Mind you, Dig if you will, the speakers have been going severely UP and down in volume for three days now. Quite irritating for someone already on edge. That would be me. 🙂 I have just gotten up off of my knees trying to figure the thing out and it seems to be a fluky USB connector, loose is all, and when I send or receive anything through the computer, again with the volume surge. Argh. So, there’s that in the foreground, and background. But, hey, it’s Miles, so it could be much worse, right? Right.
Needless to say, when folks are traipsing to and fro to their apartments outside on the stairs next to the bedroom, or minding their own business in the apartment softly as can be (compared to La Chupacabra of yore, remember her?) back and forth, doing laundry and thus and so upstairs, I’m even more on edge at the slightest sound. I can’t help it. The PTSD, the physical pain, and a little thing called rage.
Yes, we discovered it in counseling today, oh yes we did all right. Just a little. See when I remembered disclosing to a former fifth grade teacher, all the nuts and bolts of abuse I had been going through, prepared to escape to her home for the night, and she listened for over an hour, it seemed, and cried with me, even, commiserated, and then said something like, Dear Sweetie honey we all must bear our share of heartache and misery in this life. Like, take it, bear it, forget it, go home with it honey because there’s not a damn thing I can do for you honey, I did just that. I rode my bicycle home, went to my room closed the door and that was that.
When the phone rang, and it was her and my mother came to the door, I wasn’t about to go and talk to her … and there’s more and more that we discussed in counseling and sixth and seventh and eighth grades are looping and jumping and we are going to try to pin them down on a timeline on Friday so they can’t move. So the gaps are less loopy and wobbly on me. Effing effing A.
And if you remember, the next day after I remembered that, was when, a week ago yesterday, was when I blacked out and fell. No wonder. No wonder I’ve been mad and on edge and I saw my counselor on Tuesday and then not again until today and have just been … throwing energy around and trying to keep a good face on and hurting.
So … now … I did write about 600 words this morning, that’s something right there. I may write some more in a bit. But I feel like I may destroy the painting with anger and not be delicate enough to do it justice this afternoon, hence, no image, just … musings.
Hope that’s okay. I am a bit too sad and angry to rest. So writing may be just the trick for me this afternoon, then a bit of Sleepytime Tea.
Because … if she hadn’t basically told me to stuff it … everything would have been different. Authorities could have been informed. Even Georgia authorities would have had to step in, being within the statute, because at that point I was clear about what I had just told her. But the moment she told me to stuff it, I did. I snapped back shut into not knowing again.
I can’t imagine, nor do I want to imagine what life would have been like if the authorities had stepped in. A different kind of hell. But what was happening was wrong. Wrong. What happened in my mind for all those decades of clinical depression and suicidal ideation and etcetera to over twenty personalities to now later was wrong. The wrong person suffered for the wrong that was done. I’m so ashamed and screwed up inside I can’t imagine the right people getting punished for the wrong they did. But that is what should have happened. That is right. But I can’t imagine it. But that is thus and so and it will never happen.
Because she told me to bear under the pressure and stuff it. I still love her in some weird way, because she was my teacher, in the same weird way I love a lot of people who’ve done me way wrong over time. But I will never forgive her. I accept her because I cannot ever change what she did. But what she did irrevocably effed up my life.
It’s up to me to change my life and I am doing it every moment.
The Front Porch is coming along, mind you. I’m safe now. I’m in somewhat less pain today, as the crick in the right side of my neck is gone, just the whiplash on the left side remains, and that will eventually subside. All that yoga I did yesterday helped my back and it’s about medium high painful, not screaming painful like yesterday. So. Progress.
I didn’t have any nightmares last night, whereas the night before I had like two or three and called out in my sleep. So, that’s another reason for less pain today.
It’s a rainy cold day and I’m wearing all grays to coincide, or I was, ’til I switched up cream pajama pants and gray socks for the black (! must coordinate!) with the sparkly cream slippers that cheer me so. I was going to wear something completely different today but it will have to wait for Friday now. See, I kind of dress up on “go out” days, depending on the activity. Yesterday was all about yoga wear and that’s why I was able to do yoga almost all day. Good idea.
I’m a bit cheered now that I’ve mused a bit and made to this side of the … section of the blog don’t you know. Still, rock hard sadness. So much I can’t say. Why I feel like I have to protect the people who did me wrong but I do. What I wanted to say was this one abuser in 6-8th grade was also mixed up and confused about right and wrong and mixed me up about it, too. Like from one time to the next and even within one time of abuse to the next. So that I half knew and half didn’t that is was wrong. Effed up. So much I want to say about it I can’t even now. So I’ll just effing stop.
So I’m going to write on The Front Porch now and completely get into a different zone for a while and then give myself lots of TLC and then call it another day. I’ve earned it. Thank you again for listening. I sure appreciate it. You’ve earned a pat on the back for today and for sure a good hug, friend. 🙂