Where Did I Put My Big Girl Panties?!!!

I’m having a really rough day.  Not intentionally.  When you compare mental illness to Cancer or Hunger or Homelessness or, HIV, people put mental illness on the back burner.  Akin to HIV, it is your fault and of your own making.  Not a genetic, organic disorder of the brain, which receives a horrid rap because it affects my behavior.  Because if I act screwy, in our American, Western culture, I am defective.  If someone goes in for Chemo, because of the BRACA (sp) gene, you don’t see them getting blamed for her/his breast Cancer.  Yes, men get breast cancer, hard to believe, but they qualify too.  They get a ribbon, a race, a drive, pink EVERYTHING, and those of us with mental illness, get blamed, shunned and silenced.

Listen, about a month ago, I wanted to make out with a .45.  Not because I was having a pity party, or because I wanted attention or some such bullshit.  As a matter of fact, I carried on like nothing was wrong.  No one had a clue.  I don’t let but two people in my home, so no one could see how I was successfully NOT managing day to day life.  I suited up, I showed up, I was there for my family, and then I had enough.  I 911 called my therapist, and bless her soul, she proceeded to talk me off the ledge for 45 minutes, until I was calm enough and rational enough and wanted to live enough to see the next day.  April 2, I went inpatient.  NOT to the spa, where I usually go; because all my Free Standing Psychiatric Hospital Days from Medicare had been exhausted- for life.  So, God Forbid, I’m out somewhere traveling, have an episode, and there are no psych units attached to a medical facility.  I’ll be stuck with a ginormous bill, or have to, pray to God, my medicaid will buy me enough time to get back on my feet.

Now, most/three of you that read this blog, know my abuse was forced participation in a satanic cult, ritual abuse, religious abuse, and general overall physical, sexual, mental and emotional torture.  Hence the DID and PTSD.  NEITHER of which I asked for, nor had much of a choice about and was a child, so I was completely powerless.  My Bipolar, clinical Depression, ADHD- all genetic.  Had no say in those either.  Just like people with Cancer don’t get much of a say in their illness, or birth defects, etc.  Sometimes, you’re just dealt a farmer’s hand.  And you play your cards the best way you can, till you get a better hand.  Unless you’re stuck with the 6 of Diamonds or 8 of clubs and you’re playing euchre.  Then, you just gotta pray for your partner to get a loner, or “Partner’s Best”.  Even then?  No guarantees.  But, twice around the barn to get to the house- people with Mental Illness, even PTSD and DID, we don’t or didn’t have any say so in our diseases/disorders.  Mental illness has a HUGE stigma, and because it is a “behavioral” problem, not an organic brain illness, we are among the marginalized, discriminated, shunned, et al.  “My last girlfriend was a total psycho.  She was totally Bipolar”.  And what the hell were you to A.  Stay with her, B.  Make her stress worse so her Bipolar episodes were more frequent, and C.  you’re about a empathetic and compassionate as a ball peen hammer in the face.  Subtle, jerk off, real subtle.

