You know, you'd have a lot fewer issues if you would learn to calm the fuck down, communicate like a sane/reasonable person, think things through for problem solving, and generally stop throwing a tantrum like a two year old every time anything inconveniences you.

If you were ANY OTHER PERSON, I would have stopped talking to you years and years ago.  

I don't tell you anything.  I don't ask you for anything.  I don't talk to you besides superficial pleasantries, and you STILL managed to blow up on me and be a psychotic bitch.  

Fuck you, you stupid, psychotic bitch.

Just do everything yourself.

Don't ask for help.

Don't try to express an opinion or share anything, ever.

Don't show that you're struggling.

Just take care of everyone and everything quietly and efficiently and with a smile.  

Don't expect any thanks or reward except more work.

Even if you do all these things, it will still never be enough.

"Take care of yourself" is such bullshit.

Family Discussions

T: You know the tears thing is getting really, really, old. I'm NOT ALLOWED to cry, EVER, no matter how I feel, but I'm supposed to feel really bad when you do!

J: Why can't you cry mom? You said that last week too when we had a fight?

T: Maybe being violently dragged over the back of chair by the hair and thrown into a wall for crying was a permanent cure.

---

T: I am so finished. And he said, good, Go kill yourself.

---

He said she was the worst Latter-Day Saint person he knew.  That she didn't understand the family proclamation at all, or else she wouldn't do this to her family. That he just wanted her to love them.  

--- 

I should not have offered up to mediate between them.  I should have called my mom on it when she called me, spewed venom for two minutes that I didn't deserve, and hung up on me.  I should cut contact with all of them.  I gain nothing but heartache from their interactions, every single time. 

Fuck you.

 Fuck you for taking

and taking

and taking

and breaking everything.

Winter blues

Despair sinks into my bones

Slowly but surely

Like winter’s chill.

Every year it’s the same,

And I hate it.

 

I take every precaution.

I wrap myself in comfort

And make sure I get enough food and sleep.

I allow extra indulgences.

I try to keep communication lines open.

It’s not enough

To stave off the darkness.

 

My body grows leaden,

Exhausted and heavy.

My mind is buried in snow.

Everything is too much.

My give-a-damn breaks,

And I just want to sleep until spring

Or forever.

2020 update

Things are going fairly well, but I feel like everything that was settled is up in the air again or will be in the near future.

We may have to move.  If Matt gets out of jail and moves to Logan, we will.  But I don't know if he'll get out, and then I don't know where he'll move to.  But I can't/won't subject my family to the possibility of running into him at the grocery store or Grandma's house or wherever.  I need them to feel safe.

If we don't move, I probably want to change jobs.  This one is a dead end, and it's frustrating even on its good days.  I don't want to lose the proximity to David and Kyle, or the flexibility of hours, or the pay.  But I'm tired of beating my head against a wall.  I don't know what I want to do, though.  Something with limited humans, a steady stream of work, and where I can listen to music.  I know I've got to find something to do this summer for work while David finishes his book, but I'm not sure about that, either. 

David says he wants to go back to church, but then makes no attempt to follow through.  He's so depressed, and I think going back would make it worse. And then Rachel decides she's (mostly?) gay.  And I can see how well that will go over at church functions, or with grandparents who are all holding onto the church as their emotional lifeline.  While the church may work well for a lot of people, I think it would be currently damaging to my family in multiple ways. 

I do not want to visit my mother this summer.  I know I probably should go help her, because we didn't go last summer.  But AAFLSKDJASDLF.  She drives me crazy. 

I'm tired and I want to go home.  I want it to be spring.  I want to work part time and spend the rest of the time at home.  Sigh.

"My stomach hurts."
"Why?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"....."
"It's just that seeing his picture makes me feel sick."
"Oh."

Saturday afternoon errands

"I thought I was going to do something stupid, like take all the pills in the house.  That's why I called you.  When you showed up, I immediately started to feel better."

