Out of all my MS symptoms, this one is at the top of my "I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!" list. There's NO escape.
For years, they told me it was just a part of "PTSD". MISdiagnosis. For years, I thought I'd blown out my eardrums. I'm a drummer. For years, I thought everyone else was too loud and obnoxious.
I went to my Neurodude appointment, the other day... and I begged for something to help me with this. His first response was to doubt it being MS related. I didn't give a rat's ass what he said. I KNOW it's MS related. Damn Residents.
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Saturday, July 30, 2005
~Archives
Well, that's about it for re-posting my deleted archives.
When I got to MT, @ October 29, 2004, I had stopped blogging. I got to MA, @ December 21, 2004. I started this blog back up again, once I caught my breath, in Jan. '05. I deleted all of the blog entries from May through October of '04, because... I was embarrassed, and angry.
When I got to MT, @ October 29, 2004, I had stopped blogging. I got to MA, @ December 21, 2004. I started this blog back up again, once I caught my breath, in Jan. '05. I deleted all of the blog entries from May through October of '04, because... I was embarrassed, and angry.
Friday, July 29, 2005
"~Strokes" re-post & comment reply
I'll be forever perplexed as to why the "Book of Blogs" people chose this entry, over all the rest of mine, to publish.
(comment 11:16am)
The truth cuts right to the bone sometime. Makes me think why it is that I am really doing this written journey here, online...am I really doing it for the right reasons? Huh!?! Gotta think about that.
(my reply 7:44pm)
Well, I was being a little hard on myself at the time, too. It's not ALL about ego... I don't think. Sometimes, it's just about wanting to feel human... to feel like I actually exist and matter... and wanting to connect with people who MIGHT get it.
I do go through phases of despising myself.... and sometimes, I write during those times.... and sometimes I start relationships during those times, with people who help me despise myself more.
What can I say? I have holes in my brain. :\
(comment 11:16am)
The truth cuts right to the bone sometime. Makes me think why it is that I am really doing this written journey here, online...am I really doing it for the right reasons? Huh!?! Gotta think about that.
(my reply 7:44pm)
Well, I was being a little hard on myself at the time, too. It's not ALL about ego... I don't think. Sometimes, it's just about wanting to feel human... to feel like I actually exist and matter... and wanting to connect with people who MIGHT get it.
I do go through phases of despising myself.... and sometimes, I write during those times.... and sometimes I start relationships during those times, with people who help me despise myself more.
What can I say? I have holes in my brain. :\
Thursday, July 28, 2005
~fun with MS
Well, that was a complete waste of time. All the appointment did was piss me off.
I'm scheduled for an MRI on Sunday. Fun. More brain pics. I'll try to get a disk again. My brain is vain. It likes seeing itself online.
I'm scheduled for an MRI on Sunday. Fun. More brain pics. I'll try to get a disk again. My brain is vain. It likes seeing itself online.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
~Cave in
("Cave in" re-post")
There's nothing from the September archives worth re-posting. I was in high delusional mode... licking the sludge I was offered. There's a reason I've always feared September.
There's nothing from the September archives worth re-posting. I was in high delusional mode... licking the sludge I was offered. There's a reason I've always feared September.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
~Sick
I left "home" in '98. It was one of the bigger mistakes in my life, but it was unavoidable. I was playing in traffic trying to kill myself... sick with the brain stuff, and sick with the pesky little cocaine habit I picked up. Moving helped with the cocaine problem, but didn't fix the brain. It was one of those "all I have to do is really try" things. In, I think it was, the end of '98, I moved, got a good job, tried to get off disability. Lasted until, I think it was, April of '99. Had to stop working at the "good job"... tried doing some construction work for a while. That didn't work out either. Couldn't stop the head.
I ended up in the burbs, in October of 2000 (another long story). My definition of "hell". I stayed with a friend and her family until May of 2002, when I got a place. I had housing assistance, but it was still in the burbs. I can't drive. Getting anywhere was rather difficult. There were no sidewalks where there should have been. I was tired all the time. I couldn't stop the head.
I left the burbs this past October, lured out to MT by a psychotic, manipulative, abusive, cunt. My bad... I guess. Honestly, I was planning on offing myself on the train out there. I didn't know what I was doing, only that if this wasn't happily ever after, I was done, and I'd suspected it wasn't happily ever after for months. Once I put the notice in to my apartment complex... once there was no turning back... she started showing her true colors, but I was pretty stuck. I had to go. I had nowhere else to live. I thought I could tough it out... thought I could manage to become what she decided I should be. The second I stepped off the train, I knew that wasn't going to be possible though... and it only got worse from there. I only got worse from there. The stress pushed my little MS brain over the edge, and I ended up losing my sight in my right eye.
So, I got the diagnosis, finally. I tried not to panic when the doc said "I've never seen a brain like this." I tried not to panic through all of it. No matter what, never complain around the cunt. The cunt is the only one allowed to complain. When I told her the diagnosis, she got angry with me. Odd how both her and the cunt I came out of had the same response. Not Freudian at all.
So, there I was, in bumfuck MT, trapped with a psycho and her kids. There were only two ways out of there. Either go out in a body bag, or beg one of the friends I'd been required to dick over to beg her mom to house me. I begged.
