I went to Looney Tunes today. I wasn't planning on it. I saw A's car there and I like talking with her. She's just as angry as me and intelligent. She is also "in touch" with her emotions. Well I mean by that that she isn't uncomfortable with them.
I went to far I fear. I told her exactly how I felt. All the self hatred and pain and desire to maim and kill came out in a horrifying stream of emotional talk. She just wanted me to change something and leave the situation that I'm in. And I known that that is what most people want for me. I am raw. I am an open walking wound.
Last week I went to the bank. I dress like a slob. Basically I just don't care. I was also sick and I wanted to be comfortable. My broken zipper on my fleece hoodie with the patches hung open and my Pajama shirt hung out. I had on a pair of sweatpants that still had paint from when I helped P out with the posters. My comfy slippers scuffed on the ugly laminate tile floor.
A person I knew from high school, Kelly "served" me. She implied that I was a hopeless slacker by saying that I must be just hanging around lately. I was bleary and I do not do comebacks so I replied, "If you say so." I wouldn't give that c^nt the time of day in public but the b!tch couldn't be ignored. Afterwards I played the coulda/woulda/shoulda game with my damaged psyche. The past of being constantly bullied throughout elementary, junior and senior high came down on me like a curse. My mind reeled with the years of being called names not just by the scum bags like her in school but by my own parents, family. "Lazy", I can't even list the crap that I endured for years.
The worst of it all is as I left I turned around, waved and said, "Happy Thanksgiving!" I am a mark and I felt it. Visions of slicing her fat neck open slammed me and my Mother's chattering annoyed me. I knew if I told my Mother she would say something stupid like: "That's in the past now." or "It couldn't have been all that bad." I couldn't stand thinking that I wanted to punch my Mother in the throat.
Still when we got in the car I told her, "That's one of the sh!theads who made my life hell." I figured she needed a face to go with the constant bullying. There are many. I dwelled on the years I actually lived here, under the radar carefully not showing my face in public. Shopping after 1 am in grocery stores to avoid the past and the people I feared hadn't changed an iota from childhood. Walking around town at 5 am to avoid faces and the possibility of recognition. This c^nt confirmed my fears.
Living in fear. Living it every day. The stalking that my husband committed against me for years was nothing compared to fearing that many people I used to know will catch sight of me. RD being my Mother's plumber must have sent the 411 out there that the loser was in town.
The reality is that these people are small minded sad little people. Taking pleasure in my pain, seeking to humiliate me to make themselves feel better. I know that although I am no celebutard or rich and famous whack job I am still in a better place than them. I always was and always will be. I don't set out to hurt people to gain pleasure from it. I don't enjoy seeing someone squirm under my questions. I am attempting to climb out of my hole, be honest with people and undo the damage that people like this have inflicted on a child who was an outsider. Lucky them. They can keep their company. These are not people I want to be associated with.
I wonder to myself do I have to conquer the fear or is it a survival technique. A way of shielding myself against people who have no empathy. Is it better to hide and limit myself so that I can strengthen my own identity and understand the damage that was done? Or should I go out and try to be as shitty as they?
I talked to A about it. I gave TMI. I made her cry; the tirade of self hatred and emotions was too raw and real. She understood it and it hurt. I felt ashamed that I let the monster go. I felt like an assh0le for letting my inner reality spill out onto her. I work hard not to share these things with people. People don't understand that I don't shoot a hole in my head because I have seen the effects of what happens to a human skull once a bullet has entered and exited it and the results of the human that survives this experience. My ex took a gun and blew a hole into his head. He still had a hole in the back of his head that they had to sew up but he let me feel the scar damage. He took massive drugs, was a bad junkie and died of AIDs later on. His life was a miserable hell that he tried to escape daily. People would tell him it was a miracle he survived. He had fake teeth, headaches, talked with a slur and looked kind of fucked up. It got worse the larger his bender got. He'd lose his teeth at people's houses. His glasses would get damaged. He'd have sex with anyone. His self identity was so damaged that he would talk of God then tell me I shouldn't be his girlfriend. He'd try to fuck with my head and he succeeded; I was young. I finally told him I didn't want to see him anymore. He was too much and I needed someone who wouldn't f^ck around on me and take drugs and lie to me.
