Friday, February 17, 2012

Down the rabbit hole...

Good day to you all and welcome to my blog.  I'm asking you all to join me on this journey that I call life.  There will be times when I write poetry and there will be times when I just blog for the hell of it.  Either way, it's a way for you to get to know me a little better.  So where shall I begin?  At the beginning, of course.  And when I come to the end, I'll stop.  *smiles*

I was born here in Clearfield on July 22, 1972.  Yeah, I'm old, but you only are as old as you act and I still act like a youngster.  I took this quiz on Facebook to determine my age and it told me I was 17.  Good Lordy day!  I would NOT go back to that age if you paid me a million dollars.  I was a senior in high school when I was 17 and I absolutely hated school with a passion.  The only thing I lived for was my English class and all my music lessons.  Yes, I'm a band fag, as those would call me.  Seems so improper to say that now now that everyone who is gay and has come out of the closet gets offended when you say such things.  But that's besides the point.  I LOVED my music classes.  Band, Orchestra, Chorus, Jazz Band, you name it, I was in it.  Seems to me though no one cared that I was musically inclined in my grade.  I certainly wasn't picked for most musical even though I went to all the Districts and made it almost to All-State in Choir.  Do I hold a grudge for that?  I did when I was that age, but not anymore.  It was people like AW and BS and BG and BO that picked on me for being different.  And if you can't guess who I'm talking about, tough.  They were assholes to me and they probably would STILL treat me like shit if they were in contact with me these days.  Only one of those people is in contact with me and I think he's realized that all the shit he pulled on me throughout my entire school life was just that.  Shit!

I was a troubled girl.  I had starting cutting myself when I was thirteen.  Stopped, then started cutting again when I was 15.  When I hit my 20's, I continued to cut my arms up because I hated my life.  By then I had been raped and abused by my first live-in boyfriend.  He wouldn't let me see my friends except one and had her do sexual things to him because I flat out wouldn't.  It was only one time, that I know of, but it pissed me off.  No, I wasn't mad at her, I was mad at him for even suggesting the idea.  I wasn't even allowed to see my family.  My sister, who I think was seven at the time, asked to stay at our place and she got scared because she saw something supernatural.  That was the last time she stayed with us.

When we moved into town, I would sneak my friends over and we would watch The Little Mermaid and love my kitties that I had back then.  My boyfriend was a jealous boyfriend and didn't like me to talk to anyone except that one friend who did him a sexual favor.  He hooked her up with his best friend and I really don't remember much about what happened between the two.  All I know is I was with this boy from May of 1990 to October of 1990 and I broke up with him because his was so abusive and mean to me.

So where did I go then?  Back home to where I didn't want to go.  Then something horrible happened.  I got a kidney stone.  It was the worst pain I had ever felt and I couldn't eat or drink because the pain was so severe, I threw up.  A year later another stone and the bad news.  I was diagnosed with Polycystic Kidney Disease.  Soon, I was passing stones all the time, missing work all the time and it was unreal.  I was put on Percocets for the pain.  I turned into a bigger bitch because of the meds and I started gaining weight.  Five years later, I would meet another mad man.

He was wonderful at first.  Said right off the bat that he only wanted to have a friendly fuck, but my obsession with falling in love happened and he started treating me like shit.  Then right before Christmas, he called the whole thing off and told me he was dating someone.  That he was seeing her the whole time he was fucking me.  I was so depressed that I cut my arms.  I hid the damages with long sleeves and no one knew except my sister.  She cried to me about it.  And of course, I didn't listen to her.  All I knew was that cutting myself made me feel pure again.  That if I took my anger out on myself, that anger would be washed away with the blood that dripped from my wrists.

That's when I met the tattoo artist who scarred my back with a horrible tattoo of The Little Mermaid.  We got a place together and in two months, he cheated on me, sold my nintendo games and Egyptian ouija board.  And gave the girl he cheated on me with my crystal ball ring.  I threw his ass out on the street!  I didn't care if he was homeless and didn't have his insulin.  He never took his insulin like he should have anyway.  If it weren't for me, he wouldn't have had insulin during the two months that we lived together.  Fucking asshole.  He even put the moves on my sister and she was 13 years old!  Sick fucker!

That's when, Mino, my beloved grandmother, got sick and was put in a nursing home, the one Mom and I worked at.  It was only to be temporary.  Until her insulin and blood sugar was regulated.  Then I was to move in with her and take care of her.  I moved out of my apartment and up to Mino's in the attic that was my mom and aunt's bedroom.

Mino came home from the nursing home and I tried to take care of her and work the night shift.  It was impossible.  I talked to her doctor, who is also my doctor, and she put Mino on Hospice care.  I honestly didn't think Mino was dying to be put on Hospice care, but it was the only way to get help from other care takers and nurses.  That was in October, 1995.  In November, my little sister, moved in with me and also helped me take care of Mino.  We tried our best with the help from Hospice.  And in February 1996, she passed on while my sister was taking care of her and I was coming home from working all night.  It was so traumatic for the both of us that Kristen wigged out and had to be calmed down by her boyfriend and my boyfriend, who later became my husband.  It happened on a Sunday morning.  And I remember Mom and I coming home and seeing a snowbow in the sky.  I said that, "It must be a sign."  And it sure was, I came home to find Kristen and the guys sitting in the kitchen crying.  I knew right then and there, Mino had died.

We were thrown out of Mino's house because Mino never changed the will to have me inherit the house.  So my boyfriend and I got a little place and he got a job and I continued my job.  Still I was so upset about Mino that I went into therapy.  I wasn't put on any medication until after I got married, moved to Clifton Springs, NY and then moved back home because my husband asked for a divorce on Valentine's Day.  This was in 1999.  In 2000, we finally got divorced and I was diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I with severe depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, and Anxiety Disorder.  Soon the regimen of meds began.  I was put on this pill and that pill for my mood swings.  Then I'd have side effects that wouldn't go away.  The list of medication is so long I can't remember all the pills I've tried.  I'm now on Geodon for my moods, Celexa, for my depression, Klonopin for my anxiety and then the rest of all my meds are for my kidney disease and diabetes.  Which is a ton!

During these past 11 years, I've cut myself to the point of stitches.  That was scary.  I had used a pair of brand new scissors and cut myself three times on my left arm.  They bled so much that I had to call my sister, who in turn, called Mom.  Mom, of course, was not happy with me and said things that weren't nice.  "Next time you do something like this, make sure you do it right and don't call for help!"  Kristen was right there and told her that wasn't nice to say.  I was used to it.  Every time I did something wrong in my life, Mom always had to make some snide remark.  Which always hurt me.  Like the time I was in high school and she told me that the only thing a boy or man would want from me is a fuck because I was fat and needed to lose weight.  I hate to say this, but she was dead right about that!

So now we're here to the present date.  I haven't cut in like four or five years now.  I've thought about it, but pushed the idea from my head because I know that not only am I hurting myself, I'm hurting others that care about me and they don't want to see or hear about me hurting myself.  Believe me, I've thought about cutting myself recently.  And it was because my best friend's ex called me a succubus and all I do is take, take, take and I don't know how to give.  That my cats are nasty.  Well, she was the life sucker!  And that's all I have to say about that.

I don't know why I feel the need to write about my life, but I do.  And if you read this, meaning anyone who decides to read this, hats off to you.  You're a lot braver than I thought.  *laughs*

I've tried not using names, because I don't want word to get back to people, but if it does or if you are the one I talked about, just remember, don't try and mess with me now.  I WILL fight back.  I WILL seek revenge if I have to.  I will, fight like a girl.

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