Dysphoria and Intrusions

Another day, another identity theft attempt. Seriously? Seriously.

The discovery of yet another intruder upon my life is taking it's toll on me. I'm emotionally drained. I intend to put pressure on people to prosecute this latest attempt at fraud and theft. I might hire a lawyer and start suing people.

I went to the doctor today, and joy to the world, they are changing my meds around again. This current round I am on two antidepressants, two mood stabilizers, sedatives, and medications for nightmares. They took me off the Ritalin, blaming my recent incidents of instability on that medication. It's the only pill I ever took that made me feel better, and it only worked for a little while. They are also testing me for several other medical conditions which may or may not have precipitated said incidents of instability.

There are no less than three medical conditions which run rampant in my family which may have triggered this mess. But the psychiatrist thinks I may have been successfully hiding bipolar in all these years of intensive therapy. Right. That seems likely (sarcasm). I did some reading into bipolar, and apparently there are some people who don't have highs and lows, instead they have depressive states and dysphoric states. Considering I've only had two possible dysphoric states in all my years of recorded psychiatric treatment, it really, really, seems unlikely to me.

I'm tired. I'm really, really, really tired of the VA's so-called medical practice. I'm seriously considering taking steps to transfer my care to a civilian facility. I cannot deal with these morons much longer. I might start telling them what I really think of them, and no one wants that.

The VA needs be reformed with extreme prejudice. Reform involving blunt objects would be preferable.

Not me

Some deeply scary shit has been going on with me. In a seriously misleading, understatement, I described this to my friends and family as "mood swings". Truthfully I had these episodes repeatedly for days where I was not myself. I vaguely remember the things I did, but in my head it doesn't feel real. It was like a nightmare that you can't quite remember. I destroyed a garden, and I guess tried to hurt myself. I keep wanting to say "It wasn't me!", because I would never hurt myself. I keep poking at my memories and trying to remember why I would do such things. All I remember are feelings. I remember rage. I remember morbid depression. I also feel like I thought I was in a nightmare and kept trying to wake myself up. But it wasn't a nightmare, it was real.

Oh holy shit, the stuff I said to people was terrible. But it scares the hell out of me that I could have hurt myself and not known why. I don't think anyone believes me that I wasn't myself. I really would never do the things that I did or say the things that I said.

I've been trying to figure out what happened. My family said that severe mood swings might be low blood sugar, which runs rampant in my family. It could also be the Ritalin that I was taking. (I quit taking that shit just in case that was it.) I have a doctor's appointment on Wed, and hopefully I won't get locked up in psych again.

I've been myself for the last two days, which is good. I'm not sure if I have permanently damaged some of my relationships with my behavior. I'm not trying to avoid taking responsibility for my actions, but something is seriously wrong with me. That's not who I am.

My prayer

On PTSD awareness day, I had 22 butterflies tattooed on my neck and left shoulder. 22 veterans a day commit suicide. This has haunted me ever since I discovered this tragic statistic.

I have been where the 22 have stood. I have fought the same fight. I am heart broken that I could not save them.

I chose sunrise colors for my tattoo, because I want every veteran to fight for one more sunrise. I chose butterflies because to me, butterflies symbolize transition. I asked for a watercolor style tattoo, because I wanted the colors to bleed and run. I got this tattoo, because I understand the struggle. Perhaps I should have chosen a more somber example of how I feel.

I spent 8 years in therapy, and I always took my meds and did what I was asked to do. It just didn't help.

Every time I had a glimpse of hope, it was snatched away from me mercilessly. Nothing I did was ever good enough.

The horror of 22 a veterans a day committing suicide has haunted me. I never wanted to be one of the 22. I always wanted to help others, and was never successful. If anything, all I ever accomplished was hurting others. The tragedy that has played out for years in front of the public's eye, has long been overlooked. I have no delusions that my voice will make any significant impact on the world. There are a few, perhaps, will reflect on my words with baffled sadness. It's okay. I came to terms with the fact that my life is insignificant long ago. I wanted to make the world better for the sake of others, believing always, that nothing could salvage my life. History is full of broken hearts.

