That’s what my father told me a couple of days ago. That I was a, “God damned, selfish”, and I hung up on him.
My Grandmother-his mother-turns 100 August 11th. So we had a shindig for her this weekend. I did her hair and nails- like I do every weekend. I go up to see my Aunt Lizzie and my grandma and spend time with her. I told her, “Grandma, I have nothing to give you. No career, no children, never married, no great grand children…” she said, “You’re my sweetie”. I still get choked up when I think of that.
My mom and dad for a long time, it was conditional love. Then my mom realized and did her homework on DID and realized I was doing the best I can for having the cards I was dealt. My father, has yet to accept or see that I am very limited. He got pissed because I put up a meme of Buddha with the quote, “try not to be a cunt~Buddha”. Shortly after, he was a cunt. So, we’re going out to lunch today to talk about some stuff. Chiefly, that I am not a God Damned, selfish so and so. That there are reasons I can only do so much.
I was diagnosed last week with Chronic pain. It hasn’t been easy finding a med that didn’t leave me itchy, sick, or nodding out. I found one. It works pretty good. I have to go to the pool at my association and jam in that thing. I have to find a sponsor. I had one, but she was too busy saving the world to be a sponsor. I was going to ask someone else last weekend, but they lost their fur baby. Not really a good time.
I went to a volunteer organization. I thought it was going to be awesome, you know? I get there. I sit down. All four of the people leading the organization sit down and do their well rehearsed spiel for me and I watch a video. That was it. 15 minutes of, yeah. So, that really didn’t feel like a good fit. But I have to do something.
I’m stuck between living and dying and if I don’t find something soon, this winter I will not make it through. I am planning on taking two classes at the local community college in theatre to get my feet wet. Maybe that’s it. And get back to meetings. I’ve missed yoga twice. Because I haven’t been getting up. I’ve been over sleeping. Susan moved to Seattle. She is so happy. But that was quite a blow. And then, because I’ve been in pain in for ten years, and not said word one about it, they treated me like I was drug seeking. Combined with all that has been going on and my frustration, I folded in my car. Punched the ceiling, sobbed, wailed. It was ugly. Somebody in a black Jetta was next to me and they hung out till I calmed down. So, somebody in this world does not suck.
I’m listening to the Reverend Horton Heat. I saw him June 10, 2015. He told Jimbo, “She’s fat”. I couldn’t bring myself to hit on him. I’ve had a crush on him for 20 years. It’s a sickness. I really want to date, but I don’t know how. I met Dave online, so, that terrifies me. And because I’m a BBW, I can’t get play. Let’s not even factor in the HIV. Please.
All those doors, just nothing excites me. I just want to travel to Greece and live there. I sent Joshua an IM on the crackbook. I was grieving and processing. He never responds anyway. Well, wouldn’t ya know? He did. He’s like, “Love you too. I treasure those memories. But you have to stop dreaming about that time.” Oh, I let him have it. Then I sent him a meme, that is from Detroit, essentially; If you’re not feeding me, fucking me, or financing me, you have no opinion on how I live my life, so you can fuck off.” There I go, making my dad proud all over again. Then I had a dream I bitch slapped the shit out of an ex-boyfriend. Woke up feeling quite empowered.
My therapist is basically out of the office for half of August and half of September. My workbook came- When grief is Prolonged. Looks like I’ll be going through the damn kleenex again.
Sylvia integrated into Sheila. Veronica’s integrated into Vicky. So, just Matthew, Phylis, and a spaz. He won’t tell me who he is. I’m not in the mood. So, from August 2008 till 2015, from 79 parts to a handful. Because people don’t see how hard the work is, they don’t think you’re working. I got sober, three weeks into sobering up in the hospital, I was diagnosed with DID, then October 18, 2008, diagnosed with HIV. I need a sobriety do-over. I really do. I hope to get it done today. There’s a women’s mtg at 5. I’m tired of working on my house, but it’s, as Ms. T would say, “A feng Shui nightmare!”
All work and no play makes Zuzu a dull woman. And I feel really dull. I’m going to see ZZ Top August 28th. On my sobriety birthday, there is a local bar and they are have a pinball extravaganza. Like, I don’t know how many Pinball machines, and it’s the 15th anniversary- have I mentioned I love Pinball? It’s a sickness. So, I think I may do that for my birthday. 7 years. & years without a drink. Damn. I loved alcohol. That’s why I never got married. I loved my alcohol more than anybody, anything, more than life itself. I look at some alcohol and beers like ex Lovers/husbands. What was I going to do? I couldn’t quit. I was powerless. I really couldn’t. I didn’t even try to give up drinking. It was pointless. I was licked, as we say.
My brother came to visit a couple weeks ago. We played putt putt. Then we went to our folks house and hung out and ate. I love him very much. I was just very sick and had no alcohol to cover it up with.
My sobriety has sucked. It has not been fun. I have not been happy, joyous and free. I’m only learning now what that means. After I have isolated and alienated anybody who was ever kind to me. And then they turned on me. Or vice versa. I just decided to date myself. Take myself out places. Do things with myself. And just pray I don’t run into Dave. He gets off parole December 22, 2015. I feel I’ll have a visit coming on. And a couple nights in jail. He’s not crossing my threshold. I’m not even opening the door for him. I had to admit I loved him. And, he, in his own, unique way, loved me the best way he knew how.
Well, better get going on some housework. Gotta lot to do this week. But, none of it means anything. Well, the neuroscience testing. That’s always a hoot. They find out the same things every time. I try to tell them, but those damned doctor egos. Jesus. You would have thought they were the father of neuropsychology.
Have a good day. Don’t get shot.