My parents just had to penetrate my dreams last night. Ok, can I please go a month – just one month – without reminders of anyone who ever said mean, evil things to me? Who laid a hand on me? Who allowed others to verbally, emotionally and even physically abuse me? Who threw me away in a time of need instead of offering support and being there for me? Every shitty relative, every shitty ex, every shitty fuck buddy, every shitty ex-friend, every shitty ex-neighbor and well, every shitty everything.

At least they are only in dreams and not reality, though there are a few scattered positive memories, however few and far between they may be. Like the time dad drove up from Florida to visit when I was still living in the northeast, and I was telling him about my voice lessons as we got into his car. Before he put the key into the ignition, he put it in front of his face and went “Aaaahhhhh… See, I’m singing on key.”

That one was funny. I’ll give him that much. But still, he allowed for so much grief in my life and I believe that biology should never be a ticket to being excused from such behavior. I wouldn’t tolerate, worship, respect or care about someone treating me poorly who wasn’t related to me, and I never saw why I should make exceptions for those who are.

Nonetheless, I was living with my parents in the dream and attending some school while working as well. I woke up to find it was after 10am and realized I’d missed class and some work. My parents were out and I knew they would be all day. I figured they’d never know as long as I didn’t mention it.

Then I took a shower and greeted my dad in the kitchen at the end of the day as he was rummaging through the refrigerator, and decided to tell him I was “bad” for oversleeping. In a hushed tone, I told him I hadn’t told mom. He just kinda went, “M-hm,” in acknowledgment.

Now can we please stop the parent reminders till at least the fall?

The dreams turned funny when my dear sis, who’s always there for me when the levothyroxine becomes evilthyroxine, even if there’s nothing she can do about it but listen to me whine, wanted to break into the house down the street.

We were living in the house I grew up in and we’d both been drinking every day. Not something either of us would do. That wine that went to hell yesterday would’ve been my first taste of alcohol since our Maui vacation 3.5 years ago. But we drank like fish in the dream and ran out one day. UPS was to deliver a huge case of wine for us that day. She came to my room and said she ran out and asked if I had any to hold her over till the delivery.

I said, “You’ve really gotten to like that stuff, huh? I like it, too.” But when I double-checked my closet floor, I found that I was out of wine as well.

Then she told me she wanted to break into the house down the street, pawn some valuables to buy wine till UPS arrived, then buy back their stuff and replace it before they could discover it was missing.

LOL

Back on with my busy weekend!

Later…

We went to Walmart for a few things, and one of the things I got was a purple furry round saucer chair in which my small infant boy doll fits perfectly.

Tammy and others have suggested that some of my anxiety could also be due to my thyroid. But then why didn’t I have anxiety to this degree before it was treated? I still think the main culprit is the meds. It better be. If skipping once a week doesn’t help then what will? After trying so many things just to be plagued with this shit on and off for three years, I’m afraid to get my hopes up. I said to Tom a while back, “Watch, as soon as you retire this will go away.”

But it’s been going on for three years and there’s no reason to assume it will be gone in six. Like I said, I’m very hesitant to get my hopes up. The meds make perfect sense, but even the most sensible solutions can turn out to be worthless.

I’ve been doing a lot of comparing lately between my old life and my current one, even though it’s probably not helping me to do so. But I think of different rough patches in my life that I’ve gone through and how they seem so much easier in many ways than this shit. I was so much braver, too. The trauma I’ve gone through has had a way of making some things seem less scary, like being broke, but it’s also made things scarier. I can’t even get a cold anymore without worrying that something serious could be wrong.

If there is a God up there who picks and chooses what happens to us, why did He have to add insult to injury so many times?

He let the freeloaders torture us when they lived with us. Did He have to let them throw me in jail too, for having something to say about it?

He’s made me the lightest sleeper on earth. Did He have to go and CRD me as well?

For the better or not, given how I later changed my mind, He took away my right to have a child. Did he have to curse me sexually, too?

He let us be poor no matter how hard we tried to get ahead, but did He have to have us lose our house in Maricopa and then our land in Oregon, even if it turned out for the best due to the Mexican drug cartel and the climate?

I could go on and on with these kinds of examples, but I won’t. I just sometimes feel so hated from above despite how many good things I have going for me.

My head didn’t vibrate today that much, the neck knockers were minimal, but I did have some lightheadedness. It was worse toward the beginning of my day. My anxiety started to creep a little too close to the border, but I’m hoping that was simply because the weekend was nearing its end. The big question is how I’m going to feel tomorrow, especially while he’s gone. I should sleep through some of his time out, but I think when I wake up it will still be a good six or so hours before he gets home.

How I miss the days of looking forward to my solitude! I used to love being alone. Anything I could do to avoid people, I usually would. I even remember when Lori and Lisa stayed with us for a while, and I kept asking when they were leaving. Even though I denied it, they caught on and kept accusing me of wanting to get rid of them. It was true. I did want to get rid of them. I wanted my toys all to myself, and I wanted my free time all to myself, right along with the playground in my mind I called my imagination. That was the life. The freedom to do, think and create without any human distractions.

Then I think back to the time I was in jail, always relishing any moment that I had a cell to myself with few exceptions like Rosa, Misha and Mary. While the last thing I would want would be to spend time with the shittier cellies I had, I would probably be just the opposite now and prefer to have a celly rather than be alone if I were like I’ve become back then.

I hate that I’ve become not so much a people person but one who doesn’t like to be alone as much. As some would say, though, just accept myself as I am.

Hard to believe I was bitching about our seemingly endless winter just last weekend and wished I’d worn my hoodie when we went out in the morning.