One foot out the door

I am having a really bad day. I had a really bad weekend. I don’t frown, never have except when I was married to Brian 2. It feels weird just a facial expression I am very much not used to. I’m always smiling, it’s my default. The frown feels weird.

I’m trying to decide which order to put this in, so sorry for the rambling that is about to occur. I’m having a meltdown.

This weekend I had a date. He was substantially older than me. We decided that we were going to hang out on Fremont Street and get a room. Cool enough. I wasn’t doing okay when I was getting ready for the date. My head wasn’t in the game. I just was sad and I couldn’t get out of it. I didn’t want to go but dude had already booked the room so I felt obligated. I figured I would perk up when I got there or at least drink enough not to care. I’m not much of a drinker, but in a clutch in social situations I can drink men under the table.

I cried in the car in the parking garage when I got there. I didn’t want to be there at all. I don’t know why. I love Fremont. We were supposed to have fun. I haven’t had fun in a while. I can’t actually remember the last time I had fun. I just don’t leave my bedroom anymore.

So, I met him. We were supposed to meet at the bar. When I showed up, he said let’s get the drinks to go and go up to the room and smoke a joint. I took an anxiety pill as we waited for our drinks. I was off. I didn’t want to go up to the room yet if at all.

We make it to the room and he immediately wanted sex. Like couldn’t even get a sip of my drink down. I had no desire to have sex but I felt obligated. Took a deep breath and tried to enjoy it. Sex cheers me up. It was whatever. Didn’t cheer me up. I was just holding it together, barely. It wasn’t him, it was me. I would have preferred a little conversation and that joint he promised, but it was whatever.

I could not get in the fucking game. I just wanted to go home and crawl back into bed. I didn’t want to be there at all. But I was trying so hard to enjoy myself and talk myself into having some fun.

He finally rolled the joint. Weed makes everyone happy, especially me. It is my drug of choice. So we blaze it and we chit chat a bit. I figured we were done with the sex for a tad bit. The conversation was good and I started to relax a little bit and loosen up. Then he interrupted me mid sentence and asked me to suck his dick. Fucking viagra.

I started and I didn’t want to and then I started with the panic. I wanted to stop but I was afraid to say no. I just was scared to stop because what was he going to do if I did and again I felt obligated. It finally got to be too much. I was having a massive panic attack. I told him I needed to stop and he was clearly disappointed, but understood. He was nice about it and tried to calm me down and reminded me that I needed to breathe. I don’t know what the hell happened. I took another anxiety pill. Sat on the other bed so he wasn’t near me. I didn’t want him near me for a little bit. I just kept apologizing. I told him I just had a lot on my mind and I was off my game and not normally like that, because I’m not. Just everything was off.

I went into the {D} situation with him. Me over sharing. We ended up talking about it for a while and I asked his opinion about it and showed him the video. He said the circumstances of me being there that night for a threesome made it suspect. He understood my side but understood the flip side as well. I don’t know. He is 67 and that generation seems to put it on me for just being there.

He wanted more sex. I asked him to like ease me into it this time. I thought that would help. It did make it easier. I wasn’t as stressed, but I just wanted to get it the fuck over with. Again he had paid for a room, I felt obligated.

We never went down to Fremont street. We stayed in the room. I was on the opposite bed again. Just I don’t know. I don’t know what happened or what I was feeling at the time. It was just a weird feeling I couldn’t explain. We talked a little longer then, somewhere between the 2 anxiety pills, the drink and the weed, I fell asleep.

6am he woke me up and he said he had to go. We left. I haven’t heard from him since.

Why was I so afraid to say no? Why was I there in the first place? I didn’t want to be there I just felt obligated. Clearly he seemed to feel I was obligated as well.

Whatever.

Today I have been off all day as well. Nothing is right. There was this thread on twitter, local vegas bloggers. Someone had jumped out of a window at a casino. Suicides happen like that all the time in vegas. No one reports on it and it is swept under the rug. We don’t talk about that here. It’s bad for business.

The thread was an argument of sorts with a couple of local news anchors about the code of silence in our local media. The anchors said that wasn’t true and basically everyone called them out especially one of the bloggers I follow closely. He had actually tried to help me find a reporter who would do a story on what happened with me and {D} and Wolfson and the whole fucking mess, so he’s a good guy. But the gist was we cover everything up. What happens in vegas gets swept under the rug. Dawned on me that’s probably why I can’t get anyone to talk to me or help me. It looks bad to have a state appointee raping people. If they had charged him because of the email it’s then a political thing with joint offices and appointments and everything.

Basically I figured out that no one was going to help or care. But his case would look bad for the state, so just like everything else, cover it up.

I’m getting no where with trying to pressure the AG via social media. Every post on every platform I comment on. I got one response from the AG social media dude giving me a phone number to call. I left a message. That was the middle of last week. I’m not getting a call back, I assure you. I might do a little trolling here and there but it’s a waste of time and energy until I can get a new AG or DA to look at it. I need to realize that. They know and they are watching this blog. No one lives in Carson City, it is always going to be someone from the state when it shows up in my analytics. They know they are just never going to fucking answer me because there is no fucking answer. He should have been charged.

Upon realizing this, I realized I need to get the fuck out of this hellhole. I don’t know where to go though.

I have for years cried occasionally that I want to go home. I do want to go home, but home doesn’t exist. It hasn’t in years. And I just cry. I don’t know where to go. I have no one to go to. I miss my grandma. I just want to feel safe and loved and sheltered from the storm. That place doesn’t exist, not for me anyways. I don’t think it ever will again.

No one cares. I just don’t want this life anymore. I really don’t. I am so deeply depressed and nothing is ever going to go my way. I’m not good enough for anyone to bother dating. The only value I hold for people is sex.

I want to give up. I can’t bear the burden anymore. I can’t live without people. Without human touch that isn’t sexual. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t. I am so desperately lonely. I’m never going to find a home. I’m never going to find someone who wants me for something other than just sex.

I don’t know how to snap out of this depression. It’s been years at this point. I’ve always been depressed but shit just keeps getting worse.

So where do I go? Where do I locate someone who wants me for my mind? Where do I find home? Is home even real or is it like vegas, a fake facade of glitzy lights covering dirty broken outmoded idealized bullshit.

I don’t know where to go. East? Where? I can’t afford new England or the mid Atlantic. The south, god no. I just want to live on a beach somewhere. I love the peace and the feeling of standing on the edge of the world. I don’t know.

I’m just sad and broken.

After the apocalypse, I asked {D} why he had to do that to me, not the rape but the relationship. He said “what does it matter, you had one foot out the door on life already”