Fuck The Underlings

  I'm going to need another brain grenade before I can really get going... These fucking wisdom teeth are killing me, the jaw clenching, the pain. I deserve a drink- I swear if we went through teething as adults, like we do as infants, we would commit suicide.

  Alright, stuffs on my mind. Lots of stuffs, and I'm actively working on a solution to help bring it to the forefront. On a way to get it out. Fuck. Take two?
  I've decided to shove in the face of all of the fucktards who actually possess a lower IQ than I do, that I'm not a fucking country bumpkin who has no other aspirations in life but to shit out 3 kids and live a meager existence of servitude.
  The days of being pitied for their perception of inferiority are god damned over. Bitch, you might have it on paper, but when you hit reality, it hits back- be ware. You're living in your cushy little world where the only thing that matters is how effectively you learn to memorize the material- not whether you're capable of comprehension.

  This, my anger I mean, brings to question my motivation. Am I driven simply because they have dared to question my intelligence? Could I be so truly vain, or is it a knee jerk reaction when some lowly sullen pieces of society posture their selves as superior? Ah, I am lead to believe that it could really be that simple after all. It is entirely possible that I fear being placed in the same bracket of existence as these filthy underlings. That I need, for some undefined purpose, to be better, to be me, to thrive, to win, to own them all.
  A good friend of mine once said (and I'll not mention who- she's a school teacher) that, "You can teach an idiot to read, and recite, and pass tests, but you can't teach them to be intelligent. You just can't put something in there that wasn't there to begin with". Maybe this is why I fear being one of them? Being perceived as one of them? She has a point, you know.
  The anger that swells every time I have to think about what they did to me- about the fact that I was fucked out of a conventional education... From about 3rd grade on, I was my own instructor. Asking for help when absolutely necessary, reading, reading, and reading some more. Oh, I loved to read, I loved to learn- I could have thrived if given a proper education!!! Instead, I was left with no options, no legal path forward, no proof of my "education". Nothing. I am simply another illiterate HS drop out- statistically speaking.

  So, my english sucks, but for one reason or another people enjoy reading my rather vulgar, excessively descript recount of my life's experiences. My borderline personality disorder seeps through the lines, and is (to quote an acquaintance) "Captivating". It is, after all, the thing I always enjoyed more than reading.
  You know, I take that back. I retract the previous statement (though I could simply backspace). It is one of the few things I know, that makes sense. I simply choose to ignore the rules. What of expression? What would I sound like if I did not write as though I were speaking? Perhaps is the reason that people find me so readable. Perhaps.

  No decisions made yet. As I stated in a previous post, I have yet to successfully regain the math that was lost when I OD'd. Fucking drugs iz bad. Ah, the pain. The pain of studying something that used to be common sense. Something which simply flowed from me. Reality is a bitch.
  What I ultimately wind up doing, who knows. Least of all me. My rant is that I have been accused of being incapable, of being a simpleton, a fucking idiot (now, go wiki "Idiot' to see why I'm pissed).

  I have not just fucking survived. I have survived intact- fucking underlings can't make it out of adolescence without contemplating suicide. You know, they should do it, just get over with it, quit being a drain. A fucking hole in which people pour their kindness.

Date Rape

  In the spirit of admitting the reasons why I have cut myself off from everyone, from myself, and am hesitant to let anyone in.

  When I was 13, going on 14 I met a young man. I was a little girl, he was growing into the man he would become. A HS Senior, star of the wrestling team, worked for his father as a mechanic, went to church, posed himself as a devout christian (don't they all?)... Little did I know, or even dream of what was in store for me.
  We met at church, and he was immediately drawn to me, maybe he saw vulnerability, maybe he actually liked me... who knows anymore. I wasn't particularly interested, but he was persistent, and once I got to know him a bit, I found that we got along pretty well. So, we began dating.
  A few months later, he had become fairly comfortable with me and we went out regularly, usually alone, to some place quiet. I actually trusted him based on the fact that he was generally respectful, never tried to cross any of my personal boundaries. I wish I had known then, what I know now. He was carefully testing my boundaries, and posturing himself in the least threatening way, so as to gain my trust. Looking back, there were red flags, but I was helpless to even recognize them.