So, I go to the Christian Mental Health Hospital 4/2 on my 5 month clean date.  I had my own room. My own shower, my own toilet, my own everything.  WHAT THE FUCK, OVER?  I’ve been in some shit holes when it comes to psych hospitals.  Roommates throwing their urine sample in my face when I’m sleeping, no shower curtains on the showers, people coming into your room in the middle of the night, just wandering around going through your shit.  On the same unit with prisoners, sexual predators; for a while they were putting the Dementia/Alzheimer’s patients in with Bipolars, Schizophrenics.  That changed pretty quick.  Now people who are violent, or volatile, are classified as, are you ready?  “Reactive”.  They do ECT at the Christian Place.  Fuck, I should call it the fucking Ritz Carlton, cuz that is what it was.  Actual Psych nurses who immediately answered your requests and addressed your needs.  If you needed to talk to someone, Boom!  They made time.  Even the techs had human heads.  It was very chill.  I should have stayed longer, as I am going back into their partial program on Monday.  The wheels are falling off the bus.  Not in the DID sense- although Easter week was pretty much the driving me over the edge factor due to heavy Christian calendar rotation and anniversary memories.  I mean, when I quit drinking and drugging 8.15.08, my DID system had 89 parts.  I have used up all my psych hospital days, twice a week therapy sessions, 12 step programs, DBT sessions, yoga, and now I’m all but down to 3 parts.  All of which, I am co-conscious with.  But it sucked.  It was hard work.  I lost friends.  Alienated people.  Being in a relationship, friend or intimate with someone who has a serious and persistent mental illness is a drain.  Just like caring for an aging parent or a sick spouse- I burned people out and turned people off.  All the while trying to maintain regular participation in 12 step program.  Which, even though all mental illness receives is a brief acknowledgment, a nodding glance, if you will, in 12 step programs, you’re there to talk about the reason for the 12 step group-whatever it may be.  The fact that I have, as a doctor put it, “A lot of internal triggers” (Just what the fuck does that mean doc?), means my thinking is awful.  Well no shit!  You needed a degree and a job to tell me that?  FUCK!  I had NO idea!!!!  Fuck you.  If you were forced to eat human flesh, watch people murdered/sacrificed, almost die umpteen million times over, get tortured, raped etc all from age 4 to age 8, what would you do?  Your ass wouldn’t be alive, motherfucker.  Don’t tell me I have, “internal triggers”.  I have horrific, intrusive, incredibly inconvenient, inconsistent, not friendly, not nice memories that plague me daily.  Sometimes they are louder, sometimes they stuff for the day, but let me make one thing crystal fucking clear:  The ONLY reason I have “Internal Triggers” is because some fucking douchebag grown up decided to torture an innocent child and not give two shits about my welfare and if I lived or died, because they were hard fucking core psychopaths.  CLEAR?!

So, yes, when I have days like today where I wake up to what feels like boundary ambush, I immediately, I mean, without even thinking go into automatic survival, fight, flight, freeze or play dead mode.  I don’t get a choice.  With my ex, and my HIV status, I had a choice.  I chose wrong.  But, he also didn’t have to run around giving everyone HIV without their knowledge, consent and lying to you while looking your dead in the eye while saying, “No, I’m okay.  I don’t know how, but I’m okay.”  I’ll own my part in that shit show.  But, for the most part, homeboy had a homicidal mission.  Much like the dick wads that tortured me as a child.  I used to call them, “People”, but human beings would not do anything like that to a child.  Monsters?  Yes.  People?  No.

So, I digress.  Obviously.  But I have been in fight or flight mode all day.  It’s not fun.  I would way rather be doing anything else than this, and thinking and feeling this way.  Because, honestly?  It feels like I never get a break.  I need a fucking vacation.  I mean to like Bali or some fucking where.  Where I don’t have to think or do or heal, I can just snorkel.  Fuck.

So, I’m clearly angry and clearly pumping quarters in the ass kicking machine and clearly forcing myself out of the nest waaaaaaaayyyy before I am ready to fly.  I’ve had enough bad days.  I need a few good days.  I don’t know how to have fun.  I only thought I had fun drinking.  I have yet to discover consistent sober fun.  And that’s on me.  That’s my fault.  But when all you’re doing is in and out of psych hospitals and constantly being told how sick you are and being rejected by the opposite sex because of this or that label, it makes me want to, say, make out with a .45.  It’s like give me a fucking break.  Just a small break. A reprieve from terror and fear and stress and intensity.  Joy.  Where the fuck is the joy?  I know I make it all happen by small steps.  Cleaning my sink, making my bed, but when you are constantly feeling hunted, those things aren’t real high priorities.  House keeping is important, for many obvious reasons, but who you’re fearing for your life and you rationally know there is no logical reason why you are terrified and hyper vigilant, and can hear an art fart across your home in your basement, a clean sink loses.  Every single fucking time.  Then you have the drudgery of housework.  On top of depression.

I was also- I know right, when is this shit going to end-sexually assaulted in the shower as a child.  So, me and showers, not the closest.  THAT is precisely when I know I don’t want to play ball anymore.  When my self care and hygiene are so shitty, I can’t even stand me, I know I’m in trouble.  And that is where I’m at.  I want to fetal and, I’m just tired.  I’m exhausted.

