Black heart

I don't know what to say. I guess the tears know it all. It’s one of those days where I just don't feel well. I’m bothered by the shifts and the anxiety is there but I can't put my finger on the source. Something is grieving and haunting me and I’m stupefied as to what it is. I just don't feel right mentally. lol. I know that's an understatement but this is more. Something is troubling me and I don't know why it is. I just know I feel bothered and upset and irritable. Even D. could sense something wrong with me. I’m on my second tranq. I took one earlier and ended up sleeping. That was good. The in-laws have given me their cold and flu so I could use the rest. But I woke up to the same anxiety.

The anxiety is all over me. It’s hunting me down every time I try to flee. I think something is going on inside the head in which I might have peripheral knowledge. I didn’t tell D. Why? I can’t answer that. It seems lately that I’m shutting myself off from quite a few people. I’m not being dishonest with them; however; I’m not being forthright with what is going on with me. All desire to recover from whatever is wrong with this mind and get better is gone. There is no motivation to do anything but find ways to make it to the next moment or plot ways not to make it to the next moment.

I think I might have a small clue as to the source of my anxiety. I despise bedtime and falling asleep scares me. I cannot sleep without the help of sleeping medication. I just can’t do it. I’m sure there’s a reason why, but what that reason is I do not know. I can only suppose what the source of my terror is. Last night, as we were getting ready for bed, images of the uncle kept floating in and out of the mind. I don’t know how much it bothered everyone. It seemed like we all took to our corners. There was an uneasy quietness in the mind.

Sometin’ to be fearful, for sure.

But the images seemed so far away, as if they didn’t pertain to me, yet somehow they did. It happened four or five times and finally went away. I don’t remember anything after that except it being hard to wake up this morning. I’ve been moody, depressed, agitated, and crazy even for the likes of us.

I hate that bastard. God damn prick.

Now I’m anxious as hell just writing it down. It’s not the act of writing it. It’s that writing creates more familiarity with what went on in that room. I close my eyes while I type and through the sting of tears I can still see the mirror who knows too much, the paper flowers cowering in the corner, the closet where I hide from his heavy footsteps, the bed I am tortured in, and the headboard I grip till it is over. Till it’s over. Till it’s over. Till it’s over.

It is never over. He keeps coming back for me.

Enough.

Times like this I need some sort of help, but I don’t know what kind or how to ask for it. I suppose that’s why I relish in self-destruction. I just realized how manipulative that sounds. It seems as if I’m forcing people to help or care about us if I just skip a meal, purge my dinner, or slice the skin.

That may be true for her, but I enjoy the sweetness of a good slice on the arm or the refreshing cleanness and purity of starvation for its own sake. It’s not about other people and their reaction. It’s about me feeling good and that’s what debasing and depriving me does: Makes me feel good.

The second tranquilizer has kicked in and the anxiety has lessened. I can breathe again.

No stress zone

It’s one of those times I know I should write but I don’t know what to say. I’m upset right now. It seems the holidays only bring bad fortune to me. Last year in December, my husband and I both had our cars stolen out of our driveway overnight. Our cars were never recovered and they were both paid off; we now have two car payments to manage that we hadn’t planned on nor can afford. This holiday, someone stole my husband’s credit card number and ran up over $1,0000.00 in charges. The credit card company will not hold us responsible for the fraudulent charges and for that I’m relieved; but I’m also ticked off that people have no conscious about them and feel no shame in creating drama and hassle in people’s lives. I don’t want to use the “v” word but I do feel taken advantage of. (There are some words my mouth just can’t utter so I only use the first letter of the word, like “r” and “v” and “m”. You can guess the words.) In any case, I feel so helpless and powerless and vulnerable. That’s the worst part. I don’t care too much about the money since I’m not responsible, but I do care that I can’t do anything to stop someone who has some control over my life and my credit.

I’m keeping a food diary now. It helps to see how much I’m eating. I try to write everything down. I was afraid to at first because I thought it might make me restrict mercilessly. It hasn’t. it’s just making me aware of how much I’m taking in; it’s actually creating a good feeling in me because I can see that I’m not overeating and I’m not an overstuffed buffalo. Just a buffalo.

I’m on vacation and I didn’t pay too close attention as to what I packed. I pulled a pair of jeans out of my suitcase and thought they looked different but that usually happens. I have clothes and songs and other items that I don’t remember purchasing. Back to the point, I looked at the jeans and noticed an initial on the label. The jeans belong to a 12 year old girl of whom I help take care, along with her twin sister. I put the jeans on and they fit! I was so excited. The twelve year old is by no means fat or overweight, so I was delighted that I could wear her jeans. I’ll be even more excited when her jeans get too big for me.