I am forced to the conclusion that my life will never be what I once hoped it would be. I resisted this fact for years. It's okay though. I hope that whatever mysterious purpose God had for my life has been served. I tried. I really did. I gave everything that I am to the idea that this world could be changed. But people are by nature, cruel, selfish, and arrogant creatures.

The world is full of people who cannot fathom true suffering. Shallow, heartless creatures with no concept of what it means to think beyond their own petty life. Maybe that is our true legacy to the universe. The philosophy of selfishness.

I have spent years trapped in the lonely solitude of my own mind. I have never been able to trust anyone with what truly goes on in my mind. I wrote a diluted version of what I have experienced in my blog. I haven't written much in it, in the last few years. So much has happened, and I simply could not find the words. It is rare that I find myself at a loss for words. I have struggled to add my voice to the chorus of veterans crying out in outrage against a heartless system. My voice was drowned out long ago, by other, stronger voices.

I'd love to say that I am a activist. Sadly, there is no one willing to stand behind my cause. There is no one willing to revolt against this system of inevitable failure. Our nation is a machine, chewing through veterans for it's fuel, feeding off of our constitutionally protected rights, and shitting out it's hapless citizens as it's by-product.

The clever slogans of social media, designed to raise awareness for various injustices committed throughout the world, cannot sum up this tragedy in a simple, easily repeatable phrase by the ignorant, attention deficit citizens of our world. This is far too complex a problem for marketing genius. This is life and death for thousands of our citizens on a daily basis.

I fought for you. I fought hard. I gave up my personal safety and ignored my own personal catastrophe when I refrained from reporting my rapist. I did that for you. I believed that the war was more important than I am. I believe that still.

I do not condemn the 22 for their choices. I stand with them, among them, and I shout their stories as loud as my frail body will allow. I stand tall. I may no longer have any pride or dignity, but I cannot continue to allow this world to strip me of my intrinsic values. I survived, but that is all I was able to do. Healing was a pipe dream promised to me by dozens of VA bureaucrats. Healing has not yet come.

In my life, I have been accused of many things. Being a liar. Being weak. Being a traitor. Of the many accusations leveled against me, the judgment that stood the harshest in my mind was that of liar. I have never used a lie when the truth has always been so much more painful. The army taught me many things, but they were most successful in teaching me to show no mercy to the enemy. Right now, I am my own enemy. Right now, I stand alone, reflecting on my life, and realizing that I was doomed from the very beginning.

It was always going to come down to this. Choose: Live or die.

For those who knew me well, they always understood that I appreciated a good fight. There is something cleansing in a good fight. Fighting is some fundamental necessity in our nature. We rage against each other, we rage against God, we rage against nature, and we rage against ourselves.

There has been a chant in my head for the last 3 years. Suicide. Suicide. Suicide. It was the answer to every question that I asked myself. If I felt happy, then I thought “My life will never be better than this moment, so I should end it now, on a moment of pure happiness.” In misery, I thought, “My life will never be good again, I should end it now and save myself the suffering.” In confusion, I thought, “There is no right answer. I should kill myself and stop wondering.” I don't know why I didn't, except that I could not bear to let the bastards beat me.

Gratitude was something that has been preached to me many times over. I have felt gratitude. I have felt gratitude to small moments when the violence of my emotions was abated for the briefest interludes. I have tried to feel gratitude for the briefest surcease of violence in my life. I have tried to feel gratitude for the small things in life, like my cat, who saved me from suicide many times over. I have tried to feel gratitude for the ones I love, who never loved me in a way that I felt made up for the constant fear, anger, confusion, and sheer hopelessness of my life.