I met someone from a dating site.  That was how I met Dave.  They auto renewed my account so, I have to deactivate it, but this guy wants to Skype tonight.  I think that is the long distance equivalent of “Netflix and Chill”.  Sorry dude.  I ain’t got time for kindergarten games.  And I ain’t your bitch.

Well, my internet blog troll/rant is over.  I feel better.  Not better, alleviated.  I still want to hide under the covers and I have no idea why.  It’s super easy for me to spew this shit to a faceless computer and a nameless internet.  I can’t tell anyone this shit anyways and expect to keep people in my life.  It’s fucking horrific.  But, this is my life. “Pathetic and sad”, but my life.  Right now, I’m in a low, meantime point.  This too shall pass, my grandfather used to say.  I learned today that, “Grandpas don’t lie”.  Mine never did.  The Captain is on The Ship, and His Eye is on the Sparrow.

I’ll search for my big girl panties tomorrow.  It’s a whole new day, right?!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Bad Ass Bitch

Howdy!

I have been a hot fucking mess lately.  This is the time of year for Halloween and all things reminiscent of the cult.  I am EXTREMELY hypervigilant now and sleep one night on, two nights off.  Why do you think I used to take 16 Klonopin, 4 Xanax, Choral Hydrate and Oxi Contin, AND drink?  And my shrink wonders why I think about the sister fellowship.  *eye roll*

Anyways.  Sundays, worst days of the week for me, aside from 3-6 pm everyday.  So, this last Sunday, Matthew decides to integrate.  Just is like- you got this.  I tell him I do- now, see?  I can talk to my system in my head and my system and the safe place and their rooms, and common areas, etc. are all in my head.  I suppose, I could draw it out, but after chair position for five plus minutes this morning, stairs are not my friend.  However, Matthew is like, “you got this”?  Yeah.  Open the door.  “You serious?”  Yeah, open the door.  He does.  For the first time since I can ever, EVER remember, he is not wearing his overcoat, his trench, dig?  His fedora, all that.  He’s in a white t-shirt and black trousers, and all the littles, like five of em, boys and girls, just tackle him to the ground and smother him with love.

In my safe place for my parts, I have a waterfall, lake/salt free Ocean, with dolphins.  Happy, no predator stuff.  So, Matthew dives in and goes swimming with the Dolphin.  And breathes.  For the first time, ever, Matthew inhaled, and let it go.  He’s been waiting to exhale for a long time.  No pun intended.  And if I would look good in Orange, yes, I would have set fire to Dave’s truck.  Hellz yeah.  Nero, bitch.  But, I digress…

So, ever since Sunday, I’ve had no sleep, on and off.  Like I said, one day on, two off, bitchy fucking people, mean fucking people.  All coming at me.  It’s like they know I’m on my own- get to that in a minute- and I’m like, fair fucking game.  It’s crazY!!!  Absolute bonkers, yeah!  I unfriended two long-time- whom I thought- were friends.  One was not.  Hadn’t been a friend since she got wrapped up with a guy, the other chose her husband.  Totally understand both, but the first?  She was like, rubbing my face in it?  Why?  Cuz you’re engaged with no ring, guaranteed to be miserable ever after?  YUCK!!!!

No thanks.

So, me and my labels?  Which are as removable as they are applicable, will be over here, trying to figure out who we are under all these AXIS dx.  Fuckers.  Strengths perspective.  No, you’re an Axis !, and that’s WHAT, WHO, and ALL you are to them.  The DSM was invented to treat, but mainly to classify, disseminate, and label for insurance purposes so people could get paid, yo.  Straight.  You’re not a strength, you’re a file.  A “Patient”.  You’re not human, you’re a number, an insurance claim.  Quality of life in mental health is zero.  They could give a fuck.  Too bad you’re a female with psychosis and the only neuroleptics (anti-psychotics) that work are Zyprexa and Seroquel and you have somnabulism (sleep eating) and crave sweets, lack energy and get fat.  But you’re clock radio is quiet now, isn’t it?  Fuck you.