  It was a Wednesday, spring break 1999, beautiful day. I had gone out running, when I came home I had a message so I called him back and he was on his way over. I didn't even bother changing out of my sweaty sports bra and running shoes. He said we'd go do something fun (we spent a lot of time out doors).
  When I got in the truck with him he flashed me his famous smile, and we were off on an adventure. Ah, but before the day was out it would end in tragedy, for me... We headed out of the city limits, and I asked where we were going, he said it was a surprise. But I wasn't too surprised when we pulled up to his house in Mint Hill. I had been there many times before.
  We went inside, and the house was still, I expected his mother to be home, or a few of his friends over (they all liked me, and we got along well). No one was there. I still felt safe, I shouldn't have, but I was naive.  He flipped on the tv, and playfully tossed me on the sofa, I was like a rag doll compared to him. He outweighed me by over 100lbs, and was over a foot taller.
  After a few minutes of talking and joking he scooped me up and started carrying me into the other room, and threw me on his mothers water bed. When I told him not to be so rough with me, he laughed and told me that I had not idea what I was in for, that I deserved it for teasing him, that he knew I wanted it... Finally, I was afraid. And rightfully so.
  Before I could react he had already ripped my pants off, I remember telling him to stop, telling him no, begging him not to hurt me. It was useless, I couldn't have forced him off of me if my life had depended on it. Next thing I knew I was laying naked on the bed as he pinned me down, fumbling with a condom... he said "Don't need any little brats running around, now do we?". My this point I was helpless to react, I was in shock that this was even happening. And, oh how it hurt, unlubricated latex, let me tell you-I would have been less traumatized if he hadn't used a condom.
  I still hear him breathing in my ear how good I was, how tight I was, that this was what I needed- what I deserved for teasing him, how lucky I was to have him.
  I tried so hard not to cry, I was silent. What could I have done? No one could have heard me scream, no one was there to help. I knew I didn't want to piss him off, I'd seen him angry before. Not at me, no, but angry. He was not someone to be trifled with.

  The worst was when he finished (which fortunately didn't take long) he said "Get dressed, I've got to get a shower and clean up for church. Then I'll take you home so you can get a shower so we won't be late."
  Sure enough, that was what happened. I laid there on that bed for a while, trying to regain my composure. Then I got dressed, tried my damnedest to make myself presentable, and we got in his old beat up red ford pickup and headed home... When I got home he sat down and turned on the TV while I showered, and then we left for church.
  That night at youth group we sat next to one another like we had been for weeks, I think now, so he could keep an eye on me. I was humiliated, and withdrawn from everyone- not that I was particularly close anyway, religion was not my cup of tea. Wasn't then, isn't now.

  We went on like that for a couple more months. There were many more encounters after that one, and I simply did not feel that I could say no. I knew if I did he would take what he wanted anyway, and had the power to do so.
  I finally confronted him, and told him that I had been a virgin, and he laughed... He said that no one would believe me over him, that I had willingly had sex with him after the fact, so there wasn't anything I could do. I didn't believe him, I knew better, but I wasn't ready or willing to make my mistake known... I wasn't willing to be blamed for what he had done to me, which is probably the hardest part of being raped. More often then not, the victim gets blamed, not the attacker. It's truly sick.
  He got pissed, and that was the last of him I saw for years. He graduated HS, moved on... Now, he is a youth minister, married, and has a son. I find myself tempted to tell his wife what he is truly like, but chances are that she already knows. What good would it do?

  I've accepted that what happened to me can not be changed, that bad shit happens to good people every day, usually because they are good people- that makes us vulnerable.
  The most important part of this experience is that I learned how to trust my intuition, something I ignored the entire time "A" and I dated... Somewhere within myself I knew what was coming, but was too naive to believe that it could or would happen to me... I've learned to trust myself.
  Now, I admit that it was a traumatic experience, Dog only knows- but I've chosen not to dwell on it. What good does it do to play the victim? What good does it do to live in fear? None. None at all.
  Every day I make the decision not to be affected negatively, to take my lesson for what is was, one of the most important life lessons I have had to apply... I don't tell people what happened to me that long 11years ago- I don't want their pity. That is a slap in the face.
  I want them to understand that no matter what happens, there is a lesson to be learned, and applied. Unless you take it in stride, it'll eat you alive.

  There is more to be said, but for another day... For another day.