The last couple of weeks there were hell. I somehow had to get (what was left of) my belongings and myself to MA. My half brother got me a train ticket. (I'll be paying him back forever.) I just tried to hang in there... to not say the wrong thing... to not push any of the psycho buttons. I had to get to the train station.
I almost went across the street to the Mormon church to beg them for a ride.
I made it. I talked to my friend, my brother, and my old therapist on the phone, until I had to give the phone up. I stayed in bed as much as I could... staring at the ceiling. I went outside and smoked and paced, when I could. Above all, I kept my trap shut. No matter what I wanted to say, I kept it shut. When I said anything, I tapped into the part of myself that loved her... the part that forgave her... the part who still blames myself for all of this.
She blew everything, at the train station. That little part of me, who still loved her, was pushed over the edge.
The last thing she said to me, before I got on the train, was "Tell me you don't love her."
After all of that... after destroying my entire life (even going so far as to return or destroy thousands of pages of writing and hundreds of photos, because she threatened to either destroy them, fight with me over them, or throw them in my face) in order to be with her... after having to prove to her over and over again that I loved her.. after all of it, it all came down to her wanting more reassurance. It all came down to it being all about poor her. After all of it, she still couldn't even trust that I'd rather be with her, romantically, than be with one of my friends.
When I got to MA, my head was still spinning. It took a few days before I had any desire to go near a computer... and quite honestly, it's really fucking rude to immediately jump online in that sort of situation.
When I finally did, there were multiple e-mails from her, each one more obnoxious than the last.
That's when she became "the cunt".
In the first few weeks, I left her phone messages... I made sure she had my number when I got a phone, being that I didn't know what might come in the mail there. I told her happy birthday, as I thought it might be the right thing to do... but that was it. Even her responses to the phone messages were obnoxious.
So, "The Cunt" stuck.
...and I'm still homesick.
I ended up in the burbs, in October of 2000 (another long story). My definition of "hell". I stayed with a friend and her family until May of 2002, when I got a place. I had housing assistance, but it was still in the burbs. I can't drive. Getting anywhere was rather difficult. There were no sidewalks where there should have been. I was tired all the time. I couldn't stop the head.
I left the burbs this past October, lured out to MT by a psychotic, manipulative, abusive, cunt. My bad... I guess. Honestly, I was planning on offing myself on the train out there. I didn't know what I was doing, only that if this wasn't happily ever after, I was done, and I'd suspected it wasn't happily ever after for months. Once I put the notice in to my apartment complex... once there was no turning back... she started showing her true colors, but I was pretty stuck. I had to go. I had nowhere else to live. I thought I could tough it out... thought I could manage to become what she decided I should be. The second I stepped off the train, I knew that wasn't going to be possible though... and it only got worse from there. I only got worse from there. The stress pushed my little MS brain over the edge, and I ended up losing my sight in my right eye.
So, I got the diagnosis, finally. I tried not to panic when the doc said "I've never seen a brain like this." I tried not to panic through all of it. No matter what, never complain around the cunt. The cunt is the only one allowed to complain. When I told her the diagnosis, she got angry with me. Odd how both her and the cunt I came out of had the same response. Not Freudian at all.
So, there I was, in bumfuck MT, trapped with a psycho and her kids. There were only two ways out of there. Either go out in a body bag, or beg one of the friends I'd been required to dick over to beg her mom to house me. I begged.
The last couple of weeks there were hell. I somehow had to get (what was left of) my belongings and myself to MA. My half brother got me a train ticket. (I'll be paying him back forever.) I just tried to hang in there... to not say the wrong thing... to not push any of the psycho buttons. I had to get to the train station.
I almost went across the street to the Mormon church to beg them for a ride.
I made it. I talked to my friend, my brother, and my old therapist on the phone, until I had to give the phone up. I stayed in bed as much as I could... staring at the ceiling. I went outside and smoked and paced, when I could. Above all, I kept my trap shut. No matter what I wanted to say, I kept it shut. When I said anything, I tapped into the part of myself that loved her... the part that forgave her... the part who still blames myself for all of this.
She blew everything, at the train station. That little part of me, who still loved her, was pushed over the edge.
The last thing she said to me, before I got on the train, was "Tell me you don't love her."
After all of that... after destroying my entire life (even going so far as to return or destroy thousands of pages of writing and hundreds of photos, because she threatened to either destroy them, fight with me over them, or throw them in my face) in order to be with her... after having to prove to her over and over again that I loved her.. after all of it, it all came down to her wanting more reassurance. It all came down to it being all about poor her. After all of it, she still couldn't even trust that I'd rather be with her, romantically, than be with one of my friends.
When I got to MA, my head was still spinning. It took a few days before I had any desire to go near a computer... and quite honestly, it's really fucking rude to immediately jump online in that sort of situation.
When I finally did, there were multiple e-mails from her, each one more obnoxious than the last.
That's when she became "the cunt".
In the first few weeks, I left her phone messages... I made sure she had my number when I got a phone, being that I didn't know what might come in the mail there. I told her happy birthday, as I thought it might be the right thing to do... but that was it. Even her responses to the phone messages were obnoxious.
So, "The Cunt" stuck.
...and I'm still homesick.
Monday, July 25, 2005
~MS with no label
(Re-posted "Mourning Thoughts")
(from the entry's comments)
07.26.05 (6:02 am)
omg! is the mental noise still that bad?...