Anyways, sometimes, being in recovery with the Axis that I have, DID, is the worst thing.  Then, HIV?  HOLY FUCK.  There is truth to the stereotypes, to the diagnoses.  Otherwise we wouldn’t receive treatment.  Appropriate treatment.  And I’ve had two different rounds of nine treatments of ECT.

I was walking by the grocery line today and Drew Barrymore is on the cover of Star or some shit, with the headline quote: “I’ve had the weirdest life ever”.  Ever?  Really.  Swim in my water, punkin.  Swim in some of my friend’s pools.  There’s 31 flavors of fucked up that you won’t experience anywhere, even if your gene pool is Barrymore.

Back to the point, Matthew integrated and has been very quiet and away.  Gone.  Weird.  Explains the hypervigilince(sp) at night.  Who is going to protect me?  Who is going to keep me safe?  WTF, over?!  I’m terrified.  My fiercest, bad ass, warrior, protector, who stood up to Dave, and Dave hated since cuz from what I remember when I switched to Matthew?  Told Dave right the fuck off and called his shit, OUT!!!  Where is that fierce protector?  That loyal dude?  FUCK!!

He’s in my heart, safe.  My part is no longer splintered, separate from my core, but part of me again.  Just like when I was three before all the shit went down.  I was/am a creative, smart kid/woman.  Matthew had always been a part of me, but when the shit hit the fan, I created him into an imaginary friend type, almost?  I could pull him out like Spiderman, put him on, kick ass, then have Alfred help me through the crisis and fallout the following days from fighting the evil in my head.  The evil that Matthew and I, us, we…me saw and experienced and felt and smelled and tasted and saw, and heard screams, and physical pain and terror, and recoil, and just abject fucking terror and no one to protect 4 -year -old me from monsters and atrocities against God and man.  So, I created Matthew to protect me.

Follow?

Now, he’s gone, and I’m closer to integration- complete.  Everyday, every experience, every interaction, I am extremely hyper critical of myself and how I re-act and react and reenact.

I’m hungry.  no.  I don’t want a fucking taco!

I’m Done

I’m done.  Totally over it.  I’m done with politics, St. Francis, Facebook, all social media…I’m sick and tired of bullshit.  And it’s me I’m sick and tired of.

You take PTSD, DID, and bipolar type I, put em together and what do you get?  Someone whose behavior mimics Borderline Personality Disorder.  But my Axis II is always deferred.  When your one abusers middle name is Chester- and my last name is an alcohol?  God shore has a great sense of humour.

I’ve also come to the conclusion that people hate living in reality.  They like fantasy.  They don’t want to live in the cold and ugly and mean truth.  Brutal honesty is for cromags, tact is in…

My God, I have been through so fucking much. I swear, people keep telling me to do more, be more.  I’m lucky I’m not fucking nonverbal okay, assholes?  I’ll probably never get married and I’m totally okay with that.  I don’t know why, but I’m okay with that.  They can come and go as they and I please.  I just know Dave made me a woman, he taught me  better way of life.  He’s teaching me how to live and how to, as someone I adore greatly said, “Find what makes me happy.”  Another person I admire greatly had a meme up, with Buddha’s picture and a caption that read:  Suffering comes from giving too many fucks. Attachment is the root of all suffering. Yupo.

I’m frustrated.  I see people who were pretty fucked up a few years ago, healing and ,moving on, and I’m like, WTF, over?  And my mom doesn’t want to come over to my place because I am a cluster/clutter fuck.  Well, I got a fucking bachelor’s and half a MSW.  I’d say for someone who was fucking put through hell and splintered into 79-82 or however many little pieces of a whole, that’s pretty fucking good.  Sorry you don’t understand me, just like I don’t understand you, but I’m a loyal fucking person.  I don’t turn on a dime, unless shit happens.

I’m over all of it.  Just am.  Sick of it all.  Great band, by the way.  At least their name is great.  I’m uber frustrated.  I’m in a great deal of pain.  My knee is all fuct up.  I have-my fucking cartilage in my right knee is flaking off.  And floating around my knee.  No matter what, I’m gonna have to have surgery.

