Tuesday, February 7, 2017

An open letter

I woke up early.  That's nothing new.  I wake up many times throughout the night and rarely sleep for more than two or three hours at a time (if even that).  But today, today I woke up and for some fucking reason, my heart immediately was hurting.  I had no idea why.  I was just sad, again this is nothing new for me because it happens frequently.  When you're mentally ill, you kind of get used to feeling certain ways and not quite understanding why.

Apparently, today my brain wanted to salt my open wounds.  I saw in my memories on Facebook that time when I was still talking to my dad's side of the family... before I let everyone know my secret shame that I had been living with for 25 years,  It's been almost 5 years since I told everyone.  Five years since I started seeing people for who they really are.  Five years since I decided to stop forgiving those who hurt me.

I'm writing an open letter to my family.  If you have no clue what I'm talking about, this doesn't apply to you.  If you are still my friend on Facebook, this does not apply to you.

Dear "Family"

You have hurt me dearly.  You have broken my heart.  You tossed me aside as if I was nothing more than a piece of useless garbage.  You made me feel as though I wasn't important enough, good enough, whatever enough to love.

I came to all you assholes to let you know that I was not strong enough to be around Bernard because he triggered memories of what he did to me.  Being around him made me physically ill.  I wanted you all to help me.  Rally around me and help me to feel the love I needed to become stronger.  I know that I'm breaking some sort of fucking rule by actually admitting weakness, but I don't care.  It's what I needed, wanted, hoped for.

I got nothing of the sort.  I got dropped.  My heart was smashed into a million pieces.  At first, I was hopeful, because I thought you all just needed time to process what I told you.  Then that hope turned to hate and anger because you embraced him and pushed me away.

I know that I told all of you that I didn't want you to choose sides, but that was because I didn't really know you all would choose his.  I thought that since I was the one who was the victim in all this that it would automatically be me.  I thought that you all would want to hug me and tell me everything was going to be okay and that you were going to be there for me to support me.

I told some of you I had to remove you from Facebook because I didn't want to see his or his family's comments on your status updates.  I hoped that you would say, "No, I love you.  What he did was wrong, I'd rather have you in my life."  Instead, I got "okay."  Not one fucking person said they would remove him rather than lose me.  Not one of you fucks.

When a couple of you did decide to remove him and add me, I went along with it.  It still hurt me because it took so fucking long for it to happen.  I finally got tired of seeing all of you with your inside jokes with each other and opted to remove myself completely.

It really hurt to see how easy it was for you to continue on without me.  It hurt to know how easy it was for everyone to be so happy knowing how much pain I was in.

I still call or text some of you on your birthdays, because despite how badly you have hurt me, I still think of you.

I don't get the same consideration.  Maybe 1/4 of you think of me on my birthday.

I've decided to put as much effort into our relationships as you all do.  Mostly, it's no effort.  Thank you for making that part easy on me.

When I came to some of you, you said, "That's why you're so angry." or "You were just kids, you didn't understand." or "Put on your big girl panties"  These are direct quotes.  They're so fucking disgusting.  Do you know how much that fucking stung?

Hell yeah I was an angry teenager.

Do you not understand the impact of what Bernard did?  Here's what I've been able to come to understand throughout the years of therapy that I've had to endure.

When I was a child, I would go to the kitchen to get a snack to get away from him.  I DID THIS A LOT.  Because of this, I gained a shit ton of weight and a habit of emotional eating. I was a skinny kid up until he started molesting me.  Go ahead, look at pics from before I was 4 years old.

I didn't want to hang out with the other kids because of this shit.  Do you remember how you all would say what an old soul I was because I preferred to hang out with you assholes?

I gained weight subconsciously so that no one would ever be attracted to me because I DIDN'T WANT TO BE TOUCHED.