The shifts have been mild today. I could feel them only two or three times. I wonder what keeps them away sometimes and other times they trip over each other to get out. Perhaps the lack of activity is because I’m on vacation at my in-laws and relatively not stressed – except for the news of my husband’s credit card being charged.

We watched Pirates of the Caribbean. At World’s End today. I freakin’ love Johnny Depp as Cpt. Jack Sparrow. Hot, hot hot!!! It’s really the only movie role I’ve ever liked him in.

I’ve bought all the books for Spring semester, which is coming up right around the corner. I’m nervous and excited at the same time. There is a class I really want to take on the Feminist Critical Lens, but it’s not part of my curriculum. I could take it but it would set my graduation back two semester.

I didn’t write anything of significance. I’ve had no epiphanies. I suppose just maintaining the habit of writing will have to be good enough tonight.

Coercive, domineering history

I am disgusted with myself. Repulsed. Horrified. I gave in. I knew the husband had been wanting sex; the signs were all over the place, just like his hands. He knows we don’t like it. He’s not stupid. He made a comment that I “as in we” don’t allow him to touch us anymore. It is too true. The touch of his hand, his lips, his tongue, his body, his breath, his parts, or any other body part I missed makes me cringe. I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! We were doing so well to begin with. We were allowing him to use us but not feeling the repercussions from it. If we didn’t want to participate in sex, we would just lie there and let him get off on us. Many times it didn’t feel right, made us cry, but it was better than participating in it.

Things are different now. We avoid his touch at every cross. In bed at night, if his foot accidentally grazes my leg, I kick and knee him till he moves. I never wanted or thought it would come to this but I feel used and abused by another man: the husband.

He would feel hurt if he knew I felt this way about sex and being with him. I feel I have to succumb to him or he might turn his attention elsewhere. I hate myself for this and so much more.

I am so not okay. Nothing will ever be alright.

The husband is really a good man. He waits on us hand and foot. He puts up with a lot. There are times we can be not so nice. I almost feel like it is owed to him. But if I don’t get anything out of it then it’s just another man taking advantage of us and I can’t bear to look at him that way.

I knew he would want it tonight. The signs were all there. I cut him off at the pass. I didn’t want to have to wait until later. I wanted to get the torture over with. So I approached him to see if we could go ahead and do it. Of course, he didn’t put up a fuss. Sixty seconds later it was over and I asked to be left alone. He knows I’m not okay by the tears travelling down my cheeks but I implored him to leave. Nothing good can come of telling him I don’t want sex. There are lots of good theories floating around as to the sexual aversion; I don’t care about the source. I just feel like it will never go away, so why discuss a problem with him that has no solution.

I’m so upset. I can’t stop the flow of tears. I feel I betrayed everything and possibly everyone just to protect myself from having to endure the anxiety of knowing he will be expecting it. Sex was inevitable, if that’s what you want to call it. It’s not possible to hate myself anymore. It’s just impossible. I hate everything about me and I just want to go skydiving (reference to something else).

I’m losing it more and more every day. There is no motivation or drive to get better. How do I know this is not “better”? How do I not know this is as good as it gets, at least for this disentitled being? My thoughts scare me. They take me to a dark, scary, and lonely place. Right now I feel so lonely and ashamed. Yet, I’m torn. I don’t know if I would have made any other decision regarding sex.

Even though it might appear a betrayal, was I not saving some, at least myself, by going ahead and getting it over with? There was no chance for others to slip in and out. It was just me taking the brunt of his sexuality. Does it matter at this point? Am I just spinning it? The others are coming and taking my words.

I’m keeping a food journal. I would like to track how fat I really am. Nothing gives me greater pleasure than to turn down food, feeling hunger pains, or become dizzy when I stand. Nothing can save this now. I wouldn’t want it even if it was available. The last song has been sung. I’m too tired and sad to compete.

The shifts have been rather low key since I’ve been at the in-laws. There were some problems today that required a tranquilizer. We sat down for lunch/dinner. I was okay up until that point. I could a pot of my renowned Collard Greens and a new recipe for a Pumpkin Streusel Pudding Pie. I tasted each. They were really good, if I dare admit. I tasted the turkey, dressing, cranberries, and corn. After a few bites I knew I was in danger so I stopped eating. When I left the table the anxiety was so overwhelming and the switches were coming and going right and left that I had to take a tranquilizer. I took another one after sex with the husband. I wish I had some alcohol. The in-laws don’t drink. I do, and Lord, how I want one now!!!!! A big tumbler full of cheap, get-me-there-quick wine to wash down the tranquilizer and muscle relaxer is what I want since skydiving is not possible at the moment. I know I’m being bad. No one has any idea how cheap, degraded, ashamed, debased, depressed, and deplorable I feel. So the only big problem with shifting has been around food. Classic.