I also started asanas in yoga.  Held plank for not a consecutive, but total five minutes. Oh Dear Ganesh, am I sore!!!  I wail like a yenta, but with Hinduism.  No wonder people don’t get me, I’m a blend.   Herbie said, “31 flavors of fucked up.”  I like to think, 31 flavors of collaborated bullshit.  But, Let’s try being nicer to me, shall we?  How about, 31 flavors of awesome sauce?  I like that.  31 levels of awesomenessoisty.  I make the fuck up out of word, so let’s go.

Yesterday my bed was vibrating and shaking and my alarm clock was on iPod and making AM radio noises.  I smudged, white candles, gave it back, all that shit.  Banish x53, so mote it be.  I hereby banish hate, fear and loathing from myself, a process which has already begun, let it continue on, until the burning of the sun.  So mote it be.  ABOVE ALL-KEN-HARM NONE!!!!

Oh dear Lord.  There’s that 31 flavors of blended awesome sauce.  Jesus H.  OoP!  There’s another flavor!

Okay.  I need to clean.  And banish.  I have Feng Shui smudge I’m going to get busy with. Usually about this time, I’m fading, but now, I am coming alive.  I swear, I got 13 fucking hours of sleep last night.  Slept right through an obligation.  Damn.  But, I feel better,  With Grief it is either feast or famine.  Fall makes me happy.  Going up north to see the colors change, would be awesome.  Maybe I’ll scoot out after the 8th, and go to some places I have never been before.  That would be wicked cool.  Sleep in cheap motels, yeah…  I’m digging it.  I likey.

I’m over it all.  Just over it all.  Not going drink, not going to do drugs, not gonna any of that shit.  Just need to free my soul.  Re-new, re-member, re-knew again.

And…scene.

Another Day, Another Hollah!!!!!

What’s up, people?!!  I swear, I must be manic or something.  Yes, I have Bipolar I as well.  I swear, what don’t I have- well, MS, Lupus, Cancer-it can always be worse.

So, fake people, fake friends.  The “Frenemy”.  Caught and operates in it’s natural habitat, which would be toxic environments, attacking on and luring the young, the isolated, the vulnerable and those who just don’t plain care anymore.  I’ve tried to rid my life of as many of these as possible.  But they are like cockroaches, they’re everywhere!!!!

Ugh.  Had a dream about a male frenemy from High School.  Was my true love’s best friend.  Still probably is.  Yeah, true love.  He’s a big deal and I let him go when I was 20-present, so he could do what he had to.  Because I loved him too much.  Never don’t love too much, you’ll never regret it; regret not loving enough.  That’s the real kicker.

My system has been quiet.  Like, too quiet.  But Sunday was tough.  Just really neurotic.  I’m sure I drove people mad.  I’m back on my regular wake up early schedule.  Slept soundly.  I have a sleep study tonight.  Yay!!  But, we’ll see.  I think it is just trauma and my weight- two things that can be managed.

I’ve tcob this morning.  Already.  Sent emails out and everything.   Have an ortho appointment, and therapy as well.

Dave made it up there.  He’s in.  Jesse cook, October 27.  SO stoked.  My outfit comes Thursday.  Now, to get the ticket.

Decided to get my Reiki training started.  I meet with her the 28th.  I’m totally stoked.  Heal the healers is my goal.  Empaths Unite!!!!

Not much else.  Just life is beginning to normalize.  Now if I can just get my house in order we’ll be good.

Ugh.

Have a great day,

Zu

Dave is Dead

About a week ago, I found a magnet on my door.  Some fuck nut had put a magnet on my door (private entrance), and it fucked up my security system.  So, all morning, I was on the phone with personal calls and then to the security company.  Well, I didn’t have the proper information.  My father was here when it was installed, because I was probably in the hospital.  Anyways, there was A LOT of information I needed to get clearance that I did not even know I needed.  Communication is weak in my family.  Very weak.  So, my dad is up North watching my 100 year old grandmother.  He’s being a smart ass- cuz, naturally, I thought it was Dave fucking with me.  So, my father blows me off.  Which hurt and caused old wounds to open up- you don’t care, you never protected me, blah x 3.  Then, he calls me back and tries to tell me what to do, he wasn’t hearing what I was saying.  So, we yell and he hangs up on me.  K.  Dee.  (His father)

So, then I call Dave’s old Parole Officer to see where to send the PPO.  The PO calls me back and leaves me a message: “Dave is Dead. He died last week.  Dave is dead.  You don’t have to worry about him bothering you anymore.  Dave’s Dead…”  WTF!!!!!!!