I never gave any of you the details of what happened to me because you motherfuckers don't care.  You only want to believe what you want to believe.  You went to great lengths to try to not believe what I said.  One of you even had the audacity to tell me, "What do you want me to do about it." What. The. Fuck.  What do you think I want you to do?  I wanted you to fucking tell me that it sucked that I had to go through something so traumatic, that you were there for me, that you fucking loved me.  But I didn't get any of that.

You all helped to harvest this intense loathing I feel toward many of you.

I will be polite to you when I see you, but I see through so many of you.  I see you for who/what you really are.  Selfish.  Caring about no one but yourselves and anyone who will kiss your ass.  Therefore, why should I care about you?  I'm doing to you guys, what you did to me,  I'm tossing you out like the garbage you tossed me out with.

Sincerely,
Me

Saturday, August 27, 2016

And the Oscar goes to....

I am mentally ill.  There, I've said it.

I'm bipolar.  I have general anxiety and social anxiety.  I have ptsd.  I get panic and anxiety attacks daily.  I hallucinate. I get extremely paranoid over things that are all in my head.

Every fucking day is a struggle.

I don't usually tell people when I'm having a really hard time.  You see, I've learned to become an amazing actress over the years.  I spent my childhood pretending to be happy so that I wouldn't be ripped away from my parents.  I spent my teenage years pretending that I wasn't bullied and that things were ok. When secretly I was dying inside and hated life.  I have been spending my adult years trying to make sense of what happened to me as a child and what's happening to me now.

I say that I am tired of pretending, tired of acting... yet I still find myself putting on an Oscar winning performance every day.

I occasionally post about the hard time I am having, but I don't want to bring people down so I try to stay positive for everyone else... if that fails, I don't post anything.

From the outside looking in, my life looks awesome.  I have a husband who does everything for me, supports me, never calls me ugly names. I have amazing parents that give me everything.  I have a home.  I have beautiful and loving furbabies...

But- I'm struggling.  I'm struggling with living.  My body hurts.  My heart hurts.  My brain hurts. I hate it.  I hate feeling this way.  I'm scared.  I know the statistics of mentally ill people.  I know I'm not alone.  But, that doesn't stop me from feeling this way.

My mental state doesn't affect the way I will treat those I keep in my life.  If you need positive words, I will give them.  If you post a cute pic of your pets, I will love them.  If you post a funny picture, I will laugh.  If you share your art,I will oooh and awww.

I will also hold my breath as a plane flies overhead.  I will feel sick to my stomach when I watch or read the news.  I will cry when I can't put my emotions to words.  I will feel frustration and get angry when my feelings are hurt and disregarded.  I will yell when I'm sad.  I will yell when I'm angry.  I will stare at my scars and want to create more. But... I will pray.  My prayers will give me comfort.  A comfort that those who do not believe will not understand.  The next day that I wake up, I will put on my mask that hides all my pain. I will put on that Oscar winning performance.  Because if I don't... I will surely die.

I'm tired of acting, but I can't stop. It's all I know.  It's all I've done for the last 29 years.

Thursday, May 12, 2016

I feel dead inside

Sometimes I wonder if people who are mentally ill that commit suicide do so because their illness causes physical pain and living with that pain becomes too overwhelming and they just want it to stop.

I want lots of things to stop. I want to stop feeling like shit.  I want to stop being so angry. I wAnt to stop being so anxious.  I want to stop having nightmares.  I want to stop being me.

So often I feel like I need to cry but I spend so much time crying.  Yet, I don't remember any of it.

I hate being around the negative energy that my parents often project when they are around each other.  I hate the fact that I can't write this without my dad hearing about it and then becoming upset with my honesty.  I hate the fact that I've lost my writing outlet because my parents found out about my blog so now I have to write in secret and keep everything bottled up.

I hate that I can't save all the animals in the world and that there will be some that never know love.

I hate that those who hurt children don't have harsher punishments.

I'm angry.  I'm hateful.   I want to be able to say what I'm really feeling.... but I can't.  I'm stifled.