(my reply)
post date: 07.27.05 (6:48 am)
It's just gotten worse, actually.
MS is loads of fun.
(from the entry's comments)
07.26.05 (6:02 am)
omg! is the mental noise still that bad?...
(my reply)
post date: 07.27.05 (6:48 am)
It's just gotten worse, actually.
MS is loads of fun.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
~burn unit
I don't want to think about it... everything I gave away... destroyed... Maybe, one day, I'll forgive myself.
(reaction to reading this while re-posting deleted ~archives.)
(reaction to reading this while re-posting deleted ~archives.)
072405 ~comment/reply
Cutter u need to get them organised and published. ur story is too rich and too important to keep to urself and the lucky few who find it online... hmmm... im going to keep thinking bout that ... dont let MS debilitate ur ambitions hey... just need to work with or around it... take care. i really think there has to be a way to tell ur story to more ppl than ~bloggers...
(my reply)
Again, I appreciate the compliment. MS doesn't debilitate my ambitions. It debilitates my body... including my brain. I've worked with and around it for about 20 years now. As per one of my previous blog entries, when I say that I can't do something, I mean that I CAN'T... not that I won't, not that I don't want to, and not that I need encouragement. I'm a good writer. I know that I'm a good writer. Right now though, I can't get my writing in order to be published, and cannot take care of the necessary business that comes along with publishing. I don't even have a home right now... and even when I did have a home, most days I could barely make it to the shower. I had the offer of help, about a year ago. That didn't work out. I was dicked on that, along with everything else the cunt dicked me on. ok... perhaps a touchy issue. I really do appreciate your compliments. They make me feel pretty darn good. Please don't get me wrong.
(my reply)
Again, I appreciate the compliment. MS doesn't debilitate my ambitions. It debilitates my body... including my brain. I've worked with and around it for about 20 years now. As per one of my previous blog entries, when I say that I can't do something, I mean that I CAN'T... not that I won't, not that I don't want to, and not that I need encouragement. I'm a good writer. I know that I'm a good writer. Right now though, I can't get my writing in order to be published, and cannot take care of the necessary business that comes along with publishing. I don't even have a home right now... and even when I did have a home, most days I could barely make it to the shower. I had the offer of help, about a year ago. That didn't work out. I was dicked on that, along with everything else the cunt dicked me on. ok... perhaps a touchy issue. I really do appreciate your compliments. They make me feel pretty darn good. Please don't get me wrong.
Saturday, July 23, 2005
072305 ~comments/replies
7:43 AM - replied to comment -
Thanks for the compliment. :) I don't know that I can do much of anything with my writing. I don't have the ability to get things together. The MS interferes with that. Always has.
I remember the first time I met a transsexual person. She was a lesbian and had come to Michigan to get married to her girlfriend because her girlfriend was from here and because, in Michigan, she was still legally considered a man because she hadnt had her sex change operation yet. We had an interesting talk about gender and what it means to be a woman. I guess before that time, I had always just figured that being a woman was all about having a vagina. It took a long time for me to wrap my mind around the idea that a person could feel that they were one gender or other in a way seperate from their body parts.
7:50 AM replied -
I think that it's pretty wrong that the government has anything to do with telling people who they are. There's no reason to have an M or F stamped on a birth certificate. The way I see it, the only reason to have it there is so that people can discriminate against you even before they meet you. Race used to be on birth certificates too. Then, people figured out how fucked up and wrong that was. I wonder when they'll figure it out about listing "sex".
Thanks for the compliment. :) I don't know that I can do much of anything with my writing. I don't have the ability to get things together. The MS interferes with that. Always has.
I remember the first time I met a transsexual person. She was a lesbian and had come to Michigan to get married to her girlfriend because her girlfriend was from here and because, in Michigan, she was still legally considered a man because she hadnt had her sex change operation yet. We had an interesting talk about gender and what it means to be a woman. I guess before that time, I had always just figured that being a woman was all about having a vagina. It took a long time for me to wrap my mind around the idea that a person could feel that they were one gender or other in a way seperate from their body parts.
7:50 AM replied -
I think that it's pretty wrong that the government has anything to do with telling people who they are. There's no reason to have an M or F stamped on a birth certificate. The way I see it, the only reason to have it there is so that people can discriminate against you even before they meet you. Race used to be on birth certificates too. Then, people figured out how fucked up and wrong that was. I wonder when they'll figure it out about listing "sex".
Friday, July 22, 2005
~doubt
Sometimes, when my brain goes POP!, I wonder if it's my MS, or if it's just me being genuinely pissed off.
072205 ~comments/replies
Nessie is necessary...nessie only needs to provide force, and leverage to her willing engager. She knows that she is one with engager and that metal might bend, snap or break...but her engager's will will not be broken.
(my reply)
yeah... until Chairy comes along. :\
Plus, if anyone fucks with you. WHACK! Just like Beecher on OZ, right?
(my reply)
I'd rather be Keller.
(my reply)
yeah... until Chairy comes along. :\
Plus, if anyone fucks with you. WHACK! Just like Beecher on OZ, right?
(my reply)
I'd rather be Keller.
~Idiots
I wonder if there will ever come a day when the word "transsexual" won't be in the same category as "hot sexy pussy girls fucking like xxx whores, porno to the maxxx, mad cumshots, anal galore"
It is BEYOND infuriating, and BEYOND damaging.