Because basic needs have not been met for so long, she's this black hole that sucks everything in, needy and starving for everything.

I'm exhausted.  But I get to come home when I'm done.  I have a home.  It's filled with people I love who love me back and don't try to  hurt me.  I hugged my husband, sad and grateful and teary-eyed.  It's time for some downtime to refill my bucket.

I dreamed about you last night.
I'm not sure how to feel about that. 
I miss you.
I shouldn't miss you.
You're a danger to me and mine,
but like an addict
I can't let you go. 

I miss being able to miss you
without feeling guilt
and self-hate.
You crossed a line,
and I can forgive you,
but I can never trust you again.
We can't even be friends.

This family got gutted,
and it's your fault.
Yours alone.
So why do I miss you?
Because ten years is a long time,
and sixteen years is longer,
and there's nothing to fill the void you left.

I miss you, you stupid shithead.  This annoys me to no end.

Happy birthday, Dad

You would have been sixty years old yesterday, but you didn't make it that far.  I thought a lot about what to say, and what my feelings are.  I do miss you, having you there to talk to if I need you.  But I don't miss worrying about you and what you might be doing to Mom at any given time.  I anticipated that phone call for years.  When it finally came, it was met with relief that the fight was over.  You died in your sleep.  Not a bad way to go. 

I wish you'd been in less pain.  Physical and mental and emotional.  You had a crappy childhood and made it as an adult in the best way you could for as long as you could.  And then you gave up, it seems.  We had that meeting at Jen's house where we agreed you were trying to drink yourself to death and there was nothing we could do about it.  Life had gotten to you - too many peoples' problems you felt you couldn't fix or handle anymore.  You didn't want to play anymore.  I can relate to that.  But still.  I wish it hadn't played out as it did. 

I wish Mom would stop telling me she wants to die.  It hurts so much.  I feel like she doesn't think we're worth living for.  I hated her as a teenager when she said it.  "Only the cat loves me, and it's taking all of my willpower not to take this entire bottle of pills."  As an adult, I understand better. She can't see beyond her pain.  But dear God, no one wants to hear that your mom wanted to die when she was pregnant with you.  Unwanted from the first to the last. 

I know it'll take at least a few years for the emotional turmoil to die down.  I didn't really take time to mourn.  Nobody cares if I'm sad; they need me to keep functioning.  I need to keep everything going - house, school, kids, work. At work I have lots of time to think, but I haven't come to any conclusions.  Mostly I just worry. 

I worry about Mom dying.  Every day she lives is a bloody miracle that she didn't get in a car wreck, or take too many pills, or starve to death, or stick her head in an oven.  I worry about my in-laws dying.  Syd's the only dad I've got left, and he's 70.  I worry that since I take after Dad more than anyone else that I'll die young, too. 

I guess I just wanted to say happy birthday, and I wish you were here, but healthy and stable and sane. 

this year sucks so far.

I'm feeling kinda down on myself.  I feel like I haven't accomplished enough or done enough aren't good enough.  I'm applying for jobs, and that always  makes me feel lousy. 

But if you look back on this year so far...

I took a large chunk of the investigation and negotiations that resulted in my brother in law, who I was fairly close to, put in jail and all the aftermath that comes with it. 

Then my kids' school counselor, who I'd just barely been working with, got arrested for raping a teenage client of his.  We'd been neighbors in two previous houses and his wife and kids played with me and mine. 

Then a week after Matt's sentencing my dad died.  I ended up spending three weeks doing nothing but helping my mom sort through finances and emotions and just being general support. 

Maybe I should stop being so hard on myself and be glad and happily surprised I'm not a freaking nutjob at the moment.  Because holy crap, this year sucks so far!

I'm a bit paranoid waiting for the next disaster. 

rainstorm

We drove up the hillside
where we could see the city sprawled below
and lightning scattered here and there
across the valley. 
Rain sheeted from the newly treated windshield
like water on oil.
Thunder rolled right above us.
It was terrifying and exciting and beautiful,
seeing the storm from such a high vantage,
laid out before us like some kind of special effect.
We turned on the radio
and sang all the way home. 

