Pictures

I hate being triggered. I hate it even more when I try try try to dig myself out. I can’t anymore.

A well-meaning relative posted a picture he took without my knowledge.

I do not seem to possess the ability to see myself as anything by huge rolling mountains of flab and fat. My thighs are trees. My arms are telephone poles.

I try so hard so hard to just be thin. That’s all I want. Why can’t I do it? Why can’t it happen? This stupid body and stupid mind thwart me at every damn step.

I’m tired of it. I don’t want to look at all those rolls and sausage-like swellings anymore.

In a brief surge of bravery, I tried calling yet another doctor. I know we need meds. Desperately. But no one is accepting patients so the pain and hate and depression just swirls and swirls and festers and I just don’t want to do it anymore.

I tried releasing some of it but even the self-harm felt empty and pointless. Like drawing with chalk on a sidewalk while it’s raining.

Can I please just sleep and never wake up? I don’t think it’s too much to ask.

Cluster Casserole

Yeah.  I meant clusterfuck, but I thought that might be an inappropriate blog post title.

I know a lot of my blog friends are from the U.K. and I’m not sure if they have the expression “clusterfuck” over there, but that is the only apt descriptor for my current situation.

(I’m gonna borrow lovely WeeGee’s footnotes style for one entry because I cannot express myself in this entry without a lot of quick abbreviations and expression because my mind is a great big swirly mess of horribleness*)

Clusterfuck.  It means that basically, some big universe-controlling person** took the ingredients of my life and swirled them around in a bowl.  Then they were supposed to add the ingredients to create a semi-passable cake or brownie; but instead, this idiot PTB*** added the WRONG ingredients that turned my bowl of a life into some awful casserole of fuck-uppery instead of a good sweet dessert of yumminess like I desired.

Clusterfuck Casserole

Take:
1 part Pen who is trying to get her butt into more a healing gear lately

Add:
1 part messy “vacation” with her father to her hometown that was a mix of good, bad, and utterly horrible****
1 part her grandfather (the local/maternal one, not Chicago/paternal) going into a risky surgery this past Friday*****
1 part things going all roller coaster-y in the relationship with Army******
1 part having to spend time with a lot of family and be near/in a hospital
1 part making the mistake of going out drinking with people she barely knows Friday night

Season with:
a sprinkle of taking care of puppies for extended periods of time (as well as another one getting adopted)
a pinch of no communication or spending time with close friends in almost a week
a dollop of next to no sleep for going on 4 days now

Stick in the oven at about 400 degrees for 5 days.

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The blog world is a bit much right now.  I’m trying to ease back into reading and commenting on some.  Sorry it isn’t everyone.  I’m doing my best.  Bear with me.  I’ll eventually be back to normal.  Hopefully.  For the moment I’m going to attempt pretending at being a normal person at work when all I really want to do is curl into a ball of self-loathing and debate on sobbing.
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*i.e. Clusterfuck
**I don’t mean a god, necessarily.  Maybe I mean FSM.*******
***Powers That Be.  I took this from Cordelia’s expression of them in the show “Angel” (Joss Whedon!)
****Yes, that was over a week ago, but I am still recovering due to the extreme backlash of drama that happened from it
*****For which I was just told the night before.  The night before.  About surgery that he could easily DIE from.
****** Of course, when is it not?
*******Flying Spaghetti Monster

Things better left unsaid

Obviously the theme for us American bloggers these past couple days seems to be Mother’s Day.

I hate Mother’s Day.

I didn’t used to.

Unlike some of my lovely blog-friends who have had awful experiences with moms growing up and have a complete to dodge and duck the holiday for their whole life- I have a great mom.

I can say nothing too bad about her.  Her flakiness can be obnoxious, but her love and support more than makes up for it.  She is wonderful and I thanked her profusely yesterday.  For about two hours.  That was all I could handle.

Since October of 2011, I cannot handle Mother’s Day.  I hate it.  I hate that everyone in public assumes that a female in her mid-twenties must be given well wishes because of course she has children.

Of course.

