Trying to be a protector

(Trigger warning.  Bad language, dark thoughts, and slight sexual talk.)

He fucked someone else.

He’s the one who fucking decided to not speak to us for weeks, acts all apologetic when he comes to visit us in the hospital, and then last night he decides to tell Charlotte he’s fucked someone else.

While they’re in the MIDDLE of foreplay.

Fucking classy, right?  Motherfucking classy.

I wanted to put my boot through his shitty fucking face.  But I didn’t get to control that situation.  Since it was a fucking sexual situation, control falls to fucking Charlotte.

Fucking Charlotte.

So fucking needy in her fucking needs that when he drops that gem of a bombshell, she fucking pauses, stares at him a second while internally WE LOSE OUR FUCKING SHIT.

Then she carries on like nothing fucking happened.

Fucking fantastic.

She fucks him not one, but twice after that little gem of information.  She tries to justify it by saying she didn’t try hard (yeah right).  But that’s not even the fucking point.
Then she needles him.  She fucking push, push, pushes the shithead to admit that the cocksucker’s fling of betrayal was shitty.  Great fuckwit.  I don’t fucking care if it was the shittiest lay you ever had.

You’re still a fuckhead.

He spends half the fucking night trying to say how beautiful, how lovely, how gorgeous we are (stupid fucking V told him about the body image issues and most recent laxative use).

It all fell on fucking deaf ears.

All I can fucking hear in here is how awful we must look for him to go out and find someone else to fuck.

Shit.

Now I have to fucking deal with a brand new spiral of self-hate after we just dug ourself out from the last one.

Thank you motherfucking shithead of a fuckwit.  I’m putting up a fucking banner.  We aren’t going fucking back to him.  This is it.  Charlotte filled her fucking void.  She’s done for a couple weeks.

We finally found a fucking doctor who will see us (appointment tomorrow) so we don’t fucking need his medical fucking ability.

The fuckhead can just stay away.  Stay the fuck away.

Don’t need these fucking mind games.  We already create our own shit.

Hoping the fucking doctor tomorrow can help.  And I’ve never fucking hoped on doctors for shit.

Anything to calm them down.  Thinking they’re fat and ugly and unfuckable.  Jesus.
Charlotte fucked the man twice and he certainly had no issues performing.  Ya’ll are fuckable.  Chill the fuck out.  It’s him that’s unfuckable.  I’m sure the low class whore of a bitch he found was like, 400 pounds and had the worse butterface in fucking existence.

I’m with Middi on this front.  If meds can help, I’ll allow them.

Especially with the numb fucking hands being the worse they’ve been in awhile this morning. Can barely put the fucking bra on.

So that’s our fucking weekend.

Hope ya’ll are fucking good.

-Rika

Relationship Amok

I haven’t talked about my “romantic” “love” life in many posts, huh?

Notice the quotations.

That’s a slick way of me saying I have no love or romance going on really.

Mostly cause I’m a fuckup who only pursues fuckups or fucks it up with other fuckups.  Sometimes there’s a non-fuckup involved, but those rarely last.

Monkey bars, sandpit, cliff; anything more straightforward than a conversation.

Most recently, I’ve been talking about (bitching about) Army.  You regular readers are aware of what sort of person he tends to be and how I fluctuate between hopeless romantic and pure Grade A rage.  I’ve been told this is normal in a lot of relationships.

However, I’ve also been told I deserve better when he decides to crawl under a rock for three weeks and not contact or talk to me.

On the other hand, I also do similar things to a lot of friends and most family (all if I could…my mother doesn’t let me).

That cool, soft dirt under that smooth, flat rock is comfy.  It’s like home.  It doesn’t judge me on the amount of food I’ve eaten, the weight I’m at, the mood I’m in, the voices I hear, the voices I don’t, the urges I have, the pain I’m in, etc.

The rock is nice.

So who I am to judge?

Doesn’t stop me of course.

Have vagina; will judge.

Basically I was ready to toss Army to the curb because of some rude things he said to me over a month ago, followed by a long period of absolute silence.

This sounds like a book he’d write (fyi, the ACTUAL book is not about what you think it is).

But then my health went into the shitter again and guess who’s one of the first people to quickly visit me in the hospital?

Now, granted the fact that he’s a paramedic makes him frequently in hospitals in general.  But he made a special trip to the hospital I was at while NOT on shift.  I think that means a bit more.

