Well, if you won’t, I will.

So, yesterday I spewed my frustration about the spa.  I filed a recipient rights complaint.  Over the voice mail.  Today, it’s on my list of things to do.  My therapist couldn’t even fit me in yesterday  and I missed her call. I can’t hold all this in.  It’s too much.  I cannot put it here.  I don’t want to trigger or give anyone ideas about what they can do to another person.   But, I don’t know what to do.  I slept for 16 hours yesterday afternoon til 4:00 am this morning.  That’s escapism.  No doubt.  Today I’m gonna make a ghetto scene if I don’t get someone to listen to me and a slot with Doc Ross.  I’m a Mess to quote Ed Sheeran.  I feel like shit.

IDK.  I just feel really hopeless right now.  I feel like I have no one to talk to.  Even my professionals have let me down and they know what a huge deal this is.  It’s frustrating and they’ve got to know that.  One can only handle so much human sacrifice, blood, gore, guts, and sexual assault for so long.  I was a “Bride of Satan”, for chrissakes!  At age 4?  Hello?!  That’s a whole lotta fucked up.  What do I have to do??  Drink?

Had a dream about that last night.  Not drinking, but a person I had a misunderstanding with in the program.  I miss her.  But it’s too late.  It’s been too long.  Besides, I don’t show my face at all the hot spots, they naturally assume I’m out drinking.  Alcoholism is a progressive disease. I left off at Death.  Only the grace of God and Dave (Smith- The AIDS KIller) not wanting to be discovered, was what saved me.  I got sober then, August 15, 2008.  If I were to drink, I’d be dead within 24 hours.  I know what I and my system are capable of.

Speaking of my system, I saw the twins.  One of them, anyway.  I was down to seven- Phylis, thee executive; Matthew, Protector, Sheila and her subsystem; Vicky and her part, Veronica; and then the twins.  They are my self-injurers.  I have never been a self injurer, never.  I have five tats, but no cutting, burning, branding et al.  I made them promise when I was in the hospital, that if they didn’t hurt me, I would turn my upper right arm, and ultimately my right arm into a sleeve.  So I touched base with my tattoo artist.  But I don’t know.  That’s money I don’t have right now.  But I’m working on it.

Fuck, I’m working on everything.  I was in the hospital counseling my friend- who is only my friend when he doesn’t have a girlfriend, and believe you me, that hurts and is not okay.  And yes, I gently broached the subject with him.  But, right now, I need a friend.  “s”.

I’m terribly lonely.  The prospects are nil.  And I am not nearly cohesive enough to be in a relationship.  I can’t even be a FB with anybody because of my HIV.  People have such a bias against…me.  I’m like every ism you can think of- mental illness, HIV, recovering alcoholic/addict, Arabic, Roma, tattooed, single, over forty with cat.  Never married, no children.  Jesus.  I’m the poster child for hate.  Or, is that how I see myself?  I don’t know.  I just feel when I hold the crap in too long, I feel like an alien.  SRA is so lonely.  It’s unbelieveable.  DID is unbeliveable enough on it’s own face value, but when you thrown Satanism in there- you really feel like an enigma. Maybe that is what I am, an enigma.

I know I cannot spell to save my life ever since a few years ago.  I can’t do a lot of things.  It’s fucking freezing out. I know that.  I better be able to get some of this stuff off my chest today or I’m going to explode.  It’s almost 6 am.  Guess I better start my day.  Whatever that means.

I missed Partial yesterday and wound up sleeping 16 hours.  I have a feeling this is the only zen I’m going to find all day.  Yucky.

Piercing the Veil

So, I knew it was coming, right?  Something’s going to break loose, right?  I knew it, and this morning about 2 am ish, the memory/flashback occurred.

I was basically abused by a neighborhood family, who masqueraded as good southern Methodist folk.  The people who actually abused me were many.  However, the main culprits were a mother, a father, and their son.  The father being the biggest, baddest, sickest Sadist I have ever come across.  The mother, who, well, both the mother and father practiced the ideology of incest with their biological children, and then anybody else they could get their greasy paws on.  The mother had a system, like me, or else she was really Borderline and in a horrifically abusive marriage, but she was a perp too.  Just as guilty as the father and their son.

The Satanic Ritual Abuse (SRA) occurred at a funeral home in the town I grew up.  Heading north out of town, it was on the West side of the road.  All ritual activity happened in the basement.  The memory was seeing a blonde girl, about 17, with flowers in her hair-no shit-a white dress and her being lifted up by the cloaked cult members.  Next memory/flashback, I was sitting in the back of the “Hush Money” 78 Ford Silver Grenada with the mother wrapping me up in a wool blanket, and throwing me in the back seat.  The daughter, who was the lure, was sitting in the passenger back seat, and she was stroking my arm as I sat there dumbfounded, but distinctly remembering not wanting to ever be touched again.  And that’s all I got for now.

It’s quiet on the inside.  I cancelled home health care- they haven’t been here since March and they want to trapse back in here, like nothing ever happened.  I’m sorry.  But this is my abode.  I dwell here.  I say who comes and who cannot and who has to go.  Tough titty, kitty.  “I’m sorry you feel that way”.  Sister, you don’t know the half of it.  I rescheduled my shrink appointment.  It’s taking everything I have to lay here and not let my 80’s popcorn ceiling be too loud for me.  Killin me.  Just killin me.

It’s not over, that was just like, a peek.  Hence, piercing the veil.  I’ve been rapidly unwinding for about two weeks with the mapping and integrating going on and new parts.  And being a grown up on top of that.  And no smoking or drinking, but boy!  Have we been shopping.  All that goes back as well.  I have to eliminate debt.  Unsecured debt.  Not good.

So, I feel like shit  I’m going to take a nerve pill, YES I DO PHARMACEUTICAL DRUGS!!!!!  CUZ I NEED TO!!!!!  or else Ida been dead by now.  And finally begin to read a great book:  “A Path With Heart”, by Jack Kornfield.

So, nah.