Friday, April 29, 2016


For the last year, I've been on medications. To help with anxiety. Depression. Muscle tightness and spasms. Migraines. Fibromyalgia. A new one is a steroid that helps the body retain water, salt, and other necessary minerals because of fainting spells I've had my whole life that have recently become severe enough for me to see a cardiologist.

I've never mentioned my age before, but I'm under 30. Nearer to it, but under.

My current doctors/medical professionals are a PCP, neurologist, chiropractor, therapist, cardiologist, and a psychiatrist. I've seen one rheumatologist already, but I'll likely end up seeing another one. I have a foot that is slowly collapsing on me. The bones are fine. The muscles are starting to atrophy. I see signs of it beginning in the other foot too.

I have nerves in my body that currently don't respond to stimulation. Given that my neurologist doesn't say anything when I tell him this, I guess it's par for the course of where my fibro is at. Nerves that go off like electrical shocks, to no stimuli at all.

I didn't stop writing simply because Steve and I broke up. My health was deteriorating, physically and mentally. The things I had to say didn't belong here, or I didn't have the strength to write about them. I didn't want him reading my spiral downward. May the gods help me, I didn't think it was possible, but I hid it from him.

I was hiding enough and he didn't want to see anymore. It was the perfect combination. And there was one day that tipped the tides. It's why I'm on meds and seeing a psychiatrist. There was self harm, but there was no rush of endorphins. I was still panicky and scared. It took me an hour to decide to drive to an urgent care.

I had lost Chris, who always made me promise to tell someone...long before Steve did. I know I talk about Steve a lot, but I mourn the loss of Chris in my life. I miss him so much. But he's hurting, like I'm hurting. I can't blame him for not being able to look at me without being in pain. I understand that all too well. It hurts me too because I do love Chris. But not his anger and mood swings.

I had lost Steve...and well, yeah.

That day could have ended two ways. I could have done what I did, and gotten help. Or it would have set me on the path that was in my mind. I had a plan. I wasn't going to see the end of 2015. I was already thinking about it as of August '14. That day was March 7, 2015.

It's been a year and I wish I could say the meds have helped. They haven't. I have to talk with my psychiatrist on Tuesday about options, mainly starting over and seeing what happens. Where I was a year ago is not where I am today. I need to know what I'm working with, not drugged up.

Steve saw it the other night when we did a double date with him and his new gf. Writing isn't too badly impaired, though I'm making a ton of easy spelling mistakes so thankfully there's that nice dictionary. Speaking and being awake on the other hand?? I've had music on fairly loud this entire time. It's so I can concentrate and stay alert enough to write. And I feel myself fading quickly as it's approaching 9PM. That's when I start to fade, no matter if I've taken a nap or not.

I did take an over 2 hour nap today too. I got over 9 hours of sleep. Hypersomia. It's caused by the meds I'm on. That's also why I want to start over. A clean slate to see what I really need because I'm taking too much of something or several somethings obviously.

But I didn't want to talk about all of this, ya know? I felt like it was necessary for me and for the people who do still read here.

Saturday, April 23, 2016


I was conditioned to forgive people's wrongs against me from an early age. I knew what they were doing was wrong, but at some point I just got tired. It became easier to brush things aside in my mind than confront them. That's what I did with Steve and how things ended.

Too tired of being hurt, being betrayed, being left, no longer being good enough. Just tired.

And after everything with the finally be free. After all that man did to me, all the things he did to screw me up. All the ways I was tired of having my limits of existing pushed. To be free. I got the call on May 28, 2014 around 10-11pm that he wouldn't be a problem anymore.

I had ten days with Steve, with finally nothing hanging over us. June 8th, that's when he ended things. It was a Sunday. We met on a Sunday, July 15th. He ended things 4 days before his birthday. Since he doesn't celebrate it, I don't think it even occurred to him.

Or how he always went out of town, back to his old college for homecoming, on my birthday every year. How much that hurt and I never said anything because of conditioning. My birthday has always sucked so why would the man I love be around? No, that was very fitting, and he wouldn't have stayed if I had asked anyway. That's why I never did.

So why am I crying from missing him? Why is my heart still breaking?

Because for everything that may have been wrong, or didn't mesh, or hurt...regardless of all that, it was different than every relationship I've ever had. He was my best friend, my protector, my lover, my Dom. He was the sun in the rain, the Light in the Dark. He made me smile when I didn't think I could. His was the footprint on the Path that I knew was always there.

Until he took a different Path.

Sunday, April 17, 2016

What Can Be Said?

Wednesday. Well, what to say? I had a panic attack for a few hours leading up to them arriving. Dinner almost didn't happen, but I am who I am. I pulled myself together enough to say "come anyway" because the food was almost ready. So fuck it.

Steve's girlfriend is a sweetheart, generous. I can't hate her anymore. She's too likable. Her and I have too much in common. She had been told what was going on and wanted to help out in any way she could. She is so innocent, and he really likes that about her. He wants to keep her that way. She's so Christian too. Like, my inner former Catholic kind of wants to give her a reality check because she's a little too Christian. Not saying "God" or "damn" out loud is...I grew up with Irish Catholics. "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph" was a common phrase uttered in the household. "Lord have mercy" was another.