(It means the fucker enjoys pissing nurses off and blathering medical jargon with the techs while he’s bored.)

And now he’s regularly checking in again.  And talking me down the other night when I was in a dark place.

He wants to go to the dog park this evening.  I agreed.  It isn’t a date.  No big deal.  I have no clue where we are, but I know he’s someone who makes me smile and feel good about myself.

That can’t be a bad person to spend time with, right?

No no no no

I so don’t need this right now.

I don’t need Army to text me like everything is normal.

I don’t need him to go on about how his dad was diagnosed with cancer and that’s why he’s been an asshole lately.

I don’t need him to congratulate me on all my new responsibilities at my job.

I don’t need him to try and offer advice on the crippling and weird back/side pain I’ve been having for a couple days now.

I don’t want things to go back.

And yet…

No. No no no no no.

I stepped off that roller coaster.  I am not even on the ride anymore.  I don’t need these fucking ups and downs anymore.  I don’t need it.  I don’t want it.

I haven’t had any issues or remorse over the past three weeks.  At all.

But…I miss him when he talks to me.

Uggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. $(*$)(*$#@)(*#$)(@#*

This is just so much fucking with my head that I don’t need right now.

I don’t I don’t I don’t.

I was so close to normal and now it’s just completely fucked.
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Fucking men and their goddamn pull.  Just fucking don’t talk to him.  It isn’t hard.  Just stop looking at his texts.  Block him on fucking Facebook.  Just look away goddammit.
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Why can’t I?  I hate myself so much right now.  So much.  I just want the swirling to stop stop stop stop.

Oh god.

And another thought peels away from the collective.

There are razor blades in our desk still…

No no no no no.  I’ve been so good.  I’ve been so good.

Doesn’t matter.  Badgirl always needs punished.  Always.

Fuck fuck fuck.

I don’t need this today.

I need help.

I can’t ask for help.  I’m a lady.  Ladies handle it themselves.

Gotta keep it fucking together.

“Go and fix your make up, girl, it’s just a break up
Run and hide your crazy and start actin’ like a lady
‘Cause I raised you better, gotta keep it together
Even when you fall apart”
-Miranda Lambert, Mama’s Broken Heart

Stood Up – TW

(Trigger warning- dark thoughts and eating disorder talk ahead)

We got stood up tonight….

He literally left right after arranging to meet us for dinner with an excuse of “he forgot he had to work”.

That no good fucking asshole of a fuckwit. Can’t even manage to follow through on simple fucking dinner plans. This is why romance is a no good, rotten fucking idea. Only blows up in our goddamn faces. Why the hell do any of you pathetic idiots bother?

It’s because we’re disgusting and fat. He saw us for the first time in weeks and we are such a whale that he doesn’t want to be near us. I think I’ll try and find a buddy to do the ABC diet with. Maybe that will actually get rid of some of these flab and blubber. I’m just pitiful at doing it on my own. And you others always fight me. You know we’re a cow. That’s why no one wants us. If we had a perfect thigh gap then we’d be good enough.

Hollywood’s at it again….

Just read this. Ugh. Holy fuck. This sounds like a bad fucking soap opera. United States of Tara wasn’t too bad. At least it didn’t fucking make DID sound like goddamn always-violent sociopathic disease that needs constant sedatives.

Wtf, Hollywood??

Get your goddamn heads out of your ass.

(Note: vacation was triggering as fuck, so it’ll be a bit before we get back on track. Apologies or some shit for the silence.)

Backslide

And we were doing so fucking well.

They’d even exchanged messages with goddamn Katherine last week- no problem. Talked about mundane nothingness. She didn’t fucking touch us mentally.

Tonight…

Goddamn disaster.  Some idiot decided to fucking talk to her about the indecisive bullshit about Army. Shit went sideways in two ways.

First of all, Katherine’s all fucking weird about hearing it. I guess because of the fucking ex factor or some shit. And then telling her shit about what they consider desirable in a relationship just turned shit all to hell because she decided to drop bombs like “Oh, you mean like us?” or “Like I used to do?”.

Fucking hell.

And so Claire’s doing her schizo act again, talking to an invisible Audrey. Middi and Char are chain smoking (inside the head- the body doesn’t need that shit right now) and Armes is practically fucking catatonic.

This is too fucking far.

Shit needs to change.