In the end, life is what it is. It is filled with uncertainty and regret. I do not believe that God will punish the 22 for seeking the only peace left available to them. I have always believed that someone, some day would hold God accountable for the atrocities that He has allowed on this world.

What then is left to me, but to live, on my own terms? What is left to the world but to continue it's everlasting struggle for redemption in thousands of years of bloodshed and tyranny?

It has been years and years since anyone truly listened to me. I do not resent this. It gave me the power to introspect as I never would have done otherwise. In the end, all we have is ourselves. We are the sum of our experiences, and our choices. That being the case, I am desolation. I am abandonment. I am loss and grief and terror. I am betrayal.

I am a kitten abandoned in a cardboard box on the side of the highway, left for dead. I never asked to be brought into this world. I was born with so much potential. I had the potential to bring smiles to the faces of others. I had the potential to explore the world. I had the potential to bring sunshine and happiness to others who would otherwise, never have had the chance. I did my best. I wanted to wreak vengeance on those who contaminated this world with cruelty, injustice, and heartlessness. Unfortunately, to my dismay, I was unable to accomplish either goal.

I do not claim to understand why I was born. I have wondered myself many times. Was I the result of selfish parents seeking to reach their own independence, whether or not they were ready for it? Was I the result of some divine plan, unknowable to the minds of men? Was I an accident, born of chaos and destined to sow the same? Perhaps I fulfilled my purpose, unknowingly. Perhaps my destiny was some small step in the grand design of the universe? Perhaps I set in motion some fantastic event that will cause some other event, and some other event after that, until some unspeakably beautiful or terrible fate comes to pass.

I only know that I am weary. I am weary down to my very soul. If there were a benevolent God, I would like to have some peace now. I am begging, as I have never begged before. If I am praying to uncaring universe, filled with random events and random particles colliding with particles, I pray that you create more goodness in the world to compensate for the bad. I pray for balance. I pray that in this world, good things happen to good people, and bad things only happen to those who are irredeemably bad. I pray for order in the chaos. I pray for peace amidst the war. I pray for hope, in the never-ending void of infinity. I pray for life worth living. I pray for younger generations to solve the moral riddles that we have left for them among the rubble of our many, unforgivable mistakes. I pray for forgiveness. I have not led a perfect life. I fly by the seat of my pants and hope that my choices harm none.

If love were wealth, then I would be a wealthy woman. I have never run out of love to give to others, and I have always had some small measure of love returned to me. Even if it was only from my cat. ^^

I hope tomorrow is better than today.

I hope that there will be resolution to conflict.

I hope I find the will to go on, in the face of so much despair.

Love always,

Regularfury

Turning point.

Something has changed. I'm not sure exactly when it happened, I cannot pinpoint the exact moment, and I wish that I could. I have started to believe that I have a future. I have started to accept that I will go on living, despite everything that has happened to me.

Things kept going wrong, people kept letting me down and hurting me, but no one managed to make me give up totally. I remember thinking at one point, "Is that all you got? Sure that hurt, but I've survived worse, and I will probably have to survive worse again. But I will still survive."
Survival is my superpower. It really is. Maybe I can start actually living, instead of merely surviving. I think that is a dramatic first step.

I have hopes for the future. I finished the first draft of the book I was writing. I'm going to go to a writer's conference and try and find an agent. I'm going to try to be a whole person again. I can imagine a future where I'm happy. I can imagine myself as a person of real value. I can see that I still have good qualities about myself, instead of being blinded by shame and guilt.

I feel like I've spent years in some dark tunnel wandering alone, and suddenly I've turned a corner and see a light in the distance. I'm crying happy tears right now.

I know that I still have many struggles that will need to be overcome, and some symptoms I may never be able to cure. I'm okay with that. I've never had an easy life, and I am used to struggle. It won't kill me. It won't break me. I'll be okay. I'll be more than okay, because these bad feelings are never going to overwhelm me completely. I've proven to myself that I can fight through anything. I'm not afraid of my fear anymore, I feel like I have overcome many of my fears.

