Monthly Archives: March 2013

Triggers of pregnancy

I knew this would happen.

I mean, that I would eventually be triggered.

I didn’t expect it to be in this way….


So of course I have to tell Army about Zoe being pregnant.  I mean, not only is he like- lets say a godfather to her, but he’s over at my place occasionally.  He’s gonna notice at some point.

I expected him to be annoyed at me for not keeping a better eye on Zoe.

He was not.

He is ecstatic.  He is begging me to contact him the moment I know she’s in labor so he can be there.  He wants to help her as much as possible.

Everything just….just the complete opposite of how he responded to me a year and a half ago.

So now I mean less than a dog.  And puppies are much more important than a-


I won’t say it.

If I don’t say it, then it isn’t real.

I feel that fracturing and I don’t want it.  I can’t have it.

splits and cracks and bones and blood and lets hurt him- lets maim him.  like he maimed us.  have the blood and the pain and the hurt-

I have too much to do.  I have to work on getting a car.  I have to keep things afloat at work-

Has she told you how work is going?  I am doing my best to keep things from falling apart, but the program is going badly and turnover is decreasing exponentially.  There is a high chance that I will have to shoulder the blame.  Despite it not being remotely my fault.  I may end up being fired.  I cannot be fired.  I do not get fired.  I am good at my job.  I am an excellent multi-tasker with exceptional attention to detail.  I am highly motivated by deadlines and task lists-

I don’t want to fracture.  I don’t want to start losing time again.  I just want to be normal.

But I don’t want to listen to him coo and smile over her.  I don’t want to hear that.  I don’t want to watch it.  I can’t.  I can’t.  I can’t.

Don’t worry.  You won’t have to.


I recently found out Zoe is pregnant.

I’m not exactly sure how, since I watch her like a hawk constantly.  Well, I mean I do know how, I just don’t know when it could have happened.

But it did.

I have mixed feelings.

I can’t help but smile whenever I feel them kicking, poking, or squirming in there.  It invokes that part of me I thought died.

But invoking that part of me has also been triggering as hell and I can feel myself fighting to fracture and self-destruct.

I’m trying to focus on the positive.

Also: puppies are cute!


I didn’t want to be rude and take a pic of just her tummy area. Trust me, she’s slightly tubby now. In a cute preggo way.

She's also super affectionate and cuddly lately.  More so than usual.  And less active.

She’s also super affectionate and cuddly lately. More so than usual. And less active.


Apparently I am cursed when it comes to cars.

First, my beloved Pete dies.

Then I try to look at multiple cars yesterday to see if any could work for purchasing.  They are all complete shit.  Not even a little crummy, like full-on junk.  Worse than Pete, if he didn’t have the tire snapped off.

My father goes out on a surprising limb and decides to let me borrow Cherry for a week or two.  Cherry is his pride and joy, his mid-life crisis car, his summer baby (it’s a convertible).

Del Sol

This is damn close to what Cherry looks like

Cherry is a Honda Del Sol, for those of you who are car people and care.

This morning Cherry wouldn’t start.

I’ve had her for literally, less than 12 hours at this point.

It’s the starter (Dad just bought her a new battery).  I had to get it towed to a service place this morning.  And find a ride to work for the day.

Hopefully it’ll be fixed by this evening.

Apparently my fingers just kill cars.

It’s probably good that you guys don’t know me in real life.  I don’t want to ruin any more cars.

Pete is dead


This is not Pete, but it looks almost exactly like him.

Pete is dead.  I am heartbroken, petrified, and mental over this whole thing.

I should probably clarify though- Pete is my car. 

He has been my car for many years.  He was a good car.  A Honda Accord, comfortable, reliable.  Older, but Honda’s are angels for years and years.  And Pete had been babied since and before I received him from my father.


Sunday morning as I was simply driving down the street in front of my apartment, the front tire suddenly snapped off.


Snapped off.

According to the mechanic, it has so many things broken that it’s going to take over $1,000 to fix it.  Which is so close to what the car is technically worth that I can’t justify it.  Plus, the mechanic admitted it wouldn’t be super reliable after this bad of a fix.

So I have to get a new car.

I’m not really financially ready for that, so I’m stressing.  I’m freaking.  I’m trying not to let my mind go to dark places.

But it’s really hard.

This month has been so difficult.

I just wonder if there will be a time soon that the universe will be done shitting on me.

This is why I don’t deserve to be a normal girl who is healthy and happy.


**Note** I’m sorry I haven’t responded much to your comments on my last post.  They were appreciated, but I really couldn’t respond too much without lashing out or getting even more self-loathing, so I didn’t think it was a good idea.  The comments are still much appreciated, despite being a bit triggery.  This month sucks.

Is it me?

