I am having trouble wrapping my mind around how many readers I have all over the country and a few all over the world. Again, thank you. I feel heard. It’s kind of cool. At the same time I wrote a lot of personal shit on here so I’m a little embarrassed. Like, here read about my sex life and suicide attempts and sexual organs and all personal experiences while I cuss like a sailor.
I know my stories are crazy as fuck, ie the soundproof room. It sounds made up, but alas, all of this, sadly, is true.
I’ve been thinking about this and I was like I should tailor this for readers. I write too much. The first comment I got from a professor in college was “you lack brevity.” So I know it’s a lot to read.
I decided fuck that noise. This has been such good therapy for me. I need to figure out how to make this more helpful for women like me, but I need to make it myself and my truth. How do I make this platform do good for the world? Is it enough to just tell the story? If I have that many readers, should I start like a fundraiser for a rape crisis center or something? This is a lot pressure. lol. Don’t go away though.
Okay, moving on. Let’s get back to business. I want to explain something about me. I am the toughest bitch you have ever met. I can fight, I’m scrappy. I’m outspoken. Nothing can phase me and if it does I’ll keep doing it until I don’t feel it anymore. My therapist said I am doing “bearing exercises.” His problem was I’m hurting myself and re-traumatizing myself. Okay, kinda true.
That said that is my outward personality. There is one situation where I am docile and submissive. That is when am with a man. My ex used to say the only place you can tell me what to do is in the bedroom.
We need to discuss Brian 2 at some point. I don’t know if I’m there yet. The sexual abuse in that marriage and the emotional abuse was devastating to me. I have never really talked about it to anyone and the idiosyncrasies of the relationship. It was fucked up. I used to jump out of the car at red lights sometimes just to escape, that’s how bad it was.
I roll over for men. I let them control me. They have complete control period. I know outwardly you wouldn’t believe that. I don’t argue. I just submit. If you understand psychology it makes sense.
I grew up watching my mother submit to men. I grew up submitting to men myself. As kid you’re good or you’re bad. Those are the two things kids learn. ie you do a chore, you’re a good girl. You make a mess and you’re a bad girl. Parents are teaching, in most circumstances, right from wrong and appropriate behaviors. Unless there is abuse that teaches you behaviors that are incorrect and teaches that right is wrong and wrong is right. As an adult, you come to this realization. You still default to it though. You have to think about it because it just doesn’t feel natural to you.
I learned through sexual abuse that I was a good girl if I submitted to my stepfather. I submitted to oral sex from the age of 5. I was a good girl if no one found out and I didn’t talk about it. I got strep throat about once every two months when I was little. No one could figure out why. I’ve questioned myself if the abuse from my stepfather was real in adulthood. I think the confirmation is in the throat infections.
My childhood was also fucked up because of my parent’s custody battle. I was in therapy from a young age because my dad demanded it. My mother on the other hand trained me to lie so she could keep custody. In my head there is always a question in my mind of what is real or not. I denied to truth for so long, as an adult I have questioned the abuse.
Someone asked me recently why I didn’t go to the hospital after what happened with {D}. I had been told to by my best friend who is a physician to immediately go to the hospital. What I responded to this person was “I couldn’t go to the hospital. What lie could I make up for that damage?” I only realized in hindsight that was some fuck up shit to say and think.
I grew up in abuse and neglect. It wasn’t just the sexual and physical abuse, it was neglect. My mom is an alcoholic as was my stepfather. My mom would go on a bender and leave my sister and I alone for days. We wouldn’t have food in the house. The telephone was always shut off, sometimes we would be alone without electricity or gas or sometimes water. This isn’t to say we lived in poverty. My mom always had designer clothes and shoes and expensive jewelry. She always had everything she wanted.
For food we used to go through her purses and pockets looking for change to go buy something to eat. We got really lucky a few times and found a $20. My sister would walk to 7-11 and buy food with the change. I would stay home to cover us in case my mom came home so my sister wouldn’t get in trouble for leaving. I grew up eating utz potato chips and Hostess cakes because we were left to our own devices.
We weren’t allowed to leave the house or play outside. She told us my dad would kidnap us if we went outside. She has taught us my dad was evil and trying to steal us from her. And you didn’t want to piss my mom off because she would yell at you. She yelled all the time. One of her favorite things to say was “if I knew this is what having children was like I would have ripped out my womb with my bare hands before I had you little bitches.”
One time, she got a bad perm (you gotta love the 80’s). She was hysterical and was making us fix it. I don’t know why you want a 8 year old to do that but whatever. We were using the rusty kitchen scissors. I dropped them and they fell point first on to my foot and like it was a bad injury I still have a scar on my foot from it. My sister looked at me and I knew not to cry or say anything because my mom would have gone the fuck off on me.