I'm grateful to the people who really believed in me, and didn't give up on me. There were a few people who really did just give up. I survived that too. I still have quite a lot of anger that I need to deal with. I'm still a little afraid of that anger, but that also will not break me. I'm not afraid to fight the fights that I still have ahead of me. I don't feel the need to continue fighting the same fight over and over again.

I'm considering whether or not I want to go back to college or just commit myself to being a full-time writer. I want to just write. I'm not sure if I need to go back to college to be what I want to be. I don't know if I want to be around all those shiny young faces who haven't earned the scars I have earned through years of fighting. My scars made me stronger. My scars made me better.

I have other hopes and dreams. I know it's not too late for me to make those dreams come true. I have a lot of work to do, but that's okay.

It's strange, but the things that I thought were so important turned out to be far less valuable to me than things I thought were just incidental to my life. I used to think it was so important to me to be able to do everything on my own. Being too alone is not good for me, and it's a dangerous trap to give in to that desire to do everything alone. There are some things I do need to relearn how to do, but I just need to practice.

It's more important that I value the people I can trust to be in my life. It's important not to get so wrapped up in myself, that I forget to stop every now and then and share what is going on in my head with the people who matter. Being this wounded for this long has made me a very selfish person. I had to be selfish in order to survive. I learned the hard way that I had to put myself first, but that doesn't mean I can't appreciate the other positive people in my life. Learning to put myself first meant that I had to learn to cut out the toxic influences in my life. This is a good skill to have, but it doesn't mean that I can treat everyone like they are disposable. I have to learn to still trust and care for the people who have earned my trust and caring. I'm not so afraid to get hurt that I feel like I have to put a steel fence around my heart. I've been hurt, and it sucks, but putting up that fence ultimately means being alone. It's a delicate balance. I have to value myself. I have to trust others. I have to put myself first, but I have to include the people I love. I have to be willing to say "I won't let you poison my life anymore. So good-bye." to the people who aren't good for me.

Many of these things felt contradictory to me for a long time. If I had to keep negative people out of my life, I should just keep everyone out of my life, because everyone has the potential to be a negative. If I had trust others, I had to risk getting hurt and that was not taking good care of myself.

I was forced to be heavily dependent on others, and I hated that. I resented it. I resented myself instead of being compassionate. I punished myself for my symptoms instead of treating my symptoms. I resented everyone around me, because of my own limitations. I was jealous that they could drive a car and I couldn't. I was jealous that they could go for a walk in the sunshine and I couldn't. It hurt. It hurt me very deeply. Nobody could give me the ability to do those things, nobody had a magic wand, and it was childish of me to expect someone else to magically fix everything for me.

I didn't think I could do it, so I just stopped trying after a while. It was easier than dealing with the constant little failures. When I realized that I had stopped trying, I would punish myself, instead of trying to convince myself to try again.

Then some really bad things happened that forced me to do things in order to survive, that I hadn't done in years. I had to drive a car. Nothing bad happened when I drove a car. It scared the shit out of me, but I did it. So now, some days, I feel like I could drive a little. I had to be really alone, for the first time in years, with no one to help me. I managed to get myself to a safe place. I survived it. Now I know I can, if I have to. It might suck, but I could survive on my own. That makes it easier to do all sorts of things. Things still scare me. I have a lot of fear left. But I don't always want to give in to that fear and hide. If I take care of myself, then I can deal with those fears a little better. So I have to take care of myself. I'm making myself the promise that I will take care of myself, and not hide from all those petty fears.

Boundaries

Enforcing your boundaries is not "having mood swings". Standing up for yourself is not "being unreasonable".

Assertive females seem to bring out the misogynist in men. I'm tired of having my mental health called into question for not being a doormat on command.

That crap does not fly with me!