So, after I inhaled, I started to sob.  Belly aching, heart breaking sobs.  I mean, like, the full body sobs?  I’m a mess.  He was a monster.  And why he was a monster and how he became a monster, I’m not 100% sure, but I know some aspects and those are private.  Some things are best left unknown.  Even he deserves some peace. He always tried to seek God.  He tried to be a monk, he tried to go to church.  He tried everything.  Well, God is love as one of my friends told me tonight.  And, as a medium, he did make it to the other side- the light side.

His PO has no idea what he died from, we guess physical problems- HIV, HEP C, Diabetes, IDU Meth Addict.  I think he overdosed on meth as a suicide run.  That’s my bet.  AS his PO said, “doesn’t really matter, we all wind up the same.”  A freaking men.  A freaking men.

So, after I gained my composure, I called the security system company.  Apparently, my system has been in test mode for some time and I have a faulty device.  Really?  Just so happens, the beginning of the year, my neighbors stole my WIFI and changed my password.  I had to change it to something they would never guess.  Then, the magnet on the door, and something else.

And now that Dave is gone and no one knows?  Mm mm.  I gotcha.

SO, now that Dave has passed away, how do I feel?  Torn.  Really torn.  But really glad he’s not in pain and tormented anymore.  Neither are we.  We’re all free.  I think that means I have forgiven him and now I can heal.  Really heal.  Cuz I was never able to heal or grieve constantly looking over my shoulder since 2012. Jesus, what a shitty year that was. Christ!  Lost F Dog, lost Chris, Lost Button, found out I was a SRA survivor, Interferon and Dave’s trial.  Fuck that year.  If I was ever going to drink, that would have been the year.

So, I can’t sleep. I’m starving and all I have is a turkey Lean Cuisine.  Every time I get  up, I get out of breath and my chest hurts.  I don’t know wtf that is about.  I’m tired.  Just tired.  And I got a four year old coming tomorrow morning.  Er, this morning.  Jesus.  I can’t do it.  I can’t do…everyday is a battle.  With PTSD, DID, HIV, alcoholism squirrel brain, war with God, neighbors, no friends, no men, I’ve been sick with a bacterial infection for two weeks.  I was so sick last Friday, I was hallucinating.  Fuct up.  I just can’t do it.  At least, right now, I don’t feel I can do it.  I just feel like I’m almost at the top of the mountain.  Just a little further and I’ll be there, but I’m so fucking tired.

I cut a bunch of fuckers out of my facebook account.  I cut out some really long term friends who have just not been there for me and I haven’t been there for them, insensitivity, circumstances, life.  Just trimming the fat.  Plus, if they don’t give a damn about me when the shit hits the fan in my life, when I’m there for them when the shit hits the fan in their life, wtf am I hanging around for?  Or, I never hear from them?  What’s the fucking point?  None.  Just noisy fuckers.  Fuck em where they eat their eggs.

So, it’s 2:37 am here on the EST.  Usually they’d be coming home, waking me up.  I’m thinking about a food run.  It’d be fast food, but it would be something in my gut.  I need to take care of myself really hard core especially now.  No lip service, action only.

Well, I hope you are all doing well.  Life’s a bitch.  Get a helmet.  Thanks Denis Leary.

Decisions, decisions…

So, yesterday was pretty much the worst day I’ve had in a long time.  I had zero sleep, been so nauseous, I can’t hold down my meds, lost ten pounds in a week, hallucinating, and have trouble/shallow breathing.  So, good thing I was going to my immunological disease clinic for labs and lab review and anything else she could throw at me.