The OD

  Admitting to myself what has happened is one of the hardest things I must do, and this is a step forward. My life experiences have colored me to the rest of the world, and without explanation will continue to do so. Though this will only reach a select few, likely the ones that mean the most to me in the grand picture of life connections, it should explain much surrounding the question "Why?".

  In 2002 I had a significant drug over dose. It was accidental. I was not depressed or suicidal, I was simply in a bad place, falling into a lifestyle that I knew little to nothing about... Being dragged down a hole (not entirely willingly) by my now ex-husband.

  The story goes something like this... (Some details omitted... I'm not ready to spill all of the beans, just enough to see if they're still viable seed and can grow into understanding.)
  I was 17. The semi-serious boyfriend with whom I had created a new life, and had been abandoned by for a newer model had only recently left the picture on a permanent basis. This was when I met my now ex-husband. A charismatic 27 year old man, who I willingly trusted (though even then I knew better). I was heartbroken by the reality which I had hoped for, having been heaped onto the fire. That reality, I knew, was not what I truly wanted, no. That which I truly wanted was out of my grasp, and it would be many years until the picture began to come back into focus. It is only now beginning to do so.
  He was a "Bad Boy" type, and after the previous experience I was willing to fall into his arms, simply to have a place to feel welcomed. Otherwise, I would never have given him a second glance. As it would be, it took me 6 years to snap to my senses and leave. Amazing how strong that particular trap was, and even now I still see the scars from how deeply it had bitten into me.

  It was a long night, and I was offered a roll (ecstasy- or MDMA), and semi-willingly accepted it. After all, I had taken it before with positive results in breaking through some of the barriers which existed as a result of my previous relationship... Little did I know that it wasn't "E".
  The drug in question turned out to be a combination of what I later found out was Heroin and LSD. It was accidentally given to me, and the mix up was only later realized after I lost consciousness, went into respiratory failure, and then cardiac arrest.
  I recall sitting, staring at a digital clock, realizing that I was not breathing. From the time that I lost consciousness (which I oddly still remember) to when I was brought back was nearly four and a half minutes. In short, I should not even be capable of typing this. I will say, that if you are going to associate with addicts, at least make sure that they are of the boyscout variety- always prepared. I owe them my life.
  It was an interesting experience, death. I was perfectly calm, probably because of the Heroin, but I would like to believe because I could see it coming, and was at peace with the reality I was experiencing. I sat listening to the others, as they were unaware of what was happening, it's been stamped into my mind. Then the light began growing darker, the room looked bigger, I felt smaller, almost like I was in a cavern looking out onto open space, all the while staring at the clock. By this point I was aware that I was no longer breathing, but I was unable to speak, or to move. There I sat, silent, motionless. Dieing.
  Never did I receive medical care. I should have, but I was more afraid of those who were present being found out and seeking their revenge, then I was of long term affects. I did undergo several years of HIV testing to ensure that I had not been infected when they brought me back to life. Oh, how I loathe needles.

  The affects were immediate. The stutter I had long since left behind in early childhood came back with a vengeance, exacerbated by the damage done to my gray matter. It was terrifying. Worse was the memory loss, but fortunately it was selective, and not widespread.
  In the short term I was not terribly worried about the memory loss. But I should have been, it has proven to be more problematic than any stutter I could have imagined because I have been unsuccessful at regain the majority of what was lost.
  In a long ago time I once typed like the wind... Lost that. Slowly regained and no longer hen peck, but still have to periodically look at the keyboard. Math that once made perfect, clear sense to me no longer does, even on a basic level. I've spent several years in study, to no avail, attempting to relearn what was lost. Oh, the cost of my mistake!
  The stutter killed any social inclination I may have had. I simply could not communicate, my brain was scrambled. I would think "Where is the vacuum?" and then ask "Can I have a Valium?"... Word association became a game I played with myself when I was alone, learning to reverse the damage. I realized that if I couldn't find the word I was trying to say, and came up with a completely garbled sentence, I could think the garbled sentence and would say what my actual thought was- It is freakish how the brain works.
  For a couple of years I avoided people, or having a conversation with anyone I used to be close to. I spoke to myself aloud when I was alone, almost constantly, and slowly the stutter went away. As a result though, I had a hard time distinguishing between speaking aloud, and thinking silently. So I was prone to say things and not even realize that I had- Strike two for my social skills. I still have a hard time with my words, though I have no problem expressing myself in text, spoken word is often a daunting task. I find myself making a joke about "That big hard word I can't remember", when I find myself lost... usually over high frequency words at that.