Being "transsexual" is just like being a man or a woman, or a boy, or a girl, or male, or female. The word, a product of a small minded, binary sex/gender system which produces people who get off on anything outside of the "norm", is not, in reality, a goddamned sexual perversion, akin to shoe huffing! The word, a product of a small minded, binary sex/gender system, only exists because people can't get it through their idiot brains that sex, gender, and sexuality exist on a continuum. Mainstream society needs a binary word for easy swallowing. It needs a word to express "We're normal, THEY aren't", so if one is breaking the damn rules (something most people only WISH they could do, and so hate anyone who does), simply by being oneself, one is said to be "crossing" sex/gender lines. TRANS means "to cross", and SEXUAL doesn't mean, in the case the word "transsexual", "fucking", it refers to one's body parts. "Transsexual" means that someone dubbed sex1 by society, is in fact closer to sex2, with parts stereotypically characteristic of sex1.
Yes, there's more to it than that, but shit!, for starters, can we please get it off the 'words that make you go "eeeeeew"' list? Kids are being scarred, and adults lives are being ruined.
Maybe, one day, Transsexual people will move all the way up to where Gay people are now. Yeah. It could happen.
Whatever... this rant could fill volumes. In fact, it already does... if a person has the desire to go to a goddamned bookstore or library, and chance actually learning something, the volumes can be found there... as long as it's not a mainstream bookstore.
ok, I'm shutting up
for now
It is BEYOND infuriating, and BEYOND damaging.
Being "transsexual" is just like being a man or a woman, or a boy, or a girl, or male, or female. The word, a product of a small minded, binary sex/gender system which produces people who get off on anything outside of the "norm", is not, in reality, a goddamned sexual perversion, akin to shoe huffing! The word, a product of a small minded, binary sex/gender system, only exists because people can't get it through their idiot brains that sex, gender, and sexuality exist on a continuum. Mainstream society needs a binary word for easy swallowing. It needs a word to express "We're normal, THEY aren't", so if one is breaking the damn rules (something most people only WISH they could do, and so hate anyone who does), simply by being oneself, one is said to be "crossing" sex/gender lines. TRANS means "to cross", and SEXUAL doesn't mean, in the case the word "transsexual", "fucking", it refers to one's body parts. "Transsexual" means that someone dubbed sex1 by society, is in fact closer to sex2, with parts stereotypically characteristic of sex1.
Yes, there's more to it than that, but shit!, for starters, can we please get it off the 'words that make you go "eeeeeew"' list? Kids are being scarred, and adults lives are being ruined.
Maybe, one day, Transsexual people will move all the way up to where Gay people are now. Yeah. It could happen.
Whatever... this rant could fill volumes. In fact, it already does... if a person has the desire to go to a goddamned bookstore or library, and chance actually learning something, the volumes can be found there... as long as it's not a mainstream bookstore.
ok, I'm shutting up
for now
~"Still Gothic, after all these years" - re-post
(Re-posted "Still Gothic, after all these years")
My core is hard. Does it have a label? Did it ever? Like Mary, I was a cross of Goth, punk, and just plain psycho. I was "Orphan Edge". I was the little, cut up, freak in a leather jacket which had a history. I was I was I was. In Philly, in Israel, in Kentucky, in the burbs, in school, on South Street, on drugs, at the squat, at the shows, in the Institute, in the gutter, in the bars, at work, at home... I was. I am what I was. I am what I am. I am what I will always be.
I'm Cutter.
My core is hard. Does it have a label? Did it ever? Like Mary, I was a cross of Goth, punk, and just plain psycho. I was "Orphan Edge". I was the little, cut up, freak in a leather jacket which had a history. I was I was I was. In Philly, in Israel, in Kentucky, in the burbs, in school, on South Street, on drugs, at the squat, at the shows, in the Institute, in the gutter, in the bars, at work, at home... I was. I am what I was. I am what I am. I am what I will always be.
I'm Cutter.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
~Nessie
This is what Nessie looks like:
Yes, it looks like she has snot coming out of her nose. I think that we have a lot in common (allergies).
Nessie is both friend and enemy. ...ok, not enemy. I just resent her a little.
We go everywhere together. She helps me out a lot.
I'd be all suave and shit, but... I'm too dependant on her.
Anyway... just thought I'd introduce you.
Yes, it looks like she has snot coming out of her nose. I think that we have a lot in common (allergies).
Nessie is both friend and enemy. ...ok, not enemy. I just resent her a little.
We go everywhere together. She helps me out a lot.
I'd be all suave and shit, but... I'm too dependant on her.
Anyway... just thought I'd introduce you.
072105 ~comment reply
My monster used to say (an expression passed down to her by her mother), "When your feet are cold, just think about the poor man with no feet." My reply? ...and that makes my feet warm how? I think that a gift of socks would be a much better reaction to "My feet are cold" or, at the very least, a little sympathy.
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
~scarring
My brain is burning. It may sound crazy... but I can feel it. I've always been able to. I can tell when things aren't right... when it's rotting... being eaten away by this fucking disease.
...feels like my head is burning... like it's going to pop... like my spine is going to push through my head...
...like nothing makes sense... it's all abstract...
life through a tunnel
echoing
mocking me
eating my life away
...feels like my head is burning... like it's going to pop... like my spine is going to push through my head...