Sometimes writing helps unload what's on my brain.  Sometimes I'm too exhausted even for that.  I think today I'm somewhere in between.  Too pent up to sleep, too tired to make anything pretty.

People tell me their secrets.  I seek out peoples' dark sides in order to try to bring them some light.  Sometimes it gets overwhelming, the amount of pain and destruction people cause each other and themselves.  Today I got to ask a therapist how she handles everything that comes into her office without taking it home with her.  She says she does the best she can while at work, and then turns the rest over to God.  She's done the best she can, and the rest is no longer her responsibility. 

Today I had a lady declare suicidal inclinations and then walk into a bar.  I had to decide whether or not I would follow her in for the good cause of trying to bring her back out.  I decided against it.  Maybe the person didn't seem desperate enough to warrant me going against my principles.  Maybe I was angry that she rejected my offer to do anything besides get drunk.  I told her I'd be available until midnight, and then I must sleep. 

It's also hard when an adult admits to abuse they suffered as a kid.  You hurt so badly for that kid, but you can't help them.  The kid is grown and the opportunity is long since past.  All you can do is offer an ear, a hug, and whatever sympathy they'll take.  I can't fix people.  All I can do is point them at resources and hope they can put in the work themselves.  The things we do to children in the years we have them last a lifetime. 

---

I had a job interview yesterday.  I'm not sure if I want it or can even do it.  I had another job recommendation today for another job I'm not sure if I want or can do.  My self-esteem is shot to pieces, and my professional productivity has come to a screeching halt.  I feel like I can't DO anything.  That despite whatever gifts or abilities I may have, or even any good effort on my part, will never be good enough.

People keep telling me to write.  And it's not like I don't have ideas.  There's the first person narrative of a mindhacker/lucidi profiling people in a social environment that got me labeled as a sociopath (thanks, you jerk).  There's the story of a person's life as written in letters addressed to God.  There's the story of the Neon Dreamer and Uprising and heck, even Virtual Magick would be a fun case study. 

And I wonder... if anything is worth the effort.  Life.  "We keep striving, trying to survive in a world that doesn't give a flying fuck."  Why?  From a religious perspective, it's because there's work to do.  But as religion and I aren't getting along as well as we used to, that leaves existential depression.  So that's a thing. 

I'm tired and rambly.  I have to stay awake for 30 more minutes.  That's enough time for some ramen.

fallen muse

one by one my heroes fall

until there's nothing left to look up to

to hold onto

and i wonder if i should stop

trying to keep people alive.

alive for what?

more of this?

i loved you. 

i loved you!

how could you do this?

why didn't you tell me?

how did i not see it

in you or in her?

is this my fault

for not noticing

or for opening the gate?

i don't even know how to feel anymore.

i loved you and wanted you for so long

it is hard to reconcile that

with this

defilement.

--

all this music,

all these places,

all these memories are yours.

i don't know what to do with them.

truly you become a ghost,

gone

gone.

there's this hole,

aching, bleeding,

and i'm broken and furious.

crossroads

Three things needed to happen to put down roots.  A career for my spouse, a home of our own, and a career for me.

The first is done, the second is in progress. That leaves me. What do I want to do? 

I want to help people (or hide from them).
I want to matter/ make a difference.
I don't want to be miserable.
I want to help provide for my family.

I've been told I should open a half-way house for all the crazies that find me.  I could go into social work, but I think it might kill me to expose myself to that much suffering from other people. 

I've also been told I should write.  Write something, anything, everything.  It's been a recurring theme from friends, family, neighbors for the last several months.  It's written into my patriarchal blessing, if you believe in such things.  I don't want to write anymore, though.