I know this comes off as whining, moaning, and being bitchy. I don’t give a fuck. It is what it is and that should scare the hell out of everyone. Fuck off.

I only ever wanted help and the only one to help me is the very one that gave up on me. I don’t know how to get it back. The previous quest for recovery that held the bright, burning drive inside me to get better is cold and etiolated.

There is so much inside the head that I want to say but it is being stolen so easily. The words are robbed and I am bankrupt of everything I want and need.

I feel so dirty.

Home away from hell

So here i am in the backwoods of Tennessee. i used to live here many years ago, in between the many therapists i've managed to accrue and discard along the way. it's nice to be back, but i still will be anxious to leave after the holidays. we've brought our dogs with us. Miserable! i understand the need for doggy hotels. i would never consider boarding my dog; i really would never consider putting my dogs in a hotel, but it's nice to fantacize. they knew we were leaving on a trip. they were so excited. As soon as we tore down their crates they knew something was happening and they barked and ran around the house like a couple of banshees. One is laying on top of my arm as I type this. She's half on my hand and half on the keyboard. this won't work.

My father-in-law got me a card for making straight A's this past semester and a Starbucks gift card. That gift card is so precious to me that I doubt I will ever use it. I don't know why, really. Ironically, the boondocks of Tennessee have Starbucks (what corner of the earth doesn't!)and I went yesterday and got my fix on. I didn't use the gift card my father-in-law gave me which made my husband curious. But that card means more to me than the monetary value that's on it.

The things that calls themselves our parents don't even inquire about grades or how we are doing on papers or projects. Being an English Ed major, at least at my Univeristy, is a long, hard, arduous learning process. It is very difficult and the birth creatures don't care how I'm doing. No cards. No questions. No interest.

So it means so much to me that my father-in-law would have the thought and kindness to give me my favorite gift. He's given me cards ever since I went back to school. I think I might should just stay in school so that I can keep getting cards and deceiving myslef that I belong in a "family."

My dreams, the ones I remember, have been vivd and disturbing.

The shifts are becoming more apparent to D. I think he's learning. He can tell when I switch. I'll hear from some far away place him say that I'm acting different. I feel different. I feel mean, spiteful, and hatefule. The medication I thought was helping to begin with but don't feel so sure anymore. I feel totally out of control.

I excercised last night and it felt damn good. I didn't do as long as I would have at the gym but I worked up a fierce sweat and was beat when it was over, and that's an awesome feeling. It is relaxing.

D. has been after me about sex, and I can't bear the thought. I don't even like him looking at my body, much less touching it. He knows it too. Before I could just make excuses and put it off but he is catching on to my avoidance. So I just lay there until it's over with.....sounds like old times.

that made someone inside sad and tearful.

i don't know what to do anymore. i feel ashamed to publicize this blog. others who blog and are diagnosed with this "disorder" seem pulled together and wise and I so hope it's genuine and it lasts. my experience has always been to put myself out there and then pull back out of fear. People say you can only let others hurt you if you let them; i disagree. People constantly hurt other people. The world is riddled with pain. I'm a speck in the ocean. My suffering is insignificant. I'm insignificant.


we've done well. haven't looked over previous posts. that is the name of the game. if we look at the crap we've written we will get frightened into not writing anymore.

Last night I watched Shrek 3 with D. and his parents. D. said we had rented the movie together and watched it at home. i have absolutely no recall of that or anything at all in the movie. it's so disconcerting. and i see D. trying to help me with his parents; they'll make a comment about something "I" did and "I" don't know what they are talking about. D. starts making excuses or says something to change the subject or just help me out. I'll give him the B.O.D. and pretend he's doing it because he loves me and not embarassed by my lack of consistent being.

it seemed like there was so much more to write about, but when I sit down the words escape me. lucky words.

till next time...

just words, just speeches

Blog about it, he says. if it were only that easy. it has to be easier than discussing it in his office. there's a major trust factor here and i'm getting angrier by the moment. the violence is eating me alive. i will dominate.

i feel fat. ate something unwanted and can't escape the anxiety. the head throbs and aches and pounds.

she is shrinking. i grow taller. i assert myself and allow her to drift into the blackness till she is needed again. her anger is needed but dangerous. it's unfair to say i feel the sorriest for her; comparison equals tragedy. but Tina is so damaged that to be angry at her anger and provocation is defeating. her job is so difficult and demanding. at all times she has the littles with her.