  So, I became completely introverted, reclusive, bordering on hermit-ish. I'm sure my neighbors thought I was an Agoraphobic because I seldom came out outside, and never interacted.
  Now, here I am. Damaged, but slowly regenerating. I still feel like a freak sometimes, and at least in that sense I know I am not alone... I long for the days when I was well spoken, articulate, and made my stance on any given issue known with ease. Not anymore. I am awkward at best.
  Those who know me well understand, and some of them even forgive me for my shortcomings which is more than I deserve. I made my bed, and I must lie in it. I must credit my lovely for his patience over the past couple of years, though now grown so frailly thin, it helped me to for the most part overcome what I would consider an handicap.  Now, the rest is up to me.

  I have mixed feelings about what happened, and still have not come to terms with all of it. It's a mixed pot. I feel a sadness, a sense of loss for what is irreplaceable, and at the same time relief and even gratitude for the learning experience this has been, and the knowledge I have gained from it in a much more timely fashion that I would have if my life had run its course uninterrupted.

  Some of the most important lessons learned, when taken in a crash course can be devastating unless you can pick up the pieces and create something new from them... It's like fine china, if you drop it and it breaks, there is still a mosaic in it's future, where it has the ability to take any form, but at it's core, still remains that priceless piece.

  I'm revisiting "Me" tonight. The me that was left behind in the wake of tragedy... In the wake of destruction, out of the burning ashes, like a Phoenix my former self rises.
  So clichéd are the descriptions I use, I know.. I know... Pathetic. Ah, but it is what it is, from a simple mind springs forth simple, discombobulated thoughts. Always rambling on, and on, and on. Double backing, crossing over one another, and coming round again. Meh... I'm a HS drop out, what else would one expect from such an uneducated woman as my self?

  OK, enough of that.

  My reality is ever changing, is not secure, feels stable in the moment, yet at the next pass, the carpet may decide to bank left, and straight into the night it will fly without its passenger.
  Adrift, always afloat though, my sharded hopes survive as the raft that prevents my suffocating descent into the abyss... Hopefully these storms prove to pull me into the warm current, leaving me beached on my own life again... Oh, the lessons we learn.
  I'm not making sense. I can't, because it doesn't even make sense to me. In all that I have done, seen, experienced, and the fucking mess that I have made... Man, so many others have said it in music... and in much better ways than my pathetic ramblings ever could. Or, maybe not..

Snark is all I got

  Apparently, when you are over stressed, have no one to talk to, are experiencing a wide range of emotions (everything from fear, sorrow, content, joy, dread, anxiety... and back again), and stressed with the presence of people who (historically) find your presence less than desirable- You are perceived as awkward, bitchy, antisocial... The list goes on... (wow, running sentence much?)

  Not only do I have to keep out of the way, I must perform for people who have (time and again) made it clear that my presence is undesired.
  Apparently putting on a smile, being generally kind, and staying out of the way is not enough... Where have I gone so incredibly wrong that I am awake @ 0331 doing dishes, laundry, and cleaning up after the guests instead of sleeping next to my lovely.
  My mind is hell bent on working instead of letting me rest, and yet I am coming no closer to any conclusions, only more questions. I want to talk, to feel free to do so, to be me... But apparently being me means that I come across as bitchy, antisocial, and awkward.
  Maybe I am. Or, maybe... Just maybe I am none of those things, and the stress of life, of being completely alone with my thoughts, bottling up my every emotion, coping with the children, and topping it off with the presence of people who have no intention of being kind to me, who have already made their judgment of me based on my beliefs has simply pissed me off. And maybe, just maybe... I really don't give a fucking shit how they feel. Maybe I should and this makes me a bad person. Maybe it is subjective, who fucking cares.

  My heart hurts, my brain feels like it is going to explode, and if I hear one more reference to jesus/god/church/spirituality/the bible/etfuckingcetera- it may actually do so.
 
  My day goes something like this...