I've had a boyfriend who was a transsexual. I should have known it and I suspected something when I met him. I think I am a hero and want to rescue men who are so out of control that their lives are hanging off the edge of reality. I want to help someone who needs the help I needed back then. The black lamb, the sacrificial flesh, the rejected, the down trodden all call to me. I have turned my back on that now. I am the lamb that needs to be saved. And it's hard to have hope, sympathy, love and tenderness for the person you hate the most.
This has been the hardest part for me. I don't know how to love me. I believe all the b^ll sh!t that was thrown at me over the years. That is what years and years of different people putting you down does: you believe all the sh!t that people tell you. If it was just one person it would be simple to understand that that person is a bullying scum bag. But years of multiple people joining in and throwing stones... I hold a hard core of hate and memory of all the people who did me wrong. My memory is far and wide and deep like the oceans. It looks glassy or disturbed on top but underneath cold currents of hate freeze my mind. Hot vents of passion burn my thoughts. I know who you are and I know if I put a knife to your neck I would slit your throat like a piece of meat.
To say that is sacrilege in psychology. You are a serial killer if you even breathe that you have feelings like these. The problem is that these feelings are not abnormal. The problem is that bullying is tolerated and even an expectation in society. It is a right of passage. You "become stronger" when you weather abuse like this from undisciplined and cruel children. People tell themselves that children that do these things are innocent and grow out of it. They don't. Where do bad bosses and abusive spouses come from. How are people who abuse the system made? This is something that is not dealt with when it should be. People don't know how to handle it and the people who instigate it mask it. It is part of the violent cycle of abuse, power, control and manipulation. And the sufferer comes out sick and warped, their self esteem damaged forever. There is no healing when the pain has continued on and on. And then again once the person comes back and the abusers start in again.
Standing up to Damaging Advice and Overcoming Trauma Directives By Darlene Ouimet
Here is a good blog entry that inspired me to write this. I'd also like to thank A for her patience in listening to the toxic core of my being today. I hope the pain she is suffering becomes something she can dispense with.
I went to far I fear. I told her exactly how I felt. All the self hatred and pain and desire to maim and kill came out in a horrifying stream of emotional talk. She just wanted me to change something and leave the situation that I'm in. And I known that that is what most people want for me. I am raw. I am an open walking wound.
Last week I went to the bank. I dress like a slob. Basically I just don't care. I was also sick and I wanted to be comfortable. My broken zipper on my fleece hoodie with the patches hung open and my Pajama shirt hung out. I had on a pair of sweatpants that still had paint from when I helped P out with the posters. My comfy slippers scuffed on the ugly laminate tile floor.
A person I knew from high school, Kelly "served" me. She implied that I was a hopeless slacker by saying that I must be just hanging around lately. I was bleary and I do not do comebacks so I replied, "If you say so." I wouldn't give that c^nt the time of day in public but the b!tch couldn't be ignored. Afterwards I played the coulda/woulda/shoulda game with my damaged psyche. The past of being constantly bullied throughout elementary, junior and senior high came down on me like a curse. My mind reeled with the years of being called names not just by the scum bags like her in school but by my own parents, family. "Lazy", I can't even list the crap that I endured for years.
The worst of it all is as I left I turned around, waved and said, "Happy Thanksgiving!" I am a mark and I felt it. Visions of slicing her fat neck open slammed me and my Mother's chattering annoyed me. I knew if I told my Mother she would say something stupid like: "That's in the past now." or "It couldn't have been all that bad." I couldn't stand thinking that I wanted to punch my Mother in the throat.
Still when we got in the car I told her, "That's one of the sh!theads who made my life hell." I figured she needed a face to go with the constant bullying. There are many. I dwelled on the years I actually lived here, under the radar carefully not showing my face in public. Shopping after 1 am in grocery stores to avoid the past and the people I feared hadn't changed an iota from childhood. Walking around town at 5 am to avoid faces and the possibility of recognition. This c^nt confirmed my fears.