Randy talked to ME at the last session. i found it amusing. ME is the typical teen.

whatever that means! true. i did see the hottest, i mean crazy hot! guy on MTV. it was sick, he was too good looking for his own damn good.

focus. we read the previous posts and that is always forbidden because it scares us to see what others have written. it aggrevates others more because when the words are read it seems so whiny and desperate. i have always kept my feelings more or less confined so i wouldn't be seen as needy, desperate, and have people think i am disingenuous. why do other people's opinions matter so damn much? That's it! I found it again. it's off on a tangent but i remembered the other reason i hate randy's speeches. his speeches are neatly packaged and always prepared with positive, psuedo-encouraging, and overly generous suggestions about our accomplishments.

the head hurts!!!!!!!!!!!

what i'm trying to get across is that his snippets are so contrary to the reality that it almost seems like he is ignorant of the suffering of those inside. and this is where the whining and complaining comes in. it rakes me over the coals for him to know how bad things are, but...there is no "but." would it not be unprofessional and a little bit reinforcing to acknowledge that we are drowning? And would it not be almost helping us to dwell in that which kills us?

even so, it is antipodal for him to sing our graces while we perish in our affliction. it seems diametrically opposed to nature. either he's ignorant or, worse, a guy!

ha ha

i still can't get out the words i want and it does't feel like i'm expressing my abhorrence for his discourses on our progress. It doesn't feel like progress and I can't bear hearing the GD words with out them having some merit and steadfastness in our life. it goes against the laws of mother-fucking nature!!!! I'm getting angry again and i can't afford it with this headache. however, even if we went in one day and he said he could see the misery written on our face and how desperate we are it wouldn't be what is needed or wanted. it wouldn't make me feel any better. i don't know that anything can. i don't want sympathy but, when all is said and done, i want us to be greived and i would like people to say it is a waste of a life full of potential, even though potential was never established.

ironic how we want people to say the speeches and epithets after our death but definitely not during our "life." it hurts too much to hear it so it can only be said when it doesn't count. it will only matter when we're dead. i realize this makes no sense. nothing in this life ever did.

i understand the irony even more when i speak that some of this non-sensical jibberish centers on the need to feel loved and special. notice i didn't say "be" loved and special, only to feel it. no one is truly loved, they just dupe themself into believing it's happening. nevertheless, i wish we could allow ourselves to be deceived into feeling loved. and how egregious is it to admit, let alone feel, that one would like their therapist to consider them special. be careful what you wish for, because what drives you on will drive you mad.

suffering is found in the inescapable fact that what is needed in a home is uninhabitable and we were evicted long ago. staggering, wanting, and empty. it's all a spectacle now. how i wish it would go away and the true identity of the words, feelings, and emotions could pronounce themselves. it's all trouble. and i want someone to hear and see and KNOW KNOW KNOW the suffering of everyone in here, especially the littles, and yet it will never, ever be enough. there is a massive hole that can not be filled and why the fuck are we on this? i think it just goes to show that everything leads to something else and there are no easy answers as to why one feels a particular leaning for or against something. i hate his speeches. i tried to define why but feel like i said more nothing than something. the meaning behind the words is absent. i hate that feeling. it leaves me with more problems than solutions or answers. i don't know how to fix it. i don't know how to care about not caring and i don't know how to admit that i want all that i denounce.

i feel worse than i did when i started and that was pretty shitty. Maybe that's because since i began writing i encountered a battering headache, had a fight with D., and had a panic attack.

it all falls down to this: i hate the god damn speeches. they need to be kept away from me. they don't pertain to any of us and only serve active duty to antagonize and brainwash. the speeches ignore the chaos and destruction that permeates every level. nothing inside can be saved.

i will never forget the sad tree lurking outside the darkness of the office window, weeping, consenting, and folding to the dictated bareness of the season. That darkness is the only thing in this world that has the power to provide me comfort. right or wrong, pathetic or not, i feel loved and special by the darkness; everything else, including the words and speeches, are an absurdity. it's a done deal; no going back.

all paths lead to the same place

will this be the one? when i summon the courage it prostrate my strength on the edge of infinity. i spent time reading other blogs and processing what was said. it's so hard to know if they really feel the happy b.s. they deal out or if they are as agonized on the inside as i am.