Self-sabotage and wishing

I know it’s bad when I can’t shoot vodka or rum. Just the attempts almost had me vomiting.

They want me to feel this heartbreak.  Won’t even let me drown these worthless emotions.

Thankfully, Victoria helped me manage Vicodin and T4. I won’t say how much. I don’t think it will kill me, but I sort of hope it does. I don’t think so though. Middi and Rika have too much control and they know exactly how much is too much.

Why can’t I deal with pain and heartbreak normally?
Why can’t I even deal with confrontation verbally?
I don’t remember most of this afternoon.
Mute “recorded” some of it internally for me, as Mute does when it’s out, but there are others who were out that won’t share.
One must have been Victoria or Daria, as I vomited a few times.
One was definitely Char or Middi- my clothes reek of cigarettes.

Claire actually screamed/yelled at Charlotte. She showed true anger.  That never happens. And Charlotte took it. Didn’t fight back at all.  But she’s also my main ally in taking these pills, so I know she isn’t guilt free. Claire refuses to talk to anyone now. Even Roms.
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Things are over with Jeff. Completely. Obviously it’s my fault. Completely. I sabotaged it. Like I do with all my relationships. I don’t know if I’ll even have any friends left in a couple days….

______________________________________________________________

Well that would be because the fuckhead can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. You just fucking vent anonymously on a blog, but he decides to fucking vent to people who already love to fucking judge us and shit-talk us at the drop of a hat.
But we don’t fucking need friends. This is what happens when you fucking expose your fucking weaknesses like that.  Fucking men aren’t trustworthy. Take a goddamn leaf out of Charlotte’s book and just use them for sex. At least she doesn’t reveal deep fucking personal system secrets. Or get fucking attached. You fucking romantic drama fucking queens. All of you.
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I don’t know where to go from here.

I wish the one-night stand situation with James, The Stranger, had gone further south.

I wish he had killed us.

Sideways

(warning for Rika’s language, as per usual)

Sometimes I hate being the fucking protector.  Claire’s in the goddamn corner, curled in a ball, crying and apologizing to an imaginary Audrey like she’s fucking schizo.

All because of a fucking phone call.

I tried to not let goddamn Kit answer, but then Charlotte and Middi got behind her and I was fucking pushed back like I’m nothing.  Really bruises a protector’s ego, you know?

Kit’s determined to prove that she can “be normal” and carry on a “casual conversation” with Her.  Goddammit Kit, you don’t have to.  She lives in a different fucking state. It doesn’t fucking matter.

Charlotte and Middi mostly want to prove to themselves that they can “not care” or something bullshit like that.  But all it does is put the system into a tailspin that we definitely don’t fucking need.

Why is she calling us?

Well, I listened in on the whole goddamn conversation and it was stupid bullshit.  Just stupid life updates.  Yeah, she mentioned Kally which had Kit flicker back and I got excited, thinking I could fucking wrestle control, but Middi easily stepped up for a bit before Kit settled down.  So I got jack-shit.

Then she ends with some goddamn offer of us playing this stupid role-playing game over Skype with her and some of her friends. Ugh. Fucking…just fucking no. I don’t care if Middi is interested (girl has a strange interest in gaming for being a fucking loner).  It’s not fucking happening.

I’m putting my fucking foot down.

Hear that, everyone? The protector’s foot is down. Ya’ll ain’t going nowhere. Sit the fuck down and shut the fuck up.

Eating

This is how I feel about the whole fucking stupid eating thing.

(from here)

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t actually think the body is fucking fat or any shit like that. Just tired of dealing with this bullshit.  Especially goddamn Victoria’s.
Ugh.

Also, I want some goddamn cake.

Chained to a post

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And we’re chained to that goddamn post again.  Thanks to stupid Claire for begging the stupid father for money.

Unfortunately he agreed. Goddamit. There are always effin’ stipulations. Always.

Why why why did they not try to figure out something else like I said??

They’re all fucking hiding now, all triggered and scared after such an encounter.  Midori managed to down a couple painkillers during the mad switching.  Then Victoria tried to reach for the Zippo and X-acto knife, so I stepped it.

Enough of that goddamn bullshit.

Hopefully we can get our shit together enough tomorrow to get the stupid prescriptions to fix this fucking mess.

I just hope Serefina can handle enough of tomorrow. Looks like it’s just her and me for a bit here.