An off-hand comment about my writing sounding like a sociopath.
The content is unpalatable for the darkness no one wants to see.  Unsharable for the secrets they hold.
One of my heroes, writer of the townrats theme song (Lost Prophets - Rooftops) got arrested for child molestation.  How can I use it anymore?
I don't think I have any skill anymore.  The talent has been hidden under a rock and wasted away.  And yet, if I take things in threes as a sign, then the dozen reminders to write must not be ignored.  The writer's group even landed in my lap (not literally, thank heavens). 

I think I'd like to write about my muse.  A set of song lyrics that follow that plot arch like Brad's did many years ago.  I'd like to write about the logical conclusion of suicide.  And yes, finish the piece that got me labeled a sociopath, because fuck you, Mr. Bear.  You speak lies.  It's the bit of lucidi/mindhacker people-analysis. 

Writing does not pay bills, though, unless you're very persistent and very lucky.  I still must find some other job to do.  Something that doesn't involve panic attacks on a regular basis. 

I should sleep.  Sigh.  If I can make it through the home-buying and Paychex process that'd be nice. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dQKy2I8Zh5k

"Still, she smiles at me.
And I can't take it.
No, I can't help but wonder,
Why do we sacrifice the beautiful ones?
How do you break a heart of gold?" - Poets of the Fall

"He got violent during sex today. He hit me as I cried for him to stop. I got sodomized. Because I couldn't stop crying, he became angry and choked me. He then restrained me for 3 hours before I was able to run out the door."

She's hiding at the shelter for abused women.  All her belongings are in her car.  She asks me to help her transfer to a new city and to remind her of the thousand reasons not to go back to him.  Because she knows she'll want to.  She's been so broken for so long, he felt like home to her.   

I hope she takes precautions against him coming after her. 

I just.  

Ugh.  

this too shall pass

Depression cycle. 
Having trouble remembering that this will pass.
That I've been here before many times.
Logic and experience vs. chemicals -
right now it's a tie.

It feels like everything is caving in.
That life is a never ending nightmare
from which I cannot wake.
That nothing matters, and fading away would be
blissful.

I'm trying to eat and sleep and exercise.
Taking vitamins and antidepressants.
Writing out my cognitive behavior lists.
Fighting to stay above the darkness.

Everything is a struggle.
Getting out of bed instead of sleeping into oblivion.
Eating in very small portions
because that's all I can handle.
Forcing myself to interact with people,
"fake it until you make it"
and hope they don't notice I'm on the verge of panic and tears.

Objectively there is nothing wrong.
I can point to the trigger and tell you that's not the cause.
This internal sickness knows no reason.

People ask how they can help.
They send gifts and hugs and words of encouragement.
All of which are interactions I cannot handle in this state.
Just be patient. 
I see you there on the sidelines
cheering me on.
I appreciate it,
but back off. 
Be patient.
I'll come see you when I'm ready.

Today was going better than yesterday. I got back on the bandwagon, ate oatmeal for breakfast, came home ready to get stuff done.  Then I went to pick up kids from school. 

Yep, that's my kid in the principal's office, where he's been most of the day after punching four kids and then threatening to blow up the school.  Why?  Because someone was throwing a ball at him during a game during P.E. 

It's not like we haven't been over how to handle bullying situations a hundred times. It's not like he hasn't been in one on one counseling for a year and a half to learn to control his emotions / responses.  It's not like we haven't kept in constant communication with his teacher, giving set consequences for every day he doesn't behave appropriately in school.  It's not like we don't do everything we can to make sure he has a safe, loving home to make him feel secure and not need to lash out at other people. 

I don't understand what else I need to be doing.  Obviously I'm failing at something.  If I pull him out of school and put him in the online K12 program, I will have to quit my job and be the mean person who rides him to get his schoolwork done. I don't know if that will help him.  I know it will help everyone else who has to put up with his punching, fits, crying, disruptions... My child is terrible in school, and I feel like it's my fault. 

I feel like I'm failing at everything. That I've tried so hard, and it's all for naught.  That everything's hopeless.  I want to give up.  Why does everything always have to be so hard?