grieving a house?

i have been crying on and off the past 2 days. so confused.
last week we found our dream house- seriously, a house i would want to spend many years in. we paid our security deposit and were SO happy- i had already started envisioning what different rooms would be for, and where furniture would go. . . then sunday i got an email from the future landlord saying she couldn't rent to us because our references didn't check out. i called her and was like WHAT? the only references were my boss and our landlord. both said they had given us a great reference. well it turns out my landlord was lying. he said we live like pigs, that we are lazy and can't take care of the house, and that we pay the rent late. NONE of which is true- he has never complained about us at all in the 2 years we have lived there. fuck him, hes a two faced piece of shit- but i'm just so deeply sad about losing that house. and i'm afraid whereever we try to go, he will never give us a good reference.
vic and i called him on his shit today. he was super passive aggressive- first tried to deny it all, then flipped out and said that we were asking to have our house robbed and spent so much time whining about it to him- he said some horrible things. basically every time i asked him, why didn't you just say something to us if you had a problem with something? he was silent. he was not apologetic whatsoever and refused to take blame for us losing the new place. he said he would give us a decent reference and that he would let us move by May 1st. i dont know if he really will give us a decent reference. . . i just want to get out of here. vic even asked him, why didnt you bring up any of these issues about our supposed lack of cleanliness when you renewed our lease? why didnt' you just be honest? he was literally silent.
i just feel sick to my stomach. it has been so long since i met someone i think is genuinely a truly awful person at heart- i feel like i was robbed of something i desperately wanted. . .and that is where the suffering comes in, from the attachment to earthly things. i have so much left to learn. i know the answers to some things, but don't know how to live them.
i think another thing that just makes me sick is that 7 or 8 years ago, probably everything he said was true. i lived in terrible places and saw terrible things and probably essentially did "live like a pig." which is a retarded expression. and to know that i have turned my entire life around, and been stable for so many years- to have totally false shit thrown in my face hurts. and to know it cost me a beautiful home that i KNOW we would have been so happy in. .. makes me want to throw him through a window or something.
i hate feeling so angry. . .


4 weeks!

its been 4 weeks since my surgery. it has definitely been rough. this is a major surgery that is taking a long time to recover from- i dont think i quite realized what it would be like afterwards. some days i think that i am back to normal, so i push myself to do my normal level of activity- and then i pay for it later with swelling and soreness.
the first week was an emotional roller coaster, coming off the general anesthesia and just being totally taxed by the painkillers/antibiotics. 2nd week i went back to work part time. it was really draining. week 3 was pretty good- i am back at work almost full time, and feeling much sharper. so we will see how this week goes!
week 1 was incredibly stressful for a couple of reasons. our landlord is a dick and never responds to anything, so our heater had been out for like 3 days, no response. he kept putting it off, putting it off, and it was wednesday of week 1 with no heat. so i pretty much flipped out and cried hysterically, and straight away developed a fever. that was a good indication to me to chill the fuck out. 2 days later, i found out that my former co worker/current classmate had told other classmates about the nature of this surgery. ok . . . i had no interest in my classmates knowing ANYTHING about this. the majority of my classmates are a bunch of weirdos who make me fear for the social work profession- with the exception a few really cool women. but anyway, i was furious at her lack of common sense and basic ridiculousness. i dont think most people can understand what a life changing experience this is, and while i am happy to talk about it, its also very private- and i dont want OTHER people sharing my personal business. this person is not even my friend. . .ugh. so i called her on her shit in an email and she pretty much wiled out on me. she told me that i had "violated" her by telling her how it is. . . my fever shot up again that day.
another thing that was difficult was the lack of support i got from my friends. anna texted every day and my coworkers made me care package- kwals even sent cookies. my sister brought me magazines and treats and spent a day with me. but the majority of people who i think are my friends didn't call, text, or email at all that first week. after a surgery, the patient feels SO vulnerable and out of sorts. if someone you know has a surgery, contact them right away!! sent a text or a card. . .just so they know you care. your body has been literally opened up and put back together, you are emotionally a mess- all you crave is comfort.
luckily enough, i have SUCH an amazing husband. this experience has brought us even closer together- he has taken such amazing care of me, and met my every need. i genuinely feel the partnership of marriage- it is a beautiful thing. and its a really wonderful experience to be married to your best friend. so despite any loneliness or hurt i felt, i am not alone. . .
now im gonna watch some lifetime movies and chill!