...like nothing makes sense... it's all abstract...
life through a tunnel
echoing
mocking me
eating my life away
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Monday, July 18, 2005
341pm071805 ~comment reply
re: fair game
Remind me that I never want you as an enemy!! I think sometimes, if I'm careless enough, that leaving outlook open is like everyone's invitation to read my emails...I don't want that...therefore I'm anal, about closing everything. Sometimes, I feel guilty about it...like I'm trying to hide something. Now I don't think about it and don't respond to one in a million request to read my emails. And the demon shares the apartment that is your heart with the angel, they are permanent roommates...frustrating as hell, but it will always be. Wouldn't it be nice for the demon to sit on your left shoulder, closest to your ear...but it doesn't work that way. He's always saddled with his pure roommate, and vice versa. This is the real eternal struggle.
(my reply)
In all honesty, I'll sooner hurt myself than hurt someone else. (Hence, getting the hell out of there.) I'd have killed myself instead of her, and it did come down to that. I was just lucky that I was able to beg a friend to help me out. I'm at her mom's house now. I was ready to off myself though. When it came down to it, I couldn't hurt the bitch, no matter what she did. I don't know if that makes me a wuss or a saint. The worst I've done is rant, on my blog. I fear the day I snap... and so I try to be careful with myself. I just wish that others were as kind.
Remind me that I never want you as an enemy!! I think sometimes, if I'm careless enough, that leaving outlook open is like everyone's invitation to read my emails...I don't want that...therefore I'm anal, about closing everything. Sometimes, I feel guilty about it...like I'm trying to hide something. Now I don't think about it and don't respond to one in a million request to read my emails. And the demon shares the apartment that is your heart with the angel, they are permanent roommates...frustrating as hell, but it will always be. Wouldn't it be nice for the demon to sit on your left shoulder, closest to your ear...but it doesn't work that way. He's always saddled with his pure roommate, and vice versa. This is the real eternal struggle.
(my reply)
In all honesty, I'll sooner hurt myself than hurt someone else. (Hence, getting the hell out of there.) I'd have killed myself instead of her, and it did come down to that. I was just lucky that I was able to beg a friend to help me out. I'm at her mom's house now. I was ready to off myself though. When it came down to it, I couldn't hurt the bitch, no matter what she did. I don't know if that makes me a wuss or a saint. The worst I've done is rant, on my blog. I fear the day I snap... and so I try to be careful with myself. I just wish that others were as kind.
~fair game
There was a result from posting the "special place in hell" entry. There was fighting and manipulation and threats... in carefully selected words only the CUNT could come up with.
The result was that I had no place to write... and that I shredded THOUSANDS of pages of writing, and HUNDREDS of photos, before moving out there... even this blog was affected!... so that I wouldn't upset the CUNT ...so that I could prove just how true my love was ...so that I never gave the wrong impression.
When I got there, when all was irreversible, the CUNT threw words at me anyway... anything I said, anything I wrote... it was all fair game.
The end result?
The demon and I got the hell out of there, before we killed the bitch.
The result was that I had no place to write... and that I shredded THOUSANDS of pages of writing, and HUNDREDS of photos, before moving out there... even this blog was affected!... so that I wouldn't upset the CUNT ...so that I could prove just how true my love was ...so that I never gave the wrong impression.
When I got there, when all was irreversible, the CUNT threw words at me anyway... anything I said, anything I wrote... it was all fair game.
The end result?
The demon and I got the hell out of there, before we killed the bitch.
1132am071805 ~comment reply
re: A Special Place In Hell
my ex husband got ahold of my journal i kept through my teenage years. it still makes me burn that he read it. it was none of his business. now my current "interest" reads my blog. i know what you mean by the safe space. i decided to just keep posting as i have been and if he gets pissed, well he gets what he deserves.
(my reply)
It's not so much the reading I mind. It's being mentally abused with what they read that makes me livid.
my ex husband got ahold of my journal i kept through my teenage years. it still makes me burn that he read it. it was none of his business. now my current "interest" reads my blog. i know what you mean by the safe space. i decided to just keep posting as i have been and if he gets pissed, well he gets what he deserves.
(my reply)
It's not so much the reading I mind. It's being mentally abused with what they read that makes me livid.
~A Special Place In Hell (2)
This entry was posted, originally, as both a warning to someone, and as reassurance. I wanted to keep her away from my journals and again make sure she did not feel threatened by my ex. I regret saying that I "hated" my ex. I don't hate her. The fact that she read my journal though, that did infuriate me, but I forgave her. My mother?... that's another story.
Sunday, July 17, 2005
~messed up
Being (mis?)diagnosed with mental illness since 1985, I've been shrunk so much, I can barely see over my boots. They blamed my MS symptoms on my being "crazy". They like to tell people who won't listen to them about which sex/gender they are that they're crazy. It snowballed from there. Everything was somehow connected to my "mental health history" and attached to my mental health labels. Every cognitive symptom, and every physical one. No matter how many times I told them "No! There's something wrong with my brain!" they never listened, and never looked at my actual brain. It wasn't until this past November that they finally gave me an MRI, as I'd gone completely blind in my right eye and was in a new town... no health records on file. Not that they didn't try to accuse me of just drinking myself blind (that was the second neurologist), judging me by my appearance, but they checked my brain anyway (after looking into my eyeballs). According to the Nerologists, I've had MS for, at least, 10 years. 20 years is completely possible. (That's when my symptoms started.) My brain is pretty messed up.