So, I submit. I live with fear of being berated and abandoned. I submit so it doesn’t happen. That is why I have this other person in me who does exactly as they are told when that’s not anywhere close to my personality.
physical abuse though, I will fight. I physically fought from a very young age trying to protect my mom. I took on full grown men. I'd get hurt, but I'd get them off of her. When Brian 1 hit me, sometimes, depending on how pissed I was I would fight back. He was bigger than me and trained in martial arts. I got my ass beat but damned if I didn't fight. I've had my eye socket broken, shoulder a few times, collar bone, ribs, nose but my ass kept fighting.
So that is my duality. I'm a badass until you get me behind closed doors.
here is a text I sent to my mom in December when she asked me to come save her again while I'm going through all this shit. Bitch actually said "I know you're going through a hard time, so am I. Let's help each other get through it." This of course after she refused to come help me after the apocalypse because her dog was sick. And that pissed me the fuck off.
This is what I sent my mom
Mom let me explain in detail why I will not be there this time. I have saved you too many time in my life and you have done nothing to support me. I don’t have a job because I am that fucked up from everything. You have been offered help out of this situation for years. Fucking years. And you want me, as I am seriously in the middle of a horrific trauma that I am trying to get over. That in and of itself should answer the question. But wait there is more.
Call 9 11 and have him arrested then you and I mean YOU by yourself for the first fucking time reach out to a group and have them help you. Stop making me save you.
I am infuriated by fact you would even think about asking me to do that at this moment in my life. But mom here’s the thing you have never given a fuck about me saving you. When you brought me into the house and made me come upstairs with you because you were afraid of your psychotic alcoholic boyfriend. You brought me up. I was your 16 year old daughter and I was pregnant. You then ran and left me to fight him. And did you run to a neighbor to call the cops to save me? No you just fucking ran and your child your underage child was fighting a man she had had to physically fight before to save you. And on top of that you put the baby at risk. It wasn’t just me it was her too. And all this after 2 years prior you told your fucking 14 year old daughter when she had been broken by him. That same guy you left me and the baby to fight that guy. You fucking told me on the way home from the ER when I said it’s him or me. You told me you picked him.
So seriously fuck you. You have done this over and over and over again. You have put me in actual physical danger because you couldn’t pick up a fucking phone and call the goddamn people who are actually paid to save you. And even if you do, you take them back. They are more important than I have ever been.
I remember your wedding night. I remember being the last one pushed out of the car on the fucking beltway after I punched him in the face and called him a fucking bastard for doing that to you.
And your ass is too fucking worried about your dog to show up for your child who begged for help for months. All of this while saying “I don’t understand why you don’t have self esteem” The answer that question is YOU. You are the reason I keep doing this to myself and I have to stop. I am not surviving this. I still can’t get out of bed. I can’t fucking save you this time because I can’t save myself. Every bit of actual help I have gotten I have done on my own. So. No. I am not helping you. Not this time. I refuse to save you again. Save yourself. Be a fucking adult and suck it up and save yourself. You don’t need me. You can do it. It’s remarkably easy. You call them at an easy number to remember and they show up with the blue and red lights, you have seen those before, and they take his ass to jail giving you enough time to safely leave on your own. Then you have and have had for years a place to live. Go there. Just go. Just go. You need extra time? They can’t hold him? You google “domestic abuse shelter” and you go there. But the police will try to hook you up and you don’t even need to bother with google. Also they keep him for enough time for you by yourself to get the fuck out. I do not need to be there. You can handle it. If I could handle taking to the police that had been call on ME your ( once again for those in the back) PREGNANT UNDERAGE CHILD. You can handle talking to them yourself. I handled talking to them myself in July. Just fucking handle it.
I am the strong one and the one who saved everyone when no one could handle their shit. When I lost my shit I handled it myself. I handled it. And I do not have the strength or the will or the fucking willingness at this moment in my life to fucking be strong for anyone else but me. And you want to bicker about who should have noticed I had a problem first. Again the answer is you. Because YOU were the first fucking call. Then YOU dragged Z into it. You know why I let Z just go? I do not want her to have yo save me because it’s not her responsibility. I had every single ability to take the dogs and drive my ass to the hospital and check myself in. I didn’t want you to call her because I didn’t want her to have to save me. So save your fucking self. It’s not my job.
I have so many more points in my life I could bring up in this text but I need to get some sleep so I can get to the therapy I arraigned for myself and I take myself to despite the struggle every day to get out of bed. I don’t call Z. I don’t call anyone. I get my ass where I need to be to get the help I need. You can do it. You actually have help. Call 911 not me
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