I was the super Catholic. In the choir. Went to church on saint and holy days. Saturday church with the choir, and Sunday church with the family. I believed in confession. When I started liking girls, I talked to my priest in open confession about it. The first time I cut, I did the same. "If today you hear his voice, harden not your heart" which is something I learned with the sacrament of first holy communion. We even had a project in Sunday school where we colored in heart shaped rocks to "cleanse our sins." Sin. That an 8 year old had. Haha

That I had. I have done things that I am not proud of since then. But at 8? At 14? Heh, that's when I left. Because I wasn't ashamed of liking women and men. I wasn't ashamed of my sexuality. No, if anyone had a debt to pay, it was a distant God who put me through hell again and again.

No. That system made no sense to me. It hasn't made any sense since. And that is entirely why Steve and I could never be together. Because he believes in it, with everything in him.

And when other Gods start saying "hello" over the years, when they keep watch, even when I'd rather be left alone...It's not even one pantheon either. They all show up when they want to, sounds like Gods.

But, none of them help. They never have. Not with the pain, the depression, the panic attacks, the PTSD, the disassociation. None of it.

The meds aren't helping. Therapy isn't helping. I've been all sorts of wrong since Wednesday. I lashed out at Steve on Friday. I was a total asshole. I did the thing I told him I never would: be vindictive. Be mean and hateful. But I didn't care. I wanted to hurt him because I wanted him to hate me. And I realized it worked.

I hated myself for it. So I wanted some space to regroup. To stop hurting him. But he didn't understand. We left things on a sour note. I was deep into the depression. And yesterday I cut, right along a vein on my wrist. I almost passed out from something I did. I wasn't from bleeding, just something. Maybe because I've never cut near a vein before.

Even though things were terrible, Frank was at work, and all I could think was to call Steve. I didn't expect him to pick up, and he almost didn't. But given things, he knew it must be important. We ended up talking for 2 and 1/2 hours. It helped, more than I could imagine. And we're good again. He was worried, for good reason. But the right people are going to be told about everything.

The depression hasn't been kind to me for the last few months. *sighs*

Tuesday, April 5, 2016


I don't think he reads here anymore, or even would think to, so I'm going to write what's been in my mind since I last saw Steve. Since I decided I had things to say again, things that mattered to my soul and itched to be free.

In some ways, I've been stifled knowing he'd be on here reading my words. That's no longer a problem.

I can finally say the way he ended things was one of the most heartbreaking things someone has ever done to me. It nearly killed me. It's what pushed me off the fragile edge into oblivion. I had arrangements made. I knew what day I was going to end things.

After everything and everyone who tried to break me, he managed to do it by accident. I couldn't let him "see" in that annoying way he "sees" me. If he thought, guessed for a brief moment, he would stop me.

The Ex moving two and a half hours away helped a lot. My therapist says that's when he saw an improvement. But that's not what rekindled the fire, no. I helped a friend get out of an abusive situation. I saw the fear firsthand. A look I know all too well. One I didn't just wear around The Ex. One I've wore most of my childhood. I know abuse when I see it.

They'd already broken up. She was packing up her things as quickly as she could with work. He was being an asshole about it and was trying to convince her to reconsider. So while he was off on a job over a long weekend, I got her out. I pushed my body and my mind to its limits, but we did it. I slide into a disassociative state about 5 minutes after everything was done. Not completely gone, but I lost the ability to speak for a while. I kept shaking.

I want to shake now. When she admitted to our friends, with my help, that her ex was abusive no one believed her. They still don't. They thought I was projecting my Ex onto her situation. Want me to live? Make me angry. Give me a reason to defy people actively. Give me something to prove wrong.

But nothing has been right these past few months. The lynch pin, my therapist calls her. The center around which all my abuse and trauma can be tied back to. One of my first abusers. Someone I used to call "mom" but isn't my biological mother. We talked in December. The nightmares started then. Restless nights. Meds no longer working. Weeks of unrelenting migraines.

And his girlfriend. Seeing her name show up on FB. We're not friends but she's tags him in things all the time. She's integrated in his life in a way I never was, maybe never could have been. And I hate her for it. I hate her. I have no reason to; she seems like a really nice person. They connect really well.

Yet, I hate her. The idea of being around her puts very bad thoughts in my head. Bad dreams. I say I want him only to be happy. Then why is there so much rage? It's not like she's someone bad for him. I'd understand that. But she seems great. A total sweetheart who's been through her own miseries in life. I should connect with her.

He says he's surprised that I'm not vindictive. I could be, and he has no idea of the levels I'd go to. I can be ruthless. But not to him, never to him. And she's now part of his brain should transition to a protective state.

It's not though. I see competition. I see prey. I see something to eliminate.

If this is who the medications make me become in order to "help" me, I think I'll take my depression and anxiety and ptsd instead. Kthnx. Because that person sure as hell isn't me.