Home sweet

Home. Is a word that raises many feelings, few of them pleasant. But here i am.

Ive “done my time” at the crisis house. Im still alive obviously. Dont really kniw what to do with myself. I am anxious AF. I dint want to take the quetiapine as its makes me really drousy the following day which i hate especially when i have stuff to do. Which i do.

If i dont take it i hsve a better chance of doing something productive within the house, including dealing with a bunch of emails demanding money because of the change of bank card. One company in particular, named for the things we see the stars in, have been really threatening right off the bat. Just wow. And i havent made any progress in dealing with the bullshit that followed me back from Egypt.

If i do take it, I wont care much about any if that stuff. I won’t be very functional and little will get done, but i likeky wont care.

Putting that stuff aside. Thank you for the messages of support, they’re all very touching and mean a lot. Sorry i haven’t responded to most of you, its been too much for me to deal with. I aim to do so as soin as i can. But for now please know that I hear you and am very grateful.

Same shit

Now that I’ve had an angry rant and, with the help of chemicals, had a bit of sleep. I am back to tired, miserable and pissed off that I ever woke up.

I’d go back to bed but I’m terrified of sleep. I’d lay down on the sofa but am (always) too high alert to nap in the presence of strangers.
I have been thinking about leaving here a day early, feeling like I’ve got all I can from it but, but… is that me wanting to run away and re bury stuff? Is it because I’m really fucking tired and want to hide in my own bed and binge watch some shite? Is that because I simply don’t believe I deserve any help, or happiness, and therefore must prove it by leaving?

I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, yet I fight it stubbornly. Too tired to make a decision, too tired to think clearly. And too stubborn to give in to sleep.

I really don’t know what to do with myself. I’m back in that horrible familiar rutt, faced with going back home to a place that is very unsafe and full of negativity. Thinking about it makes my chest hurt.
This is the first Christmas in several years that I’ve felt upset by the concept. Long story short, I HATED Christmas, made peace with it, developed apathy for it and just did my own thing without the pressure of this bullshit nonsense that Xmas traditionally is.
Originally I had planned to spend Christmas day with a friend, go for a walk maybe have a picnic, sit by their fire and have a chill day. But their plans changed, and I support their choice 120% so was kinda floating undecided as to what to do but not so bothered. I get out of here the day before Xmas eve so could just go home and do something nice for the house.
I’d also planned to go visit a family member on boxing day, they’ve also changed their plans and will no longer be around. This feels like a huge betrayal, one change I can manage especially as I still had the other one in place. But now they’re both gone and I feel abandoned. I don’t want to have a depressed angry Christmas alone but it’s looking that way.
I had considered looking for an alternative for Xmas day, though any option is likely to be draining and potentially too chaotic for my current state of mind. Which brings my options back down to being alone when I need company and support. Much like every other fucking day of the year only with the constant reminder that I’m failing and doing Christmas wrong, according to society and commercialism.

And I’m back to feeling miserable, tired and utterly fucking stupid.

This place has done what it says on the tin. A short term respite at a moment of crisis, tomorrow I go back to how things were. Fucking shit.

The posibility of trauma therapy has been suggested, it’s come up before but there was no way I was going to do 2 intense therapies concurrently and I had hope it would be a lot longer between hardcore therapies. But life has other ideas and the assault on holiday has unlocked things that can not be re-buried.

Do I even have the spoons to cope with it? By its very nature it would be traumatic. I can’t go through that again in my shitty home environment. I can’t move out without a hell of a lot of help to clear out 20 years of hoarding. I can’t do anything productive in that place.
I have trapped myself. And I’m fucking angry at myself for something that was caused by the way I was raised.
I did this to myself, I can’t fix it alone. I made a trap.

I can’t do this any more. And the only way out alive is to wade through the shit.

Insert gif of Tennant Doctor crying in the rain.

Things I hate

Warning; This post is made without apologies. CW anger, suicide

People that say “life is what you make it” while this has truth to it, it’s almost always said from a position of privilege with little to no understanding of what it’s like to suffer and live every moment of your life in fear.

Ignorance. Especially in people who are supposedly trained to help those in need. It can and does cause a tremendous amount of damage, it almost cost me my pitiful life more than once.

Abuse. It fucked up my life. It killed my brother. And it’s doing the same to thousands upon thousands of people, primarily women, poc, trans & non binary and queer. Being a combination of any of those things massively increases ones chances of being pushed into the lower social stratas, losing basic rights and autonomy, experiencing mental health issues and prejudice, almost constant agressions and even dying in violent circumstances.

Being told that I have so much to live for. Just fuck off. You don’t know what I’ve experienced, you can’t feel the pain and fear that follows me everywhere I go. You are not in my head. And if you were you’d probably have a breakdown because you don’t have the experience or skills to cope.

You. All of you that say I have to stay alive for them or for my family yadda yadda blah. Why?? Why do I have to? I’m not anyone’s carer, I have no dependants beyond myself and my plants. Every one I know has support and families and networks of their own, it’s not like anyone NEEDS me to be alive. Surely I’ve done my part, I’ve done everything I could to care for and protect my siblings. I was fucking rubbish at it but I tried. I’m a terrible pet mother, and would make a terrible human mother. I can’t even look after myself. FFS I’m in a crisis house for the suicidal and still trying to get back that tiny seed of motivation for ME as a reason to keep going.
But, as always, life comes and kicks me down. IT NEVER STOPS. And I am tired. I can’t do this any more, I can not tolerate any more of this fucking shit. But I have because I don’t want to hurt my sister, and it’s expected that that should be enough reason for me. But it’s not, it’s not for me it for her, it’s for all the people that say they don’t want me to die.
What about me? What about what I want? What I can cope with, the stuff I have to manage every day of my shitty good for nothing life. Why do I have to suffer every day because you don’t want me to die?