Well, my liver enzymes are rising.  What that means, because I have Hep C AND HIV, thanks Dave!  I had to do Interferon.  For those of you that don’t know what Interferon is, it’s like chemo for your liver to eradicate the Hep C.  You take these horrid pills- I used to call them my chemo pills twice a day.  Made me so nauseous, I couldn’t keep anything down.  So, I learned to take em at night, right?  Then, once a week, you have to give yourself an injection of this Interferon shit. It Interferes with your body, dig?  So, I did it for like four or six months, but here’s the deal, well, two:  It’s supposed to eradicate/cure the Hep C and then it makes you bat shit crazy.  I mean, BAT.  SHIT.  NUTS.  It doesn’t matter if you have a mental health history or not, it will drive you, literally, insane.  And it did me. I was doing it during the criminal trial with Dave. This one one computer troll called me, “fat”.  I was like, that’s Interferon buddy. Let’s see if you can put a serial infector in prison, stand up for yourself and others (How many we don’t exactly know, somewhere in the thousands we guess), stop a health epidemic, stand up to an abusive, drug abusing, sex addicted, satan-worshipping ex, and do interferon.  Fuck you.  When you pay my bills, we’ll have some thing to talk about.

Anyways, I told my NP, Edna, I wasn’t doing Interferon again.  It’s akin to suicide.  Liver cancer or something.  She says it’s fatty.  But the Interferon never cured the Hep C.  I had to break it to my mom.  Not easy.

And then?  Labs.  And my last two Hep B vaccines.  So, I go down to the lab- which was packed.  And she takes these three tubes out of a specially sealed packages, TB, Meningitis and another one I couldn’t read.  So, I look up TB symptoms on the web.  Anthony.  Just got out of Prison- an institution, half way house, Pine Rest.  All a lot of people crammed into little bitty living spaces.  Bastard.  So, my mom came over with a kerchief on yesterday.  Looked like Clint Eastwood’s mom.  Had to call people and tell them to get tested or checked out for TB.  Because I was possibly exposed.  Humiliating.

September 8, 2015 8:53 am

So, how was your Labor Day?  I spent mine between my couch and bed.  No one called from the lab.  No one called from the doc office.  I called this morning and left a msg with the nurse.  I was hallucinating Friday night before bed.  I’ve finally been able to eat today.  Because I haven’t eaten in a few days, I’ve been pigging out.  And shopping.  And having PTSD episodes.

Did I mention I have a new part?  He’s a part of a part of a part- yes that is possible.  His name is Zachary.  He is four.  He has a door with a latch on it with more cult memories.  I’m like, is this shit is ever going to end?  My therapist is gone, out on medical leave.  I won’t see her till the 18th of this month.  WTF, am I supposed to do?  I’m busting out every coping skill and skill I know.  I gotta call the DBT therapist today.  Cuz I need to deal with this.  I’m all emo brain and my meds need to be tweaked.  I see him today.  At three.  So, we’ll see how that goes.  I want off the Geodon, back on Saphris so I can sleep and I can go back on Tramadol for my pain.  That stuff works.  That damned Norco was bullshit.  No more Opiates again.  No more.  Never again- unless I have surgery and it’s all monitored and controlled.

Well, I better get going.  Gratitude is an action.  Need to clean and organize the sacred spaces.  The matching night stands come today for the bedroom.  Gotta get my poop in a group, but I can only go so fast.  you know?

Have a good day, y’all!!!!

So, that’s the health drama- with the HIV, I have about one a year.  But, I met a new part- Zachary, 4 year old boy. Part of Vicky, wj=ho is the other side/part of Vickie.  Great.  1 o’clock two nights ago, he had his toolbelt on and was ready to make our meditsation corner.  I’m like, bud, not now.

Stand up or sit down…

August 12th, 2015, I was admitted to the spa- the View.  I had to go for medical clearance first.  My part/parts come at 1 pm, and stay till 2 pm.  They make me sleepy, slurry, nodding out, it’s like I’m overdosing.  See?  It’s a quarter to two, and I feel better.  I can’t quite crack that one.  I’m working on it.

So, I go in, don’t do trauma.  Because it’s about time I learn how to do normal living skills.  I think it’s safe to say, after 7 years, I’ve graduated from Forest View’s Trauma Program.  Maybe not trauma, per se, but definitely time to take on some new healing modalities.