I'm currently looking for housing... but that's a long story. I blog when I can.
Really, at this point, I'm tired. On a daily basis, I just wish the MS would kill me already.
I'm currently looking for housing... but that's a long story. I blog when I can.
Really, at this point, I'm tired. On a daily basis, I just wish the MS would kill me already.
~Take my fucking word for it!
That blog entry was brought to you by someone whose disability status was being challenged, and who was being told, in no specific words, that he wasn't doing things because he just didn't want to. Basically, being told that he wasn't disabled, just lazy... that all he needed was a little encouragement... just like an autistic child. Then there was the part about being scared to leave children with him because of "what if..." that he had to reassure someone about.
I'll stop here, because this will turn into one UGLY rant.
I was lured across that line I spoke of. I lost the ability to do my jobs. Now, I'm in the proverbial gutter.
I'm about to rant...
shutting up.
I'll stop here, because this will turn into one UGLY rant.
I was lured across that line I spoke of. I lost the ability to do my jobs. Now, I'm in the proverbial gutter.
I'm about to rant...
shutting up.
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Honestly
I could edit the previous ("crap") entry all day. There's scenario after scenario I could add into the rant.
The ABUSE was non-stop... and it WAS abuse.
Within 6 weeks, I was closer to killing myself than I'd ever been in my entire twisted, suicidal life.
I'll stop here.
The ABUSE was non-stop... and it WAS abuse.
Within 6 weeks, I was closer to killing myself than I'd ever been in my entire twisted, suicidal life.
I'll stop here.
~365
A year ago today, I was busy being lied to and used. A year ago today, there was something, obviously, wrong with my eyes. I sure as shit couldn't see things for what they were.
Don't know how many more archives I'll post. Reading back on them makes me sick.
Don't know how many more archives I'll post. Reading back on them makes me sick.
~crap
I think that when this country (the US) started out, there was a possibility of being "free". That whole concept, though, is pretty much one big ol' floaty in the bowl. As close as one can get to actual freedom is being a "bag person" and even then, you depend on other people's trash.
It's sad.
(sorry for this rant, but that thought led me to...)
During the end of 2004, I sacrificed A LOT of my "independence"... gave up a lot of what freedom I did have. I'm bitter. VERY bitter. The little bits of hope I do have are what get me through, day to day. The hope of getting back to some semblance of self-sufficiency is what keeps the blade from the vein. (Well, that and Stem Cell research, but that's a whole 'nother topic.)
I made a mistake, a BIG mistake. At the moment, that's how I feel. I can hope that, one day, I won't see it that way. I can hope that, one day, I'll see it as just another leg of my life journey. Not right now though. Right now, the way I see it is that I just plain fucked up.
I trusted someone. I took a chance, and lost. ...and fuck heartbreak, I lost the damn pot I was, very securely, pissing in! I guess that'll learn me to put my heart over my head. I'll not do that again. Next time, they can give up just about everything they own, move a few thousand miles, put out a few thousand dollars, push away the people they care for to make me happy, give up the ability to take care of themself by believing my line of bullshit about how I'll help them out, put themselves in a position of being completely homeless without me... and I can just go on with my life, changing absolutely nothing, but allowing them in my home. Maybe I'll let them use a box to sleep on, until I can get them to a store to buy a bed, once they save up some money, after I say that I'll get a bed before they get there, and change my mind a week or so before they arrive. I have a bed, it's not my problem, you know. Maybe I can do nothing but complain, but then attack them if they dare utter a sentence which even comes close to addressing one of their issues... Maybe I can speak relentlessly of the partner I've not yet even divorced... Maybe my first ex can suddenly show up at the door... Maybe, once I stress them out so much that they end up sick, I can get mad at them for even telling me that they're sick. Maybe I can manipulate them with sex. Maybe I can go sleep on the couch because I don't like the way they're psychically pulling away. Maybe I can ignore them completely. Maybe I can get mad at them for wanting to sit and talk with me. Maybe I can treat them like a child. Maybe I can punish them, if they get angry, by not allowing them to get to a store or a laundromat. Maybe I can take their money, and monitor who they call, and make them walk to the doctor over 6 inches of ice while they're blind in one eye. Maybe I can snatch their medical records out of their hands and throw a fit over the confidential information I read in them. Maybe I can accuse them of risking my well being, because they told someone that they weren't just a stranger in town trying to write a fucking book. Maybe, in the end, when they finally break, I can get them to take care of me because of my poor broken heart... maybe I can even pull up some tears and doe eyes to make them think that they did something to me... maybe I can force them to pick apart my character, so that I can throw the words back at them later... maybe I can twist the whole thing around into what I'm insecure about, ignoring the truth, and say that they were running off to be with another person.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? I am who I am. If I love, I love, and when I love, there's very little I won't risk or give. I'll take another chance, because I'm stupid like that. I've done it my whole life.
I can only hope that, next time, the person won't be such a damn psychotic twit... or that maybe, before I lose too much, I'll see the whole thing for what it is... and I'll remember not to throw away my parachute.
It's sad.
(sorry for this rant, but that thought led me to...)