Living in fear. Living it every day. The stalking that my husband committed against me for years was nothing compared to fearing that many people I used to know will catch sight of me. RD being my Mother's plumber must have sent the 411 out there that the loser was in town.
The reality is that these people are small minded sad little people. Taking pleasure in my pain, seeking to humiliate me to make themselves feel better. I know that although I am no celebutard or rich and famous whack job I am still in a better place than them. I always was and always will be. I don't set out to hurt people to gain pleasure from it. I don't enjoy seeing someone squirm under my questions. I am attempting to climb out of my hole, be honest with people and undo the damage that people like this have inflicted on a child who was an outsider. Lucky them. They can keep their company. These are not people I want to be associated with.
I wonder to myself do I have to conquer the fear or is it a survival technique. A way of shielding myself against people who have no empathy. Is it better to hide and limit myself so that I can strengthen my own identity and understand the damage that was done? Or should I go out and try to be as shitty as they?
I talked to A about it. I gave TMI. I made her cry; the tirade of self hatred and emotions was too raw and real. She understood it and it hurt. I felt ashamed that I let the monster go. I felt like an assh0le for letting my inner reality spill out onto her. I work hard not to share these things with people. People don't understand that I don't shoot a hole in my head because I have seen the effects of what happens to a human skull once a bullet has entered and exited it and the results of the human that survives this experience. My ex took a gun and blew a hole into his head. He still had a hole in the back of his head that they had to sew up but he let me feel the scar damage. He took massive drugs, was a bad junkie and died of AIDs later on. His life was a miserable hell that he tried to escape daily. People would tell him it was a miracle he survived. He had fake teeth, headaches, talked with a slur and looked kind of fucked up. It got worse the larger his bender got. He'd lose his teeth at people's houses. His glasses would get damaged. He'd have sex with anyone. His self identity was so damaged that he would talk of God then tell me I shouldn't be his girlfriend. He'd try to fuck with my head and he succeeded; I was young. I finally told him I didn't want to see him anymore. He was too much and I needed someone who wouldn't f^ck around on me and take drugs and lie to me.
I've had a boyfriend who was a transsexual. I should have known it and I suspected something when I met him. I think I am a hero and want to rescue men who are so out of control that their lives are hanging off the edge of reality. I want to help someone who needs the help I needed back then. The black lamb, the sacrificial flesh, the rejected, the down trodden all call to me. I have turned my back on that now. I am the lamb that needs to be saved. And it's hard to have hope, sympathy, love and tenderness for the person you hate the most.
This has been the hardest part for me. I don't know how to love me. I believe all the b^ll sh!t that was thrown at me over the years. That is what years and years of different people putting you down does: you believe all the sh!t that people tell you. If it was just one person it would be simple to understand that that person is a bullying scum bag. But years of multiple people joining in and throwing stones... I hold a hard core of hate and memory of all the people who did me wrong. My memory is far and wide and deep like the oceans. It looks glassy or disturbed on top but underneath cold currents of hate freeze my mind. Hot vents of passion burn my thoughts. I know who you are and I know if I put a knife to your neck I would slit your throat like a piece of meat.
To say that is sacrilege in psychology. You are a serial killer if you even breathe that you have feelings like these. The problem is that these feelings are not abnormal. The problem is that bullying is tolerated and even an expectation in society. It is a right of passage. You "become stronger" when you weather abuse like this from undisciplined and cruel children. People tell themselves that children that do these things are innocent and grow out of it. They don't. Where do bad bosses and abusive spouses come from. How are people who abuse the system made? This is something that is not dealt with when it should be. People don't know how to handle it and the people who instigate it mask it. It is part of the violent cycle of abuse, power, control and manipulation. And the sufferer comes out sick and warped, their self esteem damaged forever. There is no healing when the pain has continued on and on. And then again once the person comes back and the abusers start in again.
Standing up to Damaging Advice and Overcoming Trauma Directives By Darlene Ouimet
Here is a good blog entry that inspired me to write this. I'd also like to thank A for her patience in listening to the toxic core of my being today. I hope the pain she is suffering becomes something she can dispense with.
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