Over the weekend, from Saturday afternoon till Saturday night, I have constant flashbacks- flooding.  And because the flashbacks are so foul, I puke that whole time.  My poor roomie!  So, remember the first, “Eddie Hamilton”?  The one who I saw hanging from his closet- oxford had a lot of old homes- high ceilings.  Anyways, The High Priestess, whose name is Esther, closest I can recall, is holding my hand and hissing in me ear:  You can run this town.  You can call the shots here.  You can have all the power to make the decisions here.  She died later 1978, in the apartments by Huntoon.  Cancer.  COPD.  Something with her lungs.

Anyways, she requests to be left alone with, “Eddie” and I.  She instructs me to cut out his penis, and instructs me to suck all the blood out of it.  While I’m doing this-she had BIG guards that helped her.  Not guards.  Guards are helpful.  Henchmen.  Definitely henchmen.  She’s lying on the floor, diddling herself.  Whatever.  She didn’t hurt me.  That’s my thought process at 4.  She’s okay, she didn’t throw me to the wolves, try to rape me (?!!!), or beat me.

So, I remember the man in the blue robe.  The leader with the dark hair and grey eyes.  He’s Irish and Italian.  Big dude.  Curly hair.  Brownish/grey eyes.  He was arrested at Beltane in 1978.  He was discovered with two human skulls and various human limb bones.  He went for life.

So, this are the things that I’m flashing to in the spa.  I saw Katy Tuesday.  I told her about the 17 year old, six month pregnant left handed Bride of Satan, that was killed, her baby sacrificed, and how they ate her small intestine.  I told Katy that.  She finally shut up.  I think she wasn’t believing me with 79 parts and down to 5.  Cuz I had stalled in recovery.  I was living life.  I work on this from now till May.  I have from May till the end of August to live it up and pretend I am a normal human being,  I hate doing this.  Putting all this negativity into the world.  I hate it.  But what am I supposed to do?  Keep it all in?  Go mad because I’m afraid?  I challenged the cult’s biggest lie:  If you don’t join us, we will kill you or you must be killed or kill your self by 40/45.  So I made it through 40.  Now, I have a lot of time to work through before age 45.  I hope I can sail  through it.  Halloween is always so difficult.  That is the anniversary of the end of the cult and the beginning of the torture by the Roaches.  I remember hearing Mr. Roach say: “Well, we just have to ruin her.  Destroy her so she can’t finger us.  Kill her.”  And Lord, did they try.

I started having flashbacks in 2001.  About two weeks after the Roaches sold their house and moved off the block, you know, moved on the other side of Oxford, I began to have these horrendous flashbacks.  Sundays were the worst.  I can finally listen to church bells without freaking out.  We went back to the Oxford UCC church in the village where, “Eddie Hamilton” was covered in Lime.  All that remained were pieces of bone and teeth.  Esther said: Build the tower.  Bell tower.  It’s awful.  I can’t go back to Oxford.  I really can’t.  It’s too upsetting.  Too many fucked up memories.  Twisted.

I twisted my knee.  Fluid on my knee and they found more arthritis in my right knee.  We’re going to ZZ Top tomorrow night.  I saw them in high school.  They are amazing.  Dave- has been moved to Lansing.  I got no notice or anything.  I don’t know why I feel hinckey about that.  Why did they move him?  Why didn’t I get a notice/  WTF is going on, over?

I celebrated seven years drink free Saturday, August 15th in the spa.  They gave me Norco for my Chronic pain, mid August.  I saw the Addictionologist to step me down.  I’m thinking of switching programs.  I was addicted to Oxi-Contin.  For two years.  Awful.  So bad.  Chloral Hydrate, Valium, Xanax, Actiq pops.  Fuck, how and why am I still alive?

I found some emails from Dave.  Bat shit crazy.  Simple but difficult abuse-gas lighting.  I knew it was bullshit back then, I, “It’s not worth my soul to lie to you”?  Really, Dave?  Really?  What about lying to 1000-3000+ people?  Is that worth your soul?  No.  And you know why?  Because you don’t have one.  Never did.  Bastard.