During the end of 2004, I sacrificed A LOT of my "independence"... gave up a lot of what freedom I did have. I'm bitter. VERY bitter. The little bits of hope I do have are what get me through, day to day. The hope of getting back to some semblance of self-sufficiency is what keeps the blade from the vein. (Well, that and Stem Cell research, but that's a whole 'nother topic.)
I made a mistake, a BIG mistake. At the moment, that's how I feel. I can hope that, one day, I won't see it that way. I can hope that, one day, I'll see it as just another leg of my life journey. Not right now though. Right now, the way I see it is that I just plain fucked up.
I trusted someone. I took a chance, and lost. ...and fuck heartbreak, I lost the damn pot I was, very securely, pissing in! I guess that'll learn me to put my heart over my head. I'll not do that again. Next time, they can give up just about everything they own, move a few thousand miles, put out a few thousand dollars, push away the people they care for to make me happy, give up the ability to take care of themself by believing my line of bullshit about how I'll help them out, put themselves in a position of being completely homeless without me... and I can just go on with my life, changing absolutely nothing, but allowing them in my home. Maybe I'll let them use a box to sleep on, until I can get them to a store to buy a bed, once they save up some money, after I say that I'll get a bed before they get there, and change my mind a week or so before they arrive. I have a bed, it's not my problem, you know. Maybe I can do nothing but complain, but then attack them if they dare utter a sentence which even comes close to addressing one of their issues... Maybe I can speak relentlessly of the partner I've not yet even divorced... Maybe my first ex can suddenly show up at the door... Maybe, once I stress them out so much that they end up sick, I can get mad at them for even telling me that they're sick. Maybe I can manipulate them with sex. Maybe I can go sleep on the couch because I don't like the way they're psychically pulling away. Maybe I can ignore them completely. Maybe I can get mad at them for wanting to sit and talk with me. Maybe I can treat them like a child. Maybe I can punish them, if they get angry, by not allowing them to get to a store or a laundromat. Maybe I can take their money, and monitor who they call, and make them walk to the doctor over 6 inches of ice while they're blind in one eye. Maybe I can snatch their medical records out of their hands and throw a fit over the confidential information I read in them. Maybe I can accuse them of risking my well being, because they told someone that they weren't just a stranger in town trying to write a fucking book. Maybe, in the end, when they finally break, I can get them to take care of me because of my poor broken heart... maybe I can even pull up some tears and doe eyes to make them think that they did something to me... maybe I can force them to pick apart my character, so that I can throw the words back at them later... maybe I can twist the whole thing around into what I'm insecure about, ignoring the truth, and say that they were running off to be with another person.
Fuck. Who am I kidding? I am who I am. If I love, I love, and when I love, there's very little I won't risk or give. I'll take another chance, because I'm stupid like that. I've done it my whole life.
I can only hope that, next time, the person won't be such a damn psychotic twit... or that maybe, before I lose too much, I'll see the whole thing for what it is... and I'll remember not to throw away my parachute.
Friday, July 15, 2005
123pm071505 ~comment reply
anger is good!!! lol
(my reply)
I agree! VERY tasty! Anger, I think, gets things done. It's what keeps the wheel of progress rolling. (Mostly, that is.) Need=wanting=angry for not having=gitter dun! Just a theory.
(my reply)
I agree! VERY tasty! Anger, I think, gets things done. It's what keeps the wheel of progress rolling. (Mostly, that is.) Need=wanting=angry for not having=gitter dun! Just a theory.
~at the core
My head is racing like a motherfucker.
Anger. Hate. Ah... the spice of life.
I get off on being angry. If I'm not sufficiently pissed off, I'll look for something to get me there.
Hate Edge. I remember that whole thing... it was when the Philly scene was fracturing... splitting up... getting cliquey... Brubaker was doing the whole "Hate Edge" thing (perhaps in protest). I painted "Orphan Edge" on my boots... sounded better than "RunawayCore". That's about where I was at. It was all a bunch of bullshit... lines, divisions, divide and conquer... divide and fall.
Damn shame.
Once upon a time... a long, long time ago... things used to mean something.
Now?
I'm just looking for a rush.
Anger. Hate. Ah... the spice of life.
I get off on being angry. If I'm not sufficiently pissed off, I'll look for something to get me there.
Hate Edge. I remember that whole thing... it was when the Philly scene was fracturing... splitting up... getting cliquey... Brubaker was doing the whole "Hate Edge" thing (perhaps in protest). I painted "Orphan Edge" on my boots... sounded better than "RunawayCore". That's about where I was at. It was all a bunch of bullshit... lines, divisions, divide and conquer... divide and fall.
Damn shame.
Once upon a time... a long, long time ago... things used to mean something.
Now?
I'm just looking for a rush.
Thursday, July 14, 2005
("~sorry" comment)
(Commented on my own entry)
I'm trying my best. Even if it's only posting an archive or two, I think it, somehow, makes me feel a little more like a substantial human being... like maybe, if even one person reads and gets something out of what I write, maybe my existence is still worth someting, above and beyond serving as a point for pity or charity.
I'm trying my best. Even if it's only posting an archive or two, I think it, somehow, makes me feel a little more like a substantial human being... like maybe, if even one person reads and gets something out of what I write, maybe my existence is still worth someting, above and beyond serving as a point for pity or charity.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Saturday, July 9, 2005
070905 reply to ~ comment
"Abusive people are abusive. My mother didn't drink. My "father" did. They were both abusive fucks."