I wonder sometimes what would happen if when someone came up and said “Happy Mother’s Day!” to me I just answered, “My baby died two years ago.  And technically, by the guidelines and definition of motherhood, I’m not even a mother.”

I have that deep down urge to just make people feel like shit.

But it’s an empty urge.

I don’t wish to make others uncomfortable.  Mostly because I don’t wish to share my pain.  I don’t wish to show my scars.

Some things are better left unsaid.

Ups and Downs

Last night was a freakin’ roller coaster.

First of all, I had a lovely “Hump Day Dinner” with Texas and another girl friend of mine that I rarely get to see.  It was a lot of fun.  There was sangria and calamari; both of which I adore.

We had fun joking around and talking about nothing.

But then it went downhill…

But Texas has been acting weird.  She’s seriously contemplating breaking up with her longtime boyfriend of…4 or 5 years now I think.  I dunno.  Awhile.  Mostly due to not getting the attention she needs, but also a lot of money disagreements (basically he wants to use her money for his shit).

While having this crisis of romance, she starts making this really weird deal about how pretty I am and how all the men around us want me (…what?).  I’m not really sure how to deal with this.  Besides the fact that I have awful self-image issues and can’t even process what she’s suggesting about me; I’ve always thought Texas is a really beautiful woman.
She has this flawless skin I’ll never achieve, shapely legs, gorgeous curly dark hair, and an actual chest region.  There’s a reason she was so easily able to steal my high school boyfriend not once, but twice.

Anyway, I am completely befuddled by her behavior.  She’s always been nice to me about my looks in that “normal girl friend” way (“Oh you look great in that shirt!”) , but I’ve never experienced such dogged references to me.  It feels like she goes out of the way to point out that the waiter is flirting with me and our other friend joins in.  I’m completely wigged out at this point.  The sangria doesn’t help.

I texted Army to try and get some sort of stabilizing opinion and explain that Texas is making me a bit nervous by pointing out these things.  Apparently it comes out wrong because he lashes out at me about trying to “make him jealous” and that if he “said the same thing” to me, I’d be “furious”.  I have no idea what he’s talking about.

The words and tone sound like Katherine.

My vision starts swimming and shifting and my head is spinning and I can’t do that again.  I can’t be a possession again.  I can’t be a slave, an object, a thing.  I can’t belong to a person again.   I can’t handle over-jealously again.  I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t.

Texas notices the shift and comments.  I briefly explain, but not entirely.  She gets it a bit, but has no words.  I understand, she’s dealing with her own frustrations.  The car ride home is quiet.

I think about how he doesn’t even acknowledge me on Facebook.  I know it’s a shallow teenage thing.  I’m not asking for “in a relationship” bullshit.  I don’t much care for that.  But he mentions when he’s hanging out with friends.  Or even his roommates.  But he’s goes out of his way to never ever mention my name on there.  Even when he uploads pictures of my puppies for his friends to see.

And yet he wants to start talking jealously?

Hell no.

If he wants to be in the “deeper level” of a relationship and it means this sort of stuff, I’m out.

Out out out out out out.

I won’t do the crazy jealously game to myself again.  I won’t.  I won’t do it.

Crash

I definitely crashed today. I expected it. But it’s been a little more than I thought.

I made the (stupid) decision to go to this local health fair yesterday morning. It was mostly because they were giving out free spay vouchers and I wanted one for Zoe.

Good news is I got one.

Bad news is I decided to do some free screenings. My father has instilled in me this drive to take advantage of any free offers, especially if their a “high value” one. No matter how triggering.

And we all know how triggering the medical field is for Pen.

I was deeply disassociating by the mere second screening.

Those face masks.
The snap of the blue gloves.
Squeeze of the blood pressure cuff

Then somehow I end up at a BMI stand.
I know this will go badly. There’s a reason why I don’t own a scale.

The reading seems so high. I am blubber. No dinner for me today. Salad for the lunch I have scheduled with Mom.

And then I have to be social.

Just too much for one day.

So today I am my in my ball in bed. I am not dealing with the world.

I can barely deal with myself.

Not Enough

Trigger warning: ED freakout and talk of self-harm

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A search that showed up in the blog stats directed the trigger from general freak-out into full-blown ED centered.