Wednesday, March 30, 2016

World Bipolar Day

Yes, today is World Bipolar Day.  It's kind of an important day for me.  It's a day when those of us affected by this illness get to share our stories with each other and the world.

Every day is a struggle for me.  Not only is my brain sick, but my body is too.

There isn't one day that goes by that I'm not in pain.  I've learned to live with it.  It's just one of those things you have to do.  If I acknowledged every bit of pain, I'd never get to do anything or think of anything else.  It really sucks.  I don't always say anything but it's there.  It frustrates me so much because I'm only 33 but my body feels so much older.

I have problems sleeping, which is something I've always struggled with.  One, I can't ignore those demons that haunt me eveen I sleep and two, most bipolar people have this struggle and three, I'm pretty sure it's a genetic predisposition as well.

I know my issues aren't more than anyone else's but to me, they are huge.  I try not to acknowledge every little thing I suffer with, but it all makes every fucking day so hard.

I miss writing.  I miss it so much.  I just find concentrating so hard.

I'm also afraid of writing something and hurting someone I love.  I just wish that I could be normal. I really would give up every creative bone i have just to feel normal. I'm tired of having a sick brain and body.

Thursday, February 18, 2016

I'm still here...

I've been on a blog posting hiatus.  I will write on occasion but not make anything viewable because I fear hurting feelings by writing honest posts.

My birthday is on Monday and I hate my birthday as well as most holidays now because they serve as a reminder that my family chose that disgusting bastard over me.

I have fallen out of love with most people in my family because of this... now I just feel extreme anger, hatred and disgust when I think of them.  It's pretty sad, but it's how it is.

I'm super depressed so I may sound extremely blunt or callous.  I'm aware of this but I just don't care.

I wish that my life had been different.  I wish that all the shit that happened to me during my developmental years didn't.  I would trade all the creativity I have, for a normal brain.  I hate that I've pretended to be happy or okay for so long that I'm not sure what it really feels like.  I hate that when I choose to be honest about my feelings, everyone else gets hurt and then I'm left trying to comfort and coddle them.

I just want to be able to feel the way I feel without being made to feel guilty about it.

My brain never fucking turns off and my body fucking hurts.  It's so frustrating.

I really want a puppy.  Puppies make me happy.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015

All I'm asking for is Time...

my heart is broken.  I have no idea what to do.  I love my parents so much but I cannot begin to fix their ailments.

I don't even know what to say.  I just know I need to write.  I need to get something off my chest.  I need to verbalize my feelings the best that I can for now...

I want my dad to feel better.  If I could, I would take all his pain for him.  I would do anything as long as it would give me more time with him.

All I want is good quality time with him.  Why else would I wake up at 4:30 every morning if I didn't want that?

I love our time together in the mornings.  I love spending afternoons with him on Monday and the weekends.  I just want time.  I want to pause time and spend as much as I can with my parents.  I love them more than I could ever say.  They are two of my best friends.

I'm at a loss.  I don't know what to do.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

an... update?

I've written two extremely long blogs today that I can't post.  I can't finish my thoughts.

I'm bouncing from subject to subject...

This has been my problem and my reason for not blogging.

I can't say how I really feel because people get hurt.

People can't let me voice my feelings without getting upset at something I say.

So therefore I stopped writing these things down.

I stopped blogging although I have a shit ton to say.

I have to try to rewrite things to make them politically correct or make sure I'm not going to hurt anyone's feelings... therefore when I try to write I can't handle it.  I can't handle editing myself.

That's just ridiculous.

My blog was my outlet... now I don't have it.

Here's the gist:
I'm celebrating my 3 year wedding anniversary with my husband.

I'm still bipolar.

I harbor a lot of anger toward about 95% of my family on my dad's side (I'm not sure of the math, I just know that it's more people than not)

I'm still anxious.

I still have flashbacks.

My body still hurts.

I can't expand on any of these things because I can't focus.  Hurrah mania!