  I am sleep deprived, as my best friend insomnia seems to want to pay me regular visits. I've spent 3 days in a desperate scramble against time as I attempt to give the living room and kitchen a face life. I'm an explosion of mixed emotions waiting to happen, with no release valve, no one to talk to, to explain the mess as it is now. The days have dragged on, and on, and one more has passed leaving me in a lurch... an unexpected lurch.
  I have company who is not fond of me, and that I have been asked (indirectly) to avoid. I feel pushed out of 'my' space, which isn't even mine to begin with... I have no space, I have no claim, I have no certainty, I have nothing. I have nothing. Whats mine isn't mine, what little I can claim isn't worth mention. I want to belong, I want to be useful, I want to be good. I am useful, I am good... No one perceives me this way.
  My ex husband is up my ass, wanting to visit, threatening to drive down and cause trouble if I do not make time for him. It's more me he wants to see than the children, and my stomach curdles thinking about him.
  I cleaned, and cleaned because I let everything slide while I painted... And now I'm playing maid to the guests as well. Is that all they see me as? Is that what I am? Just the maid... I couldn't possibly be any more than that, or mean any more than that to him. How could someone like me fit into this picture?
  I am terrified of what I have no power to change, am not at liberty to talk about openly, and could completely alter our lives. I feel sick, I am fighting depression (quite successfully) without meds, doing everything I know how to prevent myself from falling down a hole. I have no emotional support, no people, no network. No fall back. I am the support, I am the fall back, I am the safety net. Fuck me running.
  My day has sucked, my week has been hell, these past couple of months have been extremely frightening, and i have no release. Now it is scarier than ever.

  This is me, being genuine. I'm afraid. I'm in love. I'm lost. Everything is changing, and I have no power to influence how it happens. I dread what might happen tomorrow, not knowing is killing me. I want to scream. I want to believe that this is nothing but a bad dream, which I can't wake from.
  If this makes me awkward, uneasy, bitchy, antisocial, snarky, or in the opinion of the jesus freaks, in any way unpleasant... well, that just fucking sucks. Because I am trying as hard as I fucking can to shove all of these god damned emotions to the pit of my stomach, just so I can get through the day.
  I try to be friendly... where does it get me? Reprimanded by my beloved, for saying the stupidest little thing... for reacting to stimuli that I couldn't control... for trying not to break down in front of everyone.
  My snark is the only thing I am in control of right now... Compartmentalize as I can, and must, and do, it's imfuckingpossible to shut some of those lids.

WTF!?

  Under duress, I have discovered that I am capable of a level of detachment that I was previously unaware of.  That I compartmentalize in some of the most important and productive ways possible... I extricate my emotions from the equation, and simply exist as a voice of reason in that moment.

  In the weeks to come, my life could change for better or worse, for the matter of how the cards fall. I know what is left in the deck but the reality is that I can only count them for so long before they become lost in the jumble, and it's a toss.
  Recently the reality of my (our) circumstances which are completely out of my (our) control, and with a delusional, ill, sadist at the helm, have come crashing through my bubble of safety. There exists no small margin of error here, there exists no room for mistakes, there is only the truth, and a lie.
  What of a lie? What of people who believe in it wholeheartedly? It equates to the same person who can believe in religion, in a god, in having been "created"... The people who truly believe  frighten me more than anything else in this life.
  A person who is dangerous usually does not present them self as such in the initial interaction. Though, red flags, markers, intuition, that 'gut feeling' generally kicks in, lending us the momentary clarity to conclude that danger is near, gifting us the chance to seek safety.... it is even harder when the person is religiously affiliated, for that, in and of its self is supposed to present to society the beauteous face of light, happiness, honesty, forgiveness. It gives them a place to successfully hide.

  My mind is spinning, and my thoughts are muddled. My brain wants to vomit onto a piece of paper, but the words simply can not flow, for the fact of sharing information which I am not at liberty to do so with.
  It seems that, every time I am able to take a breath. Every time that the stresses seem to become bearable, every time that the sun shines through it is immediately muted by a threatening storm. The rain is only beginning to fall, but the winds are kicking up, the sky is black, and thunder is rolling in waves.
  I want blue skies. I want the sun. I want predictable weather in my life, for the sake of life, for the sake of reality, of sanity, of gripping what the fuck is going to happen and wringing it by the neck!! I need for the insanity bus to stop and let us off.
 
  "WTF!" does not even begin to express the shock, amazement, despair, the loss, the cost, all has been tossed... The bitch that drives the bus has got her fucking brain on inside out.