Slight trigger warning: brief mention of sex, but only in a vague sense


Army couldn’t perform the other night.  You know, perform

I don’t know why.  He wouldn’t elaborate.  We’ve only had this problem once before in our entire on and off again relationship and that time he explained in detail about his issues (which aren’t important at this time, so I won’t expand on that).  He was also strangely distant.

I think it’s me.

I’m worried I’ve gained weight, though I’ve been trying so hard to be good and not.  I guess I haven’t gone up any clothing sizes and my friends and family remind me think about that when I start thinking in a non-logical fashion.  So if I’ve gained weight, it must be not enough to cause me to go up in any sizes.

But obviously something’s changed.  I must be doing something wrong.

It’s sort of funny though because though on one level, I’m upset and confused and concerned, mainly I just don’t give a damn.  I don’t think I’m all that attached this relationship, even though I sometimes try to convince myself otherwise.

I mean, Army is a good friend.  But I just don’t feel any magical chemistry like I used to or like my friends talk about with their significant partners.  I mean, I enjoy the sex, I enjoy spending time with him, sometimes I like how he makes me feel.  However, there’s no craving anymore, there’s no dwelling on him when he’s not there.

Again, I think it’s me.  I think it’s that depression catching up to me and trying to kill my romance.  Not my libido, which is crazy healthy still.  But it’s like if the possibility isn’t right in front of me, I only sort of “itch” in a general sense.  Like “Hm. I could really go for sex right now”, not “Man I wish Army was here”.  I don’t think that much at all anymore.  Most of the time I can’t kick him out of my apartment fast enough after we’ve finished.  He’s the one who’s wanted to stay and cuddle.  I feel like such a boy.
But even the other night he wasn’t cuddly.  I don’t even really know why he came over.  I didn’t ask him, he asked me.  Was it just to throw my own unattractiveness in my face?

Thank you, I’m well-aware of it already.

I’ve buried that desire for actual romance down so deep that I don’t fantasize about it anymore.  Except when certain songs come on the radio or my iPod.

Then it’s hard not to cry.

I don’t understand why I can’t handle anything beyond a casual, secretive physical relationship.  I want to.  I want to so much.  But I just wreck it every goddamn time.

I just want the punishment to end.

The Grip of a Label

The last post didn’t really establish how badly this Steubenville case has gotten to me.

I’m mad at myself for that, but I can’t seem to break free.

It isn’t really the case itself.  I’m not going to bore you with more talk about the media’s portrayal.

No, I have a more personal issue.

The victim’s mother stated, “This does not define who my daughter is. She will perservere, grow, and move on.”

But I worry.  I worry about the label of “victim”.  I worry whether that is truly ever able to fall away.  To be something of the past.

Because right now I only feel like a victim.  I feel like I’ve never shaken that label.  I’ve never relaxed the iron grip of it, the gnashing teeth and rancid breath.

I still feel powerless, lost, hopeless.  These feelings sometimes dwindle down a bit, but they never seem to truly fall away.  I can manage a strong front.  I can fake it like a pro.

But inside I still just feel like a scared girl who doesn’t want to walk down the street without at least some pepper spray, most likely my dog, and even possibly a gun (I never said I was a Democrat).

I don’t want to be that scared person.  I don’t want to be a victim.  But anytime I get into a personal situation that narrows itself down into that test of power, of control- I fumble.  I cave.  I fold into myself and allow myself to be the powerless.

I don’t understand it because I do not give up control at work to my clients.  I am not rude or mean, but I am in control.  I think the less I know a person, the more likely I am to remain in control and not allow that feeling of uncertainty to creep in.

But when someone starts digging into my skin, breaking beneath the surface…then I let the reins fall.

I hate that about myself.

The past couple days I’ve lapsed so bad back into my eating disorder because I need to know I have control, I need to know this body is mine to do with what I want.  I don’t know why I can’t get that feeling treating it healthily.  I wish so hard that I could.  I know I’m broken and I need help.

Why can’t I just reach out?

Why is the grip of this label so crippling?  Why do I think of myself as the victim or the villain of a story instead of the hero?

On one level, I’m so sure that I can just keep wading through my own muck without that extra push, that extra lift.


But on another level…..I know I can’t handle it.  I can’t keep going like this.  Not for much longer.

Feeling for a victim

(Trigger warning for discussion of a legal case involving sexual assault)

I think I’ve mentioned before that I live in Ohio.

if not, well, now you know.

Ohio’s been watched closely recently due to a case in Steubenville.  You may have heard of it.  A sexual assault case involving a 16 year old girl and two high school boys (16 & 17). 

I tried my best not to follow it.  I’m not dumb.  I knew it would be triggery.  But I have friends who discussed it frequently on Facebook and my paralegal mind couldn’t just scroll past without kicking in a couple thoughts.

It went safely, relatively undisturbed until last night.

The verdict came in over the weekend.  Guilty.  I was…I don’t want to use the word “happy” but closer to a satisfied relief.  And the media has been flipping out for the most part.  Talking about how these boy’s lives are “ruined”.