So, fuck you. I just want it to stop now. It’s been too long in hell. Why can’t I rest now?

Accepting reality. Is difficult

CW: Abuse, sexual and emotional. Suicide

During my assessment for this place I was advised to keep some sort of journal during my stay, particularly as my memory is patchy and it’s a short but potentially intense stay.
And that makes sense. Maybe I can make some sense of the chaos in my head. Start processing the things I’ve kept buried for 30+ years.
Things that I tried to talk about 25 years ago and was shut down, because, rape culture. And misogyny. And minimising anything not being spoken by a (apparently) heterosexual, clean living, middle class, white, male.

I’ve carried the guilt and fear and anger with me since I was just 7 years old. Because my mother’s boyfriend(s) didn’t force their penis into me it doesn’t count according to rape culture. Never mind the horrendous psychological damage done to me by enduring my mother watching as her boyfriend grabbed and groped at me. Or another one managing to get me alone, in his house, overnight. And literally not letting go of me while he pressed himself against me and rubbed up and down. Who fell asleep with his arms wrapped tight around me and I lay trapped all night only to have him in the morning (which I thought would never come) nuzzling my neck and wipering how he could never find someone else like me.
I was 9 years old.
Whilst all this was happening she would make me terrified of my uncles and was despirate for me to be raped, so that she could make a scene and get sympathy and attention. One day I came home from primary school upset, I’d had a run in with the deputy head. When I said he was who had upset me her first question was Not “what happened?” Or even “are you okay?” it was “did he touch you inappropriately?” said with a touch of excitement as though finally it had happened, something she could get attention for. Not One Shit given about me, how I felt or what had actually happened. When I answered the insane question with no she lost interest and pretty much left me to cry it out on my own.

But she would keep bringing pedophiles into the house. She’d marry one eventually, willfully ignoring my warnings after he had groped me repeatedly, and the warnings of others who knew his history. So he moved in, and moved on me and my much younger sister. Only once they’d had children of their own and he’d started abusing his baby daughter did she do anything about it. And of course, she could demand all the attention and sympathy because poor her, having to deal with the horrible shock of suddenly discovering that she’d married a nonce. Of course that’s the story she encouraged, not the version where she knew all along.

The one where her children were being horribly abused and manipulated by her chosen partner. Or the one where shes the monster that put us into dangerous situations, and definitely not the version where she was responsible for horrific acts of violence against defenseless children under her “care”

The is also ALL the times where someone did force their penis into me, but they dont count in rape culture becsuse it was my boyfriend and No means yes, or I was asking for it, or Id worn a short skirt, or theyd done me a favour so i owed them. As though they had a right to MY body. But none of thise count as rape, so everybody kept saying. And so i kept internalising all the pain and disgust and violence and disrespect, rarely speaking up as it must have been me somehow. The problem was me, the responsibility mine.

But these things were real. And they messed me up. Id convinced myself never to speak about them because I hadn’t been agressivly raped at knife point by a stranger (note the differentiation of stranger vs boyfriend) then it wasnt worth mentioning. Because thats the ONLY “real” type of rape. Thats all that counts and even thats not treated seriously except in a few cases.

One of the many people spoke to today tried to get me to link emotionally to my achievements, some of which are extraordinary. And I can see what ive done but they feel like fantasy, they feel unreal. Standing up for myself and, hopefully a lot of other people, and getting my attacker sent to prison. AND not giving in to the harassment despite it making me suicidal. Thats a big thing. Yet i feel nothing but rage.

Anyway, ive rambled on.

Im angry, and fed up. I want to die because i am fucking tired of being the responsible one, of being the one who carries all the nonsense and gets shit thrown at them constantly. IM TIRED. Ive done my part and more. Its not fair that i have to keep suffering in jntense pain and fear.

Just let me go.

…like a bad smell.

I genuinely intended to post sooner, with some of the good stuff from Egypt. After a day to recover from travel and starting to sort laundry etc, I went out to do some shopping after attending a hospital appointment. Which was a long appointment so I stopped for some lunch before food shopping.
Kinda wiped from the hospital, but feeling alright! Opened my phone and checked emails … that fucking arsehole from Egypt HAS MY EMAIL ADDRESS and is asking me to free him. He “has children to look after” and some other bullshit. NO apology, NO concern whatsoever about what he did NOT even a hint of remorse. Just an attempted guilt trip to tell me to free him.

Aside from the outrageous self serving content. HOW THE FUCK DID HE GET MY EMAIL ADDRESS???? What other information does he have? Who the FUCK gave him my personal information???
This fucking ruined my day am sent me into a suicidal spin.
A great friend happened to phone me just after I read that and looked after me for several days. Helping me to find some support and reminding me of some of the things available. And they did so calmly and gently. Though they did give too much of themself, but they were happy to be helpful.

My fears were confirmed when I started receiving calls and messages from other people regarding the incident with the boat. And back under the duvet I went.

I am now in a crisis house, a short term respite home for suicidal people. It’s my first night, I feel awful, have taken all the medication which is kicking in so must crack on before I fall asleep.

Hopefully it’ll be a restful night…..