Poltergeist

I’m still cautiously optimistic, but they haven’t been surveilling the blog for about a week. Last time they were, another came on, looked at it briefly, and poof—no more. I believe somewhere between the threats about saving the screen-session videos where I directly talk about wanting to die and suicide for my child so they sue them when I kill myself, might have something to do with it. Or it’s after telling me there was no record whatsoever of Counterterrorism or the Fusion Center investigating me, and then me sending them the email from the public records I got showing they were. They said they’ll get me something in November now.

This has spun up some thoughts about suicide. I am not currently suicidal. I am not in any danger. This is just musing.

I have always had the plan—every time I’ve attempted suicide—to make certain everyone I blame knows it’s actually directly their fault, and that I was blaming them in the last moments of my life. The deep despair and agony I felt was their doing. That, in my mind, should be enough to fuck them up—possibly for life. Maybe give them the occasional night terror.

I am not always a good person, and that last “fuck you” is my true goal. Like, if I’m going to die anyway, I’m going to scar you emotionally for life on the way out. Turnabout is fair play. My dad calls it Irish Amnesia—you forget everything but the grudge. I’m going to be the fucking Irish ghost from hell to some people. And if I can haunt people? Fuck yes. Watch your back; I will be poltergeisting your ass like a motherfucker.

Who I’d Blame

{D}

First and foremost, I blame {D}. I actually reached out to him last December when I was suicidal, and he ignored me. That’s okay—I wouldn’t have ignored my worst enemy if they reached out to me like that, but whatever. I sent a WhatsApp message to him as I took all my pills and told him it was entirely his fault. It was what he had done to me—raping me and abandoning me—that made it impossible for my life to continue. I held nothing back. I wanted him to feel remorse every fucking day of his life, knowing he took me and destroyed me for no reason. He should feel that now, without me being dead.

Once I found out I wasn’t dead, I unsent that message. I wish I had saved it—I’d share it here now. But yeah, {D} is who I would blame. My family would have their own “fuck yous” coming as well.

Nevada

Then we have the State of Nevada. They’d all be getting posthumous emails from me. They don’t read my emails, so I guess it wouldn’t matter one way or another. But the detective and the sergeant would get one for convincing me that someone cared, then ignoring me. They could have fought for me.

Aaron Ford would get one—and I’m not sure I haven’t already detailed why. Wolfson, obviously, would get one for calling me a whore, which was literally the edge I was pushed off. That was the moment when it went from misunderstanding to all-out war.

The Brians

Then there are the Brians. They’d both get something. I’m going to haunt Brian 2 until he dies and is sent to hell where he belongs, for the shit he did to me—to my body and my head.

Brian 1 I’m a little more forgiving of, except for taking my kids. He broke me when that happened. I was already depressed—please, take the only thing in my life that brings me joy away. That’ll help.

And I’m not going to argue about what was best for the kids, because within a year, when I called the police because he hit {MM}, who was about 13, I’m fairly certain that solidified which parent was the lesser of two evils.

My Family

Then there’s my family. I’d be a little gentler with them, but they did nothing. I literally begged my mom to come out because I was upset and couldn’t handle it. She told me she couldn’t because her dog was sick and she couldn’t trust her boyfriend to take care of him. I said, “But I need you.” Didn’t matter—because as usual, I don’t matter.

My dad—I’d bring up him leaving me homeless and then calling me an embarrassment for being raped and having a law degree and not helping me fight. He had a friend who used to be on the Clark County Board of Commissioners and didn’t even ask for help for his daughter who had been raped, even after I asked him to. I was too much of an embarrassment to him.

My sister and I don’t speak due to massive betrayal on her part (no, not over a man). She could have reached out. I would have told her to go fuck herself, but it’s the thought that counts.

{R} & {M}

Finally, {R}. He did actually get a text when the attempt was made last December, and he didn’t text me back. Once I got out, though, he sort of made up for it a little by helping me clean the massive amounts of vomit that had been soaking into the carpet for a week while I was involuntarily hospitalized. He also helped me clean up all the broken glass and broken teeth from the place.

I still blame him. I blame him for introducing me to {M}, which he did because he wanted to sell {M} more drugs and knew I was known to have sex with random people. It basically pimped me out—unpaid—and set everything in motion. Then he didn’t protect me when I screamed.

And after telling me how remorseful he was for not helping me, the motherfucker refused to talk to the police—otherwise {D} and {M} would be in jail right now.

I can’t get a hold of {M} to haunt. I could have mailed a letter to his parents’ house. I don’t blame him for the raping-me part as much as I do {D}. If one were to watch the video of him, you can see we’re both just doing what {D} said to do.

You have to understand, {D} has a very commanding presence—you just do what he says. It’s bizarre, and one day I’ll try to explain it better. But I do blame {M} for not stopping it. He told me how upset he was and how worried he was about me. However, he said he gets really violent and was afraid he’d hurt {D}.

Ha! Says the man holding the camera. And here’s the kicker: when the police did the audio analysis on that video, they picked up a third voice you can’t hear without enhancement—over my screams—that says, “That’s one tight pussy.”

So these are the people who will get the letters should I ever try to commit suicide. If you’re on the list, check your spam if they find my body.

by the way I put this star ranking. Give me stars. My self esteem needs it.