RE-victimization

http://columbusfreepress.com/article/%E2%80%9Csecond-assault%E2%80%9D-why-do-americans-re-victimize

Dark humor

Spent 15 hours at the VA last night. I went in because I had a weird allergic reaction to something. Somehow ended up with a CT scan, EKG, and left without having anything resolved. They shrugged and said "We don't know."

I'm working on three new articles right now, because I'm trying to make writing a focus for me right now. This would be easier if my ADHD was being treated. I can't concentrate. In between every sentence I'm writing at the moment, I'm stopping and doing something else for a few minutes. OMG it's so frustrating.

I'm also trying to write 1000 words a day on my novel. 1000 words isn't a lot for me, because I used to sit down and churn out 10,000 words without even trying hard. But I'm struggling with a tenth of that. Concentration problems and writing isn't a good combination.

I was supposed to have the results of my ADHD battery (a 3.1 hour battle with various tests) a few weeks ago. No love. The VA never gets anything right. EVER. And if they ever did, it would be accidental and someone would have to write a formal apology.

The novel is going well despite the concentration problems. The articles I'm struggling with. I have a very distinct style of writing. That style involves a lot of sarcasm, irony, and aggression. I like it. I need to learn to tone it down and focus on the more technical parts of writing for the op eds. Lol. People are worried that my writing is "low brow", and I'm like, damn straight it's low brow. Journalism has become so fucking snobby that it alienates an entire generation. I really think blogs and online news sources have revolutionized modern journalism. We don't need suits on tv. We want the gritty facts and a cynical voice, never taking ourselves too seriously. That's what the Millennial generation is all about. Truth, cynicism, and even inappropriate levity at every possible opportunity. The media takes themselves far too seriously (perhaps because they have become their own corporations), and act like snobby banter is humor. Gimme a break. I love dark humor, most of my generation does.

Love me or hate me, you can't change me. Dark humor and all.

Superheroes and cowardice

My life has gotten a little weird lately. I started writing these op ed articles and to my shock and amazement, they got published. (In large part because of a very good friend of mine, because I don't deal well with people.)

I'm also getting job offers that are so incredibly tempting, that I have to turn down, because I have to respect my limits. It's a kind of torture, because it's the first time in ages and aeons that I have felt like I have something to offer the world.

I write articles about MST because I want to make people listen. People need to understand the problem and then maybe someone will fix it. Part of me believes that I can single handedly eradicate MST if I just work hard enough. I have to check that inner voice with doses of reality periodically. What I really want to do is write fiction. I do write fiction, a  ton of it, and I think it's really great stuff. I don't have the guts to submit it to be published though.

Part of my problem is that the agoraphobic voice in my head is too scared to become dependant on the opinions of others to make my living. And then I feel guilty for doing what I really want to do, because of my need to save the world....

I'm tired of being scared of everything, even my own dreams for my future....

Heinous fuckery most foul.

http://www.timesfreepress.com/news/breakingnews/story/2015/apr/21/14-billion-cuts-will-cause-veterans-suffer-says-veterans-affairs-chief/299993/

http://popularmilitary.com/veterans-unfairly-being-banned-from-owning-guns/

Heinous fuckery most foul.

"The willingness with which our young people are likely to serve in any war, no matter how justified, shall be directly proportional to how they perceive veterans of earlier wars were treated and appreciated by our nation." -- George Washington

“With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow, and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.” Abraham Lincoln.

So much for a "just and lasting peace". The VA has just taking a giant steaming shit on the constitution with regards to the second amendment, and never mind veteran's privacy. Congress has just spit in the face of every veteran everywhere....again.

Interview with an abuser

Control. As human beings we spend our entire lives seeking control. We smoke cigarettes, abuse drugs and alcohol, we impulse shop, and we use a myriad of other tactics to feel in control of our lives. Some part of us knows that control is an illusion. Eating disorders and gambling addictions are manifestations of that desire for control.