- I'd never thought about this until I read it. While I've never experienced it personally I had close friends when I was younger who did. I wonder if they feel the same way?
My reply:
I think that people blame the alcohol because they can't deal with the truth of the situation. It's easier to say, for example, "My husband is a drunk." rather than, "My husband doesn't love me." or "I'm pushing my husband over the edge." or "My husband has issues which I can't solve for him." It's easier to blame the beer than the man (or the parent)... and too... it's easier to blame the beer than oneself.
- I'd never thought about this until I read it. While I've never experienced it personally I had close friends when I was younger who did. I wonder if they feel the same way?
My reply:
I think that people blame the alcohol because they can't deal with the truth of the situation. It's easier to say, for example, "My husband is a drunk." rather than, "My husband doesn't love me." or "I'm pushing my husband over the edge." or "My husband has issues which I can't solve for him." It's easier to blame the beer than the man (or the parent)... and too... it's easier to blame the beer than oneself.
Friday, July 8, 2005
~Lots
Reposted:
Tuning in
Monday 06.21.04 [11:12 pm]
Hope
Monday 06.21.04 [10:02 pm]
The point is
Monday 06.21.04 [3:06 pm]
I don't know what
Monday 06.21.04 [1:12 pm]
___________________________________
This stuff is fascinating, knowing what I know now.
Tuning in
Monday 06.21.04 [11:12 pm]
Hope
Monday 06.21.04 [10:02 pm]
The point is
Monday 06.21.04 [3:06 pm]
I don't know what
Monday 06.21.04 [1:12 pm]
___________________________________
This stuff is fascinating, knowing what I know now.
Thursday, July 7, 2005
~Anger! The other white meat!
Sometimes I'm angry. Other times I'm REALLY angry.
I don't know when the anger will go away. Maybe never. Maybe when I get another place to live and can adjust my medication dosage.
Don't worry. I take plenty out on myself too. While pointing fingers, I often visit the mirror.
I don't know when the anger will go away. Maybe never. Maybe when I get another place to live and can adjust my medication dosage.
Don't worry. I take plenty out on myself too. While pointing fingers, I often visit the mirror.
070705 reply to ~comment
damn.. i have no idea the particulars of this statement, but it is one i could have made about my relationships with a person or two. do you ever wish there was like a 12 step program for addictions to toxic relationships? or IS there one? i need to find one!
I don't know... but I do seem to have that as a theme in my life. Bad mommy issues? I don't know. Sometimes I figure that must be it. I couldn't get mom to love me, so I just try to win over women like her. Problem is, "women like her" are just as cruel. I think I think too much. :\
I don't know... but I do seem to have that as a theme in my life. Bad mommy issues? I don't know. Sometimes I figure that must be it. I couldn't get mom to love me, so I just try to win over women like her. Problem is, "women like her" are just as cruel. I think I think too much. :\
~Still sore
I hesitate to write about the realities of my life. I don't want to give that CUNT anything to run with. She set things up really well, made it so that I'd blame myself if anything went wrong. At the time, I loved her. There was nothing I wouldn't have done for her. I trusted her when she said that if anything did go wrong, that she'd help me make sure I was just as ok as I was before I moved out there. Liar. She didn't even offer to help pay my brother for the train ticket he had to buy for me (which I'll be paying him back forever for).
I found out, the other day, that the housing program I took myself off of in order to move across the country to be with her... yeah... oops. That program has a 14 YEAR waiting list now.
I've applied all over this area. I'm tired of waiting, and paperwork, and repeatedly kicking myself for trusting someone. I'm tired of being homeless.
Yes, I'm grateful for that train ticket, and for my best friend's help... and seeming forgiveness, and for the generosity of my best friend's mother, whose roof I'm crashing under. Yes, I'm glad that I'm not yet literally on the street, and that what little I do have, my own ass included, has a roof over it, albeit someone else's roof. Mostly though, the pure hatred of that cunt who lied to me and manipulated me into the worst position I've ever been in... that trumps it all, where feeling is concerned. Yes, even the daily ass kicking I give myself for being stupid enough to fall for it is nothing compared to the daily plague-wishing I do in that cunt's direction.
Yes, I do pray that one day... she'll see the bottom, and I pray that she'll not even see it coming.
I found out, the other day, that the housing program I took myself off of in order to move across the country to be with her... yeah... oops. That program has a 14 YEAR waiting list now.
I've applied all over this area. I'm tired of waiting, and paperwork, and repeatedly kicking myself for trusting someone. I'm tired of being homeless.
Yes, I'm grateful for that train ticket, and for my best friend's help... and seeming forgiveness, and for the generosity of my best friend's mother, whose roof I'm crashing under. Yes, I'm glad that I'm not yet literally on the street, and that what little I do have, my own ass included, has a roof over it, albeit someone else's roof. Mostly though, the pure hatred of that cunt who lied to me and manipulated me into the worst position I've ever been in... that trumps it all, where feeling is concerned. Yes, even the daily ass kicking I give myself for being stupid enough to fall for it is nothing compared to the daily plague-wishing I do in that cunt's direction.
Yes, I do pray that one day... she'll see the bottom, and I pray that she'll not even see it coming.
Wednesday, July 6, 2005
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