i am having my breast reduction in exactly 2 weeks!! i am really freakin excited, but nervous as hell. i have a horrible fear of general anesthesia and just never waking up. im not that worried about the actual recovery, though it will suck. . i am just going to be so relieved!! i feel like i am making huge steps to having a less pain-filled existence. i have been having prolotherapy shots done in my back for the past couple of months which has greatly decreased my chronic back pain. and im hoping chopping the boobies off will continue to decrease the pain. i already feel a difference in my capabilities, just from having less pain. tomorrow i have my preop visit!!



stress definitely exacerbates my MH symptomsl, and my ability to cope. i am just aching all over and incredibly uncomfortable in my skin right now. school is SO hard, work is so tiring- i love this field but not sure if its the right one for me. or rather, how long will i survive this field?? im looking forward to valentines weekend with my husband, who puts up with my endless agonies and laments, and loves me nonetheless. when i think of that i feel profound love but also a great deal of regret for what he has to deal with. i will NEVER EVER pass this shit on to a child!!! hell fucking no. ive been dealing witht this now for 15 years and im so sick of it. meds, therapy, they all help- but i just want to be better. so badly.


PTSD. punk rock remembrances

You and me

“Now here I go,
Hope I don't break down,
I won't take anything, I don't need anything,
Don't want to exist, I can't persist,
Please stop before I do it again,
Just talk about nothing, let's talk about nothing,
Let's talk about no one, please talk about no one, someone, anyone

You and me have a disease,
You affect me, you infect me,
I'm afflicted, you're addicted,
You and me, you and me

I'm on the edge,
Get against the wall,
I'm so distracted,
I love to strike you,
Here's my confession,
You learned your lesson,
Stop me before I do it again

You're clear - as a heavy lead curtain want to drill you - like an ocean,
We can work it out, I've been running out, now I'm running out

Don't be mad about it baby,
You and me, you and me,
I want to tie you, crucify you,
Kneel before you, revile your body,
You and me, we're made in heaven,
I want to take you, I want to break you,
Supplicate you, with thorny roses,
I want to bathe you in holy water I want to kill you,
Upon the altar, you and me, you and me”
- bad religion

DC and I live in a dollhouse framed by a garden of beer cans and weeds. We’ve lived here for almost a year. The last place we lived in was so infested . . .

Roaches used to crawl over me at night in my bed, so I didn’t sleep much. I couldn’t take it anymore. We found our dollhouse, and made plans to leave.

That last night, we came home and flicked the kitchen light on. roaches fucking POURED out of the outlets and cracks. I stood frozen, watching them as my heart pounded so loudly. We hurriedly finished packing, and left at midnight with our shit and our dogs.

Keys had died a few days before of an overdose, and after his funeral DC got jumped by drug dealers he owed money to. I screamed as they put a hole in his face and stared at his blood on the Burger King sidewalk.

The only problems we have at this place are of our own invention.

Our house is filled with piss and shit, and memories of wounded dogs slinking along the bloodstained walls. Broken glass lies on the dirty carpet like snowflakes. Music is always blaring, and it sounds so far away to me. It means nothing to me. DC’s band practices here sometimes and he screams along with the three chord guitar mess. I imagine him becoming the next henry Rollins. My pit bull lays next to the amp and taps her tail. DC’s dog lives in the basement, where she cries until he decides to give her some semblance of care.

I cried every day the first 6 months here. Now I just go blank.

We have left our damaged imprint here.

We only have 1 neighbor, Mr. R. I barely ever see him, but I hear him welding things in his workshop every day. I wish he would talk to me.

I wonder if he ever hears me screaming.

I know he heard us once. That morning I ran out the door in my pajamas, clutching a handful of meds. DC chased me and threw me on the ground. I stumbled and hit my head on the front stoop as I fell. My fist opened and the little blue pills spilled out, mixing with dirt and gravel. i could feel every tiny pebble under my pajamas. DC yelled at me to get up and get in the house. I started to go blank. But I looked up, and everything was blue.

It had been so long since I had simply looked up.

It was painful to see what I had been missing.

I glimpsed Mr. R watching us, just for second. Then he left me, again.

I should have shoved the pills in my mouth like salvation.


