and so much has changed. So much remains the same as well...
I am defiant, I am full of self will, yet I am humbled, I am less reactive. I want to allow someone into my life today, I'm ready to relinquish some of the power and share it with another human being, a person who is kind and loving, someone whose strengths fill in my weakness and vice versa.