i once could put the well-rehearsed smile on my face, give away laughter in surplus, and feign happiness to exhaustion. but i've given that up. i don't even try to be normal anymore and i fear that is a sign of where i am emotinonally. i fear i don't even pretend because there is just nothing on the other side of the pretense; no hope, no positivity, no possibility that one day i will not have to pretend.

it pains me through and through and past the haughty but naive corners of my heart. i want more. i relate to so much i read on the blogs. it's all me, but then not of its me. i want to write one of them and ask how they get through each moment without dying from the weight of the burden and the anonymous tag names we endure out of shame.

i've taken extensive lengths to protect my privacy; as much as it exists in cyberspace.

two nights ago D. and someone had sex. she didn't know until it was reported to her. we are losing alot. even i am without knowledge of the night; but i know what she knows. for some reason, it brings tears to the eyes whose vision belongs to the one filtering the words put on "page."

the stomach is sick, sick, sick. we have been throwing up every day, if not more than once a day. some times it is so sweet; other times it offers us nothing but the morbid notion something was left behind and we are still dirty and fat. but the times it is sweet... it is salve to a stubborn, incredulous wound. and i don't care. i know it makes us sicker. but that's the joy. purging, toward the end when we just refuse to stop, makes us literally nauseous from vomitting so hard and we know we did a good job. when we feel sick, nauseous, and squeamish FROM purging, we can relax. there are no traces left behind; we've been sufficiently punished; and we turn around and do it again. i hate it and love it at the same time.

but we suffer; however, juxtaposed with the slow, satisfying, all knowing death, who gives a fck?

does anyone see me, me, me. i be ltt


poison ivey on my upper eye lid. it is finally going away.

D. and I aren't speaking. it's always a fucking fight with him. always has to be some god damn catastrophe with him.

i went wrong in so many places.

permanent delirium

play time


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and what do i say once the gag has been removed, at least partially removed...

what a frightful, eventful, boring day. pieces belong to me, others covet and protect their moments of the day. i wish they would all just disappear, me as well. do i care of the trouble we end up in? do i care for the announcement of a plan and a means for our death.

the smile betrays everyone. oh, she's so intense, they say. not even a clue.

my need for self-destruction is as demanding as an organisms's need for oxygen. i give not; i only take.

you'll make a remarkable teacher, she said. how can the professor not see through the surface. am i that good? i don't want to be that good.

but i am multiplicitous, meaning ONLY that there is always, always, always an "if," "and," or "but" to every feeling thought, feeling, emotion, and action. what i am is only what i pretend to be. i don't even know me without the pretense.

the music offering the sentiments I of which I am deprived. can i just fucking scream? i want to cut. last night was so close. what began? i can not speak for i don't know. sheila has been talking in my god damn ear. i hear her accent which she is less shy of using.

we've decided to bite the bullet and look foolish. we are going to collect some toys for the littles and bring them to randy's when we go. maybe they'll feel safe, or rather we'll feel safe letting them out. thought about doing it as Xmas gifts. D. is upset that we want to do this. I understand but they can not be ignored. they want the sense of family from which they were deprived for so long. and as some wake up to our reality, it's better they wake up to feelings of warmth, safety, comfort, and love, love, love.

why do i remember that damn hot cocoa sticker on M.'s ?

the music is a tonic. where did i go wrong?

i want someone to love me like a family member? take care of me. make me feel protected and safe and warm. D. is only able to provide emotionally. i don't feel safe that he will take care of finances or step up to the plate in any situation. he is challeneged in some ways.

XMas music.

this is why writing more often is futile. i'm so glad we no longer have to study Robert Frost. i kept getting flooded with images of the grandparents house and didn't know how to deal with them. this is another good fucking reason not to write. it angers me. it makes me so pissed off i don't know how to deal, cope, or contain. i want to punch something.

i want it all to matter, god dammit. somehow, somewhere, please let it matter to someone. please let it make a difference in my suffering. because know undeniably, i am the mother of all suffering. i invented it. what did he say? i brought you into this world...i can take you out. then fucking take me out asshole.

i told D. that earth was hell and I meant it. there is a paradise the good people go to and the bad people come to earth. earth is hell. and i must have been really really bad because my hell is worse than others.

shitful bitch. who is someone to compare miseries? when someone doesn't know what happened five mintes again or what is typed above the line that i can't see. so fuck off.

i'm caving in.

i need to laugh. i finally figured out how to post a video on a blog. wasn't that what the tech. class was supposed to do?

do get too happy in your pants.

end it here and enjoy the show. save your potty mouth when the littles aren't around.