That of course means that I have the power now.

I can see the scars on my thigh from the last time.  I want to open them up again.  Draw those lines.  I want to remind myself.

F-A-T

I need that visual reminder.  So I remember not to eat all those cinnamon rolls.  I need to go to the gym with my coworker.  I need to get rid of all of this.

All of it.

The others forget.  I’m not “normal sized”.  I’m not “thin enough”.  There’s never enough.

I’m not enough of anything.

Just not enough.

But don’t worry, don’t worry.  I’m going to make it better.

I am Ana’s strong will.  I am Ana’s icy breath.  I am Ana’s cold gaze.
I am Ana’s fierce determination.

-Victoria

Tried

I tried to get support last night.

I tried to find a friend or family member to at least go out for coffee or something small just for a little bit.

Just so I wasn’t stuck in my own head trying to dodge the yells, curses, and accusations.

But no one wanted to.  Everyone had better things to do.

I tried really hard.

But I can’t tell anyone why I really need to not be alone.

I don’t want to go back to the hospital.  I don’t want to be in trouble.  I don’t want to be a bad girl.
I don’t want to be alone.

But I was alone.  All alone.

So I took some Tylenol PM and tried to sleep.

It didn’t go well.  I just feel crazier this morning.

I’m not sure how long I can do this.

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Edit:  I’ve had some very lovely and sweet blog friends/supporters suggest the idea of emailing me to distract and cheer me up.  I think it’s such a lovely idea.  You guys do such a great job in the comments, but I feel like it always stops so abruptly after the reply.
If you feel so inclined (absolutely no pressure) to drop me a caring, funny, insightful thought or pictures, my email is kneargarder@gmail.com .  Any distraction helps.

Possession

Trigger warning for sex/BDSM/abuse talk
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Somehow in all our teasing, flirting lighthearted talking last night, Army convinced me to text him a picture of me in stockings with garters.

I’ve never done such a thing before.

I’m sure that seems surprising, with Charlotte’s sexual nature.  I’m not 100% sure that she’s never slipped out a risque pic to some stranger that meant nothing but pure sex, but I can say pretty confidently that I’ve never sent such pictures to anyone who meant anything to us.

I was nervous about it, and to his credit, he wasn’t being pushy.  It was that gentle sort of prodding that got me to finally gather up some of that elusive courage and manage something relatively sexy.

It was pretty much just my legs crossed in stockings with the garters peeking at the top.  No face, nothing X-rated.  Just in case it were to find it’s way into the public eye.

And I still worried.  Something tugged at the corner of my mind.

My fingers moved on their own.

“Just yours, right?”

He texted back almost immediately.

“Only mine. No sharing.”

My brain seemed to explode.

Voices started screaming at me.

Mine. Mine. Mine. Mine. No sharing. No one else. No touching. Mine.

A cascade of memories of Katherine’s games of possession and branding wash over me.

I touch my left hip nervously.  The scar is very faint now.  That means I’m no longer branded, right?  I don’t belong to her.  I’m not breaking it.  Not violating the pact.

She violated it first.

But she was never marked.  She could do as she pleased.

Only me.

I am the property.  I am the girl.  I am the claimed.

I am nothing.

Foresight

**Trigger warning for pill abuse

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Some part of me had the foresight to purchase a whole box of Primatene a week or so ago.  I’m very glad.

I do not technically have asthma. But that’s not really important.

Things are pretty much falling apart right now.  But I can at least pop 3 or 4 Primatene pills and have the magic of ephedrine carry me through my days.

Better than the alternative at the moment.

I am a little sad that I’m slipping back into my problem with pills.  But I really don’t want to do anything worse to myself.  It’s either these pills or darker things.   Things that leave more evidence.  I have to appear normal.

I have to put on my happy face and nothing helps more these yellow bitter pills.

It also does an excellent job of curbing my appetite while keeping my energy high.  Two-fold benefits.  Yay.

I know I can’t do this for too long.  I know.  But I can’t think about that right now.  I just want to coast for a little bit.

Maybe I can coast to somewhere a little better than here.

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.