Sad, gray pajamas

the time does not matter. i keep telling myself. i have a whirlwind of you should do this and you should do that swirling in the head, not to mention the other voice reminding me how fat i am and how i take up too much room in my clothes. and above all, i didn't plan on writing, but when i started crying i had to. i feel so anxious but i don't want anothe tranquilizer. god help me i don't want another one. last night i took a lot, enough to make me forget the autrocities inflicted upon us by the husband. i scoff at the word us. i was the one there. no one took my seat at the table. fuck them.

they are crawling all over me today and what should have been a day for school work is a day of crying, going crazy, anxiety, feeling fat, and planning our skydiving expedition. no one wanted us to go on it. we've stockpiled all the tools we need and once we jump there will be no jumping back. i pray for that day.

gray pajamas. i would love to write about my new gray pajamas but feel too sad. pathetic, isn't it. last night, i bought pajamas. i got such a great deal, i was so pleased. originally $50 bucks. got them, top and bottom for $15. and they felt so good and were so cute. i had been sleeping in oversized sweatshirts and sweatpants belonging to the husband and wanted something of my own to wear. goddamn bastard. anyway, i came home and put on my comfortable gray pajamas. they felt so good. normally i would have washed them first, but i wanted to feel special, as if gray pajamas could do that. but they were think and had big stars going down the sleeves and cute little pockets on the back and the pajamas swallowed me whole and i had alot of room to move around in them and i thought they were the perfect pajamas. they certainly weren't sexy but the husband of the moment started making passes and macking on us. we knew the inevitability. he has been coming on too us so much lately that i'm wondering whether he's using viagra. i doubt it but anyway. with suprememely sad resignation, we took off our feel-good pajamas and got in the bed, waiting for him to do his thing. it was doubly worse. images get closer of the house, the bedroom, the uncle. it is so black, so black, so black. the memories are on the tip of the tongue and we shall perish soon before they are released with a hiss. now i've forgotten what i was going to say.

i can't do my homework now. they are crawling alll over me. and i need release. i just want to crawl in the bed. i'm drinking coffee which they told me not to but i will anyway. sorry if it increases the anxiety. not like antyhiing gets done today.

come to think of this. randy never said thank you for the automatic e-mail when we hit publish. he still must not understand technology.

his recent private responses to our blogs have what have given us the green light to give him more, let him see more, share our blog more. i wonder what will happen when we disappoint him after school by falling apart even more. what will happen if we can't even finish school. i see all my homework assignments, postings, papers, exams stretched before me and i can't even stop crying to look at one chapter. what'll i do?

we discovered that angie is about nineteen or twenty. i don't know how that revelation came about, but it was floating in the brain recently. i think one of feels like a true college student and not just a non-traditional student. angie wants to join a sorority and do all the college crap but we hold her back. she has to be resentful of that though she has never said anything. she really hasn't been participating in the school work lately, maybe that's because we are at the more advance level and way less fun than when she first came out. she's more of the recreational side of us and college life. too bad for her.

i think the tranq is working. though my foot still is shaking like a prostitute around the cops (don't ask how I know what this feels like) i can finally breathe again. i still need to take to the page.

what i was saying about the pajamas before i was interrupted was that when he gross act was over, and i'll give him credit because he tries to wait for me and offer what he thinks would be pleasureable to me (FUCK NO!!!!!!) when it was over I put my gray pajamas away and put on the old nasty sweat clothes. i didn't feel pretty or worthy of my gray pajamas. i felt dirty, shameful, and like i did something wrong. i couldn't reward myself for giving in. yet what if we dont' give in. what would he do?

shift. someone else has entered the pic at that thought. "it's more than words. it's just tears and rain." sounds like the Music Maiden is out, listening to her music. Why does she need comfort?

I'm fasting again. it worked on Thursday. Fast as in Ensure. When I eat something I feel I shouldn't, the next day is an Ensure day. I'm not allowed to eat anything other than an Ensure for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. it gets me back on track. i need to disappear. maybe if i'm all bones he'll be repulsed by what he thinks is unattractive (fuck him) and he won't come near me. i love the way it feels to be swallowed by the clothes. there is something so comforting and clean feeling about this. rituals are developint again and it's like an old friend has come back to visit. she will go away soon because she never stays for long. but i will enjoy her while i can. i haven't even had my Ensure for breakfast and will probably skip it. I was proud of myself last night. The husband and I were buying my pajamas and we decided to have a Smoothie. I get the Shredder, least calories and carbs. We broke off from each other and he did his thing while i got pajamas. i threw my smoothie in the trash. i was so delighted with myself to be able to have the power to throw it away even though i was hungry. admittedly, i had a few sips to make him believe i would drink it. he makes comments every now and then that trouble me. fuck him.

the tranq has kicked in and i feel calm enough to get to work reading or just say fuck the day and go lay down. S. prescribed something to help with the fast heart and shakiness when we get these attacks but it doesn't work. there is no answer.

we know what that means

the neighbor had me in the van. i feel him now all over

i'm going crazy

even worse

the brother's name was mentioned

we shuddered and shivered

we know what that means

the book for class says to write to find out what I have to say, because I don't really have much to say.

Actually, something has been on the mind and it might have been written about already, but we try never to go back and read blogs. We either get embarassed about what we've written, upset that we shared too much, or upset we don't remember writing about anything to begin with.

I can already tell the words are being stolen. I can't concentrate and there is a battle inside the head. Oh, please, help me.

The bed. The bed. The bed. It came to someone when the father-in-law was in the hospital that we didn't always sleep in a bed. We remembered so many timnes when we would sleep on the floor in the hateful bedroom, on the floor in the bathroom, in the bathtub, or just on the couch. The night we shacked up with S.P.D. we wouldn't sleep in his bed; we slept on the floor. It began when we were around ten, I think. I can't be sure. I know we were young. For years, we wouldn't make blankets on the floor because the bed scared us. We graduated from the bedroom floor to the bathroom. That makes sense because there has always been something safe regarding the bathroom floor. We used to journal on the bathroom floor. Don't know what it is. Perhaps it is the coldness of the floor or the sterility

get with it. nothing bad ever happened in the bathroom. that's why you slept in there.

for some reason we needed more safety and started sleeping in the bathtub. we found a bug in the tub one night and started sleeping on the bathroom floor again. I don't know when or how we started sleeping on the bedroom floor again but I think it was b/c the brother complained that he coulnd't pee in the middle of the night b/c we were in there. sorry s.o.b.

I know we slept on the floor into our twenties. Even when we moved into our own apartment we slept on the floor.

i hate what i'm writing because it is cold. it lacks the emotion of what drove us to the floor and bathroom. there is nothing behind these words and the words aren't the ones i would choose to begin with. fuck it all fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck

something happened to the mind when Phil was in the hospital. i slept on the couch and not the bed. it just struck me: the uncle had been bothering us as we tried to drift off to sleep. he kept floating in and out of the mind. maybe that is what drove us to sleep on the couch.

in any case, we slept on floors till our twenties. beds always scared us.

i'm mad at the world

i'm upset now and there's nothing for me. i don't know what the hell is being written.

this is dangerous to the core. something is missing, but no one notices. this is dangerous.