My weight has slipped back down to just under 115 pounds, rather than just over. I don’t know if it’s cuz of stress, having less sugar, or both.

Somebody tried calling who was out of the area just after 9:00, but they didn’t leave a message.

Again, God’s the last one I wanted to go crying to for help dealing with all the stress that’s on me, and as belittling as it was, I had to try, even if it was a one-in-a-million chance that he’d help me through this in any way. I had to at least try. I begged that he not let them make any unreasonable or impossible demands of me and to please not let them make me work or go to school. The only way I could do that would be to leave my home and my husband, yet Tom swears they cannot split us up, nor can they make us move. I don’t know about that anymore. I’m beginning to wonder if the courts aren’t God himself. With the way the laws have gotten so strict and so damn ridiculous, I think they could order me to stand on my head all day if they wanted to. I mean, really! Next thing I know, it’ll be a class 1 felony to wear purple T-shirt dresses, and I won’t know it till it’s too late and I find out the hard way.

I feel like God or something up there is trying to force me back with people. I don’t want to be with people on a regular basis! That’s why we moved here; to get away from people. Yet I still feel like whatever’s up there is saying, as it has with just about all the things I choose, no, you can’t do that. I want you back in the city and with people. It’s like the more I try to avoid something in particular, the more I’m forced to endure it.

They’ve already hyped this thing up and blown this case way, way out of proportion. So, if they want to act like I committed a violent offense and make me pay the outrageous probation fee, fine, but enough is enough already! I’ll be damned if I’ll allow them to change my whole life and even my body over this! They’re gonna have to meet me halfway and do their part in cooperating as well! The less cooperation I get from them, the less they’ll get from me. If they want me to work, fine, but they’re gonna have to set me up with a home job. It’s as simple as that. I’ve thought about it and have decided that if they ask the impossible of me, I just won’t do it. Period. It’s my life/body and I’m sick of people telling me what to do with it. Especially in so many extremely unfair, unreasonable, and now maybe even impossible ways.

Although Tom says I don’t have to worry or prove anything to the courts, I fear them calling me a liar and being even harsher on me for guessing wrong how much Tom takes home monthly. I guessed he took home $1400 a month when in fact he really takes home $1700 a month. Well, as I told them, Tom’s perfectly willing to provide them with any documents they may need, but would they buy it if I told them I was mistaken, should they bring that up again, or will they call me a liar? Well, they can call me what they want and they can order me not to send any mail like that again, but they cannot take charge of my life and body as if they own it. I’m nobody’s slave. Not even those who don black robes.

Later…

I told Tom that I’m sorry for not believing him all these years about you know what. I’m glad someone, somewhere, showed me the documentation on it. I just wish they’d done it sooner! However, I pointed out to him that I may have been wrong about him doing it on purpose, but I wasn’t wrong about saying it wouldn’t just “go away.” So no, not talking about it won’t “fix it.” It’ll just make it easier for him to ignore it, but here’s the good news - I’d be thrilled for us to ignore it for a good long time. The last thing I want in this sick, crazy, unfair world is to drag a kid into it and in the middle of life’s misery (aside from taking on responsibilities I couldn’t handle). At least right, now and probably for quite a while, this is how I feel. Right now, I don’t think I’ll even want to deal with it, nor my bed problems (my low drive), till way in the future, like when I’m around 40, if ever at all, but we’ll see. Let’s just say that this year and the next are definitely out of the question. He’s very welcome to not cum and not seek help for it for a good long time to come, or maybe even forever.

I forgot to mention that Don said he doubts the black bitch will be there. Bullfuckingshit she won’t be! If she has a right to be there, and I don’t see why she wouldn’t, she’ll be there. She wouldn’t miss it for the world. I just hope this will be the last time I have to be degraded into seeing that sick face! Haven’t I been victimized enough by her and her equally sick associates? So victimized and the courts don’t even know it. Nor do they even know or see this bitch’s true colors. I don’t think they ever wanted to, either.

What Ratsy did earlier was both sweet and sad. The poor thing can barely raise his head now and he’s lost more weight and fur. I don’t think he’s even eating much anymore. He tried pulling himself up out of his door, which I helped him to do since he’s so weak. He sat with me and let me pat him and although it was sweet, it was sad. It’s as if he knows he doesn’t have much time left and so he wants all the love and attention he can get. I’m pretty sure he’ll be gone by the middle of next month.

Helen’s one of those few who like me, isn’t afraid of rats. She said her son had a rat that she got attached to, and it was over two and under three when it died. That’s how old Ratsy is.

I’ve been making “preparations,” so to speak, just in case they do decide to throw me away in jail. For example, I moved the bigger dolls that were on top of the entertainment center that’s in my office so that Tom could use my stereo without worrying about shaking things around and knocking the dolls off if he wanted to use it.

It’s raining out now. Hope no thunder wakes me this weekend. I’ve been waking up every hour as it is just because of all this freeloader stress. Same fucking shit, even worse, than when I had her sitting on my shoulder – the fucking mother-fucking bitch! God, I hope what goes around really does come around! I hope that somehow, somewhere, someday, someone will give this bitch and her partners a taste of their own medicine, but you know what? I doubt it. I seriously doubt it. I don’t believe what comes around goes around for everyone. For some, including myself, but not for all. All I know is I made something very angry up there for rebelling against its “freeloader treatment” it felt I deserved by moving, then by speaking my mind about it.

Anyway, I also left Tom instructions for the best and easiest way to care for the animals, not that he’s this stupid idiot or anything. I asked that he bury Ratsy by Scuttles, cuz if they do toss me away, he’ll most definitely be gone when and if I ever made it out of there. Personally, I think I’d just curl up and die. I’d want to die if I committed some horrible crime and deserved what I got, but to go to jail for this? For this?!?! You bet I’d want to keel over and go belly up. In fact, I wouldn’t mind it right about now. If I was doomed to die at this very moment, as long as it wasn’t going to be a long, drawn-out painful ordeal, I’m ready to go. I’m ready to leave this fucked, unfair world. Just say the word, God, and I won’t rebel or fight you on that one!

I wish I had more guts than I do, cuz then I could hang myself. It isn’t just lack of bravery, though, that’s kept me from doing that up till now - it’s Tom. I live for him, but I wonder just how far I can be pushed before even his pleading for me to live just isn’t enough.

Later…

Here I was thinking that Ratsy wouldn’t make it to the middle of next month. Well, he won’t even make it to the first of it, cuz I just found him dead. I’m too sad now to write anymore.