DC has been locked in the bathroom for the past hour. He went in with a piece of broken mirror and his needle, and hasn’t made a sound for a while. I pound on the door and beg him to let me in. my heart is thumping in my chest, and I don’t know what to do. I feel this way most of the time, that ache in my throat and the sinking in my stomach. Sometimes in passing I contemplate if I have an ulcer.

I pick up my phone and tentatively dial 911. I know he’ll kill me if I hit dial. I press the phone to my stomach and will an imaginary person on the other end of the line to save him, to save me. I haven’t gone blank yet.

The door flies open and DC storms out, pushing me out of the way. he screams at me to fuck off. I follow him like a beaten down dog, and tell him I’m sorry. He shoves me into a wall. He tells me

“you are the reason I want to die.”

He holds his arms out to me, as if he wants to hold me, and starts laughing.

He has carved “HATE” into his arms, the jagged letters still bleeding. I taste puke in my mouth. He stares at me until I look down, shamefully. He’s still laughing as he turns and walks back into the bathroom. blood drips into the sink as he starts to brush his teeth.

I sit on the couch and shake. I could leave right now. I could run out the door to the welders workshop, and ask Mr.R to help me. He might wrap me in a blanket and carry me to his car. He might take me to the hospital, where I can sleep. They will station a police man outside my door, and I will never see DC again.

I could run out the door to the welders workshop, and Mr. R might take my crooked spine and weld it to his front gate as a warning, or a prize.

I know there is no one that hears me; I go blank.


I remember the shards of glass in the corner from last week when DC threw a picture frame at me, and missed. I’ve left them in the corner, carefully covered with a torn sheet. The frame used to hold a picture of my sister and me. He set it on fire in the trash can. The dogs and I cried together for a few minutes, and then I went blank. I go blank every time he fucks me. Some people might call it rape. I probably would too, if it wasn’t me.

I take a piece of glass and cut my thighs, two times on each.

The last time I cut was my first year of college, in the bedroom of the boy I was in love with. He and his friends had just snorted lines of oxycontin off his math book. I lounged in his bed and watched adoringly. He talked to me for hours, his words rambling and beautiful. I told him how I used to cut myself so deeply that I would bleed for hours. I told him how in the Georgia summers I was the only girl wearing a long sleeved shirt. I had to, to hide my cuts. i would feel the fabric rubbing against the raised lines etched in my skin, itchy and raw. It hurt so much.

He asked me if I still was a cutter. I told him no. but I had to show off and I grabbed the razor off his desk. I made 2 small cuts on my wrist and looked at him for approval, or love, or something. He smirked at me and rolled over to sleep. I could see the boredom etched in his skin, in the lovely curve of his back.

I hear him coming out of the bathroom and I pull my tee shirt down to my knees. He looks at me. and he knows. He asks if I cut myself. I tell him no and pray he believes me. He shakes his head in disbelief. Then a smile crosses over his face, a genuine one. “I’m sorry. Let’s get some lunch. You want to get some pizza baby?” I nod carefully. I’m hungry, I know we have a few dollars, I know my forgiveness keeps our spines intertwined.

15 minutes later we are laughing at the pizza joint down the street, eating cheesy sausage slices. We stuff our faces and drink our pop and walk home, holding hands blissfully. We stroll down lorigan street as the sun sets and we disappear into our nothing, the weeds parting to welcome us back to our sanctuary.

This is me, this is my love, this is all I know. We are all we have. We will do anything to get rid of our emptiness. We fill our mouths with poison and spit it at each other. I think I hate him, and I sleep on top of him at night on a twin mattress.

Eat. Sleep. Fight. Fuck.

I live for those brief moments in between the binge eating the nightmarish sleep the endless fighting the cold fucking.

The in between- those moments when I hurt but it’s real, and it’s mine.

Sometimes I even see the sky.


day 6 of cymbalta withdrawal.

im having non stop brain zaps. i am crying all the time. i suddenly thought about the fact that i bought flowers for my friends funeral over a year ago, and that realization made me start crying even more. just called my nurse and told her i was having withdrawal symptoms- and she said i dont know if its withdrawal, but just going back to baseline.
well whatever the fuck you call it, i'm having it! fuck you!


kill me

cymbalta withdrawal

emotional wreck
brain zaps