Some people beat their spouses to feel in control of their lives. Some people rape women to feel powerful and in control. Given enough time physical abuse and rape will eventually escalate into murder.

Victims of this abuse certainly have no control. They could choose to walk away, and seek help. Abusers are adept at convincing their victims that they are powerless. 

A man, an abuser, once told me “You’re going to find out some things about me, and I don’t want them to change the way you think of me.” The next day I found out he broke his girlfriend’s leg with a golf club, because he believed she talked too much. He wanted to shut her up. So he broke her leg. For control. 

One of the men who raped me told me once that he loved manipulating women into situations to force them to have sex with him. He loved making women do things they didn’t want to do. He smiled as he described some of the things he’d done to women. Control.

Another of the men who raped me, waited until I was unconscious from my migraine medications to rape me. I briefly regained consciousness during the rape and he was telling me “You have wanted this for so long.” The only way he could control me enough to get what he wanted was to wait for me to be unconscious. Control.

And every day 22 veterans commit suicide because they have no control. 

So how do we find control without murder, rape, abuse, or suicide?

Another article

http://columbusfreepress.com/article/veteran-suicides%E2%80%A6help-some-way-what-you-hold-dear

Why I didn't turn in my rapist...publication

http://columbusfreepress.com/article/why-did-i-not-turn-my-rapist

Please share this around. This was incredibly difficult for me to write, and I want other survivors to know that they are not alone.

Article

http://columbusfreepress.com/article/va-producing-generation-%E2%80%9Clegally%E2%80%9D-addicted-junkies

My first "paid" writing gig...

Jumbled mass of thoughts....

Well hell. I should probably preface this post with a warning: Epic drama.

I am just trying to not be homeless. A homeless agoraphobe is a suicide looking for a place to happen.

Obviously, and I have to say this way too often, I'm not suicidal.

A cherished friend recently found a way to help me remember that I used to be a real person and for a brief moment in time, I felt like myself again. Which is awesome, because I never enjoyed hating myself for the blank slate crazy I've been over the last few years and in particular the last few months. Of course, it was only a temporary reprieve. Inevitably, the fresh memory of having a real personality instead of functioning on medications with the least negative side effects, has thrown my current...state into sharp contrast.

I would like to stop and take a moment to bask in awe at my own depth of resilience. I used to be a person and now I'm a wreck bouncing from one awful symptom to another. And I have survived this for 7 years. I've listed and described my symptoms here for years. I kept writing what felt like extremely repetitive narratives of what my life has become. It's hard to quantify how much I've lost and therefore survived. But I did survive, although, at times, I really hated my own tenacity.

I am back in full on survival mode. Displaced again, although this time of my own choice. I took my cat and my clothes and walked away from everything else. I left my medals and my paperwork. I left my knick-knacks and my treasured collection of books. It's all gone now. I have my cat, my car, my computer, and my clothes. I'm running wifi off of my cell phone in order to publish this and then I have to turn that off because my cell phone bill is going to be astronomical. It's not like I can't afford it. Despite having spent 75% of my savings over the last year, I'm still doing alright. Realistically, worrying about money, might actually kill me. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.

I've turned off all non-essential systems mentally. I don't try and regulate my impulses. I don't filter my thoughts, so if I think it, I say it. I don't think about tomorrow.

I just wrote about a dream I had, and basically, I need a fucking vacation. Reality  needs to go bother someone else for awhile and leave me the fuck alone.

Article

iPhone post, so short, sweet, and ignoring good sentence structure.

http://www.towardfreedom.com/34-archives/health/3719-a-female-veteran-fights-the-forever-war-prescription-drugs-ptsd-and-addiction

Go here, read this. Thanks 😘

Observation of before and after

The Mall..
Going to the mall was overshooting. I don't know if I was testing myself or punishing myself. My motives regarding these adventures are never clear to me. I had two panic attacks, but didn't run screaming. So there was good and bad. Admittedly, there was more bad than good, but the good was real and it existed. It's important not to let the bad drown out the good upon reflection.