Excuse me???

No.  They CHOSE to ruin their own lives the moment they DRAGGED a girl around and violated her.  They encouraged other students to not only watch, but PHOTOGRAPH this vile act.

The many articles I’ve scrolled through disturb me by how little they talk of how the victim has been brutalized.  There are even articles that are annoyed at her desire to remain anonymous (the defense attorneys started that bitch-fest). 
A girl who doesn’t want the world breathing down her neck after such an act? 

Wow, gee, yes, that is just selfish of her.

The reason the girl desperately had to shield herself, in my opinion, was incited by the media frenzy that happened over the past 6 months.  I don’t consider myself a particular sect, politically (i.e. conservative or liberal), but it was just disturbing to see the media (yes, mostly liberal) just go crazy with accusations and ideas that were not true.

I’m not a crazy fan of Breibart, but they wrote a decent article regarding the media frenzy.

No, there was no gang rape.

No, nobody urinated on her or dumped her unconscious body on her parent’s lawn.

No, the entire football-centered town was not under a fog of conspiracy.

But a girl was sexually violated, she was photographed being carried like a sack of potatoes by her rapists, and they were hundreds of nasty, graphic texts being sent all over the student body regarding what was done to her.

Yes, she was drunk.  And it was argued how much of that liquor was of her own desire.  There were even two female classmates who said something to the effect of “well, she liked drinking frequently” as a cause for being violated.

Apparently an interest in liquor now means a woman should deserve sexual assault.

I know my brief but angry stab at the media on Facebook last night upset some of my friends but I find it very interesting that they were all
-(straight) male friends
-very into sports (especially football)
-popular in high school
-tend to use alcohol as an excuse for dumb behavior (not assault, but other stupid shit)

I don’t want to say there’s a conspiracy or anything as paranoid as that.  But there is a pattern.  I wanted to message them privately and say “Have you ever been raped or sexually violated against your will?  Then STFU”.

But I am a private person about that side of me. 

So I poor my anger out on here.

And hope that it can cool my heart and heal the fracturing that’s been done.

Lost her…

I just got told when I tried to make an appointment with my GP that she’s no longer practicing.

I can’t even speak.

I was so stricken that I stumbled over a vague excuse and hung up.

What do I do?  Where do I go?  I don’t even know what to do.  She was so young- she said she was looking forward to being my doctor for a long time.

5 years isn’t enough.

It took me 3 to find her.

The universe is giving me signs again.  I don’t deserve help.

I don’t wanna do it again.

I can’t do it again.

I hate doctors.  I hate medicine.  I hate all of this.

I just want it to be over.  I just want it to end.  I can’t handle this.  But there’s no one I can go to.  No one. 


I officially have valid health insurance as of Friday. 

I just got the cards in the mail.  It’s so strange to have glossy nice looking cards with my name on them.  I’ve mostly been on a parent’s plan before this.  Or I had an HSA (health savings account), which works a bit differently.

Anyway, my point in this post is I’m debating on whether to talk more in depth to my doctor about my recent mental-health struggles.

She’s slightly aware of them and has prescribed me stuff in the past when I’ve been bad.  I think I may be tilting towards bad again.  But I think meds might not necessarily be the right course this time.

I’m actually debating on that whole psychology/therapist route. 

Which is terrifying.  But I don’t think I can keep living like this.  I think with my GP behind me, a rare medical person I trust, I may be able to actually track down someone who could work for me.

I just don’t think I can keep going with the ED picking and cackling at me, the disassociation rearing up, and the depression moaning in the background.

I want help.  I just don’t want shitty back-sliding help like last time.

I’m also terrified that someone I know will find out and I’ll be judged.

I’m thinking of talking to Texas about it tomorrow night.  I’m supposed to drive her to get another tattoo (her, not me).

I just don’t know what to do.

But I know I can’t keep doing what I’m doing now and live.

$1 Off Coupon

(Trigger warning- relapsed ED talk)

I never thought a dollar off coupon would trigger me and erase weeks of attempted recovery.

I get home after a long day at work.

I go through the mail.

There are the piles of coupons, as per usual.  I rarely use coupons, but I go through them anyway because my father taught me frugality.
There’s a brand of butter I use and I am almost out- set aside.  Dog food, but not the one Zoe likes- discard.

Then I see it.

One dollar off a brand of laxatives.

I stare at it.

I blink.

The walls crumble.  I think about how I ate lunch at work and I shouldn’t have.  I think about how I haven’t restricted that much at all lately.  I think about how I used the last of my laxatives weeks ago and why the hell didn’t I buy more?

But here’s a sign.  Here’s the universe telling me, in my father’s own “coupon language”, that I’m fat, I’m worthless, I’m disgusting.

How about some reduced price help with that?

Yes please.