I used to love the mall. LOVE. I loved the bombardment of the senses, and the inevitable overstimulation. I remember this feeling of excited anticipation that was far disproportionate to the average person's. I wanted to see EVERYTHING, smell it, and if possible touch it, and when I did, I saw countless possibilities. (Most of them were dreamy unrealistically positive.) It was almost like being tipsy happy drunk.

This time I saw a potentially deadly, definitely dangerous, and unquestionably stressful obstacle course. My objective was only to get in and get out alive and in record time. Just another thing I had to survive.

Looking back I can almost pinpoint the exact moment of my disillusionment. I got a job at the mall straight out of the army. Security. Every day that I went to work my anxiety grew and my enchantment dissipated. Partially due no doubt, to the fact that WORK has to ruin every good thing ever. But this was the beginning of my new identity as a PTSD patient? survivor? nut? Lol.

It's sad. It's like the day when you truly stop believing in magic, miracles, and santa claus when you were a kid. You stopped looking for four leaf clovers, and you didn't make wishes on shooting stars anymore. Everything magical eventually becomes mundane. It's part of growing up.

Should I cling to the slender and fragile positive side that I did get SOME pleasure out of the experience, despite the fact that in retrospect it is nearly invisible, hidden behind so many bad feelings? Should I write off trips to the malls as something I will EVER enjoy again? Shrug it off as something I outgrew, and try to ignore the significance of this as the perfect example of what PTSD has been for me?

This is nearly a decade of PTSD. 7 years of non-stop therapy and medication. 7 years of losing one battle after another, and losing pieces of myself and my life to this disease.

I used to be a real person, and now I feel like a fragment of a reflection of a memory.

Writing in this blog has become like screaming into a black hole for me, utterly futile.

So here are a few things I've learned:

1. When people tell you they love you, you should run, because people cause the most destruction to those things they purport to care for.

2. Never trust ANYONE with the things that are the most important to you, because someone will find a way to ruin it.

3. If you think someone is different, you are wrong, because they are all the same.

4. The system is not set up to help you. It claims it is, but this is a comfortable lie to keep everyone from panic and or disorder. When you truly need help, you are truly alone.

5. Helping people is a waste of time. Granted you get a little buzz of self-satisfaction and some affirmation from it, but make sure you use a clean needle and wash your hands after.

Debts, revenge, and killing time

So stuff happened. The last year has been...erratic. Dumped and stranded in Wyoming, forced to admit myself into a mental hospital under threat of homelessness, made homeless....

So there is a thing called "learned helplessness". I have been forced into a lot of no-win situations recently. I am trying to convince myself that just because life has consistently kicked me in the teeth no matter what I do, that I shouldn't just give up and take it. So I made some changes. I separated myself forcibly from my family, because really, forcing me into a mental hospital and then kicking me out on the street are not behaviors exhibited by people who love and care for you. When I screamed out for help to other members of my family I was faced with apathy. So what? Who cares? So, no more family for me. Nada.

While I was in the looney bin, a couple of savings bonds I had mysteriously disappeared. Screw it. I hope $1500 worth of stolen bonds makes you happy, because obviously I never could.

"Debt to society"

What are the actual grounds for debts to me? At what point do people actually owe me something because they screwed up my life? Because I'm about ready to start filing lawsuits. Do I sue the VA? I am currently off all of my medications, because someone in the VA cancelled all of my prescriptions and I can't get them until I have an appointment, which I can't do for another 3 weeks. I was morbidly ill from withdrawal from my anti-depressants (they call it discontinuation syndrome, but it is withdrawal), withdrawal from my anxiety medication, a benzodiazapine (withdrawal from which can kill you), lithium toxicity and then withdrawal from it. Suing a government agency is pointless and probably won't lead to anything good. It takes armed revolt to change governments.

Trying to mentally list all the shit that friends and family members have done to me is making me feel a little crazy. Theft, fraud, neglect, abuse....etc. If I filed lawsuits against all of them....first of all I wouldn't get anything out of it financially, but it would be nice for someone to say "These people are wrong and you are right". Instead of financial compensation, maybe I could force them into mental hospitals for intensive behavior modification. I go way out of the way to help my family, and I have for my entire life, but when I need help, I get shit on. With extreme prejudice.

Ok, so I have cut out all these negative influences in my life. Now what? I have moved to a place where I don't know anyone and no one knows me. I have a fresh start and am drama free. Well. I'm agoraphobic so making friends isn't really possible. I can't work or go to school right now, or possibly ever because of my crippling disabilities. I have no support structure. Where is the line for people who are just waiting to die?

Find something that makes life worth living.....I'm not suicidal. Really. I know this post sounds really bad. I just don't know what to do. I'm 31 years old and am facing a lifetime of nothing to do. I could pull a Count of Monte Cristo and dedicate my life to some elaborate revenge plot. There are a lot of people who I could avenge myself against. I could spend the rest of my life partying, because you can kill a lot of time that way. It's not a particularly fulfilling way to spend your life, but screw it. I think I'll just party for a while because I don't have any better ideas. At least that way I'm not obsessing over all the really bad things that have happened.

Nobody panic

So my family packed me off to a mental hospital under threat of being kicked out of the house. Then they kicked me out anyway. I have spent the last few weeks living out of hotels, and I'm running out of money.

I'm supposed to go get my stuff and my cat in the next few days, but I'm scared to deal with their shit. I have exceeded my capacity to tolerate drama without possibly losing my shit. I'm in the midwest for now. I've gone mostly off the grid. I changed my cell number, deactivated my facebook, and have been avoiding any way my crazy family can track me.

Once I get myself out of this temporary financial crisis, I can start a life that I live for myself and stop trying to make myself fit into a mold that my family tries to force me into.

I just want to paint and write and not panicking every time someone dreams up some imaginary crisis that makes me crazy.

So I'm okay. Nobody needs to panic. If I don't get to panic nobody else gets to. Thanks for the concern though, because in the last few weeks I've only gotten rage from my blood relatives.

Displaced....

Whelp...PTSD has ruined the best relationship I've ever had. Not to say I don't hold some responsibility for what happened, but...

So I went to Wyoming to visit my family, and my boyfriend broke up with me via video chat (my cell phone didn't good service here). He's sending my stuff to me via movers. Since I'm not able to take care of myself right now, my only choice was staying with my dad, stepmom and two sisters. They live in a 2.5 bedroom trailer with only 1 bathroom. So I displaced my teenage sister from her room, and she is mad because I took down her posters.

As of this moment, I have a week's worth of clothes, an insufficient supply of meds, my teddy bear, and my guitar. Most of the rest of my stuff has to go into storage. I don't even have a place to put my clothes, because the .5 bedroom I'm using doesn't have a closet and my sister's dresser won't fit into my other sister's room. We're discussing moving into a bigger place, but it's the holidays....

I popped the E string on my guitar and gave myself a panic attack. Ridiculous.

I didn't choose to have PTSD, panic disorder with agoraphobia, nightmare disorder, chronic depressive disorder or the other assorted fucked upedness that I have, and these things have destabilized my life yet again.

I'm so fucking tired.

My sisters are so worried that they'll upset me that they hide in their room whenever I'm in one of the common areas. It makes me feel so fucking horrible that I can't even describe it. I'm 1000 miles away from the home I had last month, separated from my dog and my cats. I have almost nothing tangible of my own. My dad and mom are trying their best to make me feel better, and so I try to be positive when I can manage it and the rest of the time I'm just quiet.

They don't know how to deal with me. They love me and they try and I'm grateful, but I'm so lost most of the time that I don't know what to do.