Heard from Tammy who’s in pain and expecting more surgery next Monday. So much for her own positive attitude, but there is some good news… the guy who helped cost me my freedom and us thousands of dollars is now in the hospice. Yay for us, boo for the girls. At least I would think Tammy’s “yaying” and Lisa’s not “booing.” IDK, though, cuz I once saw a pic of her and Bill, arm in arm at some kind of family function, smiling happily at each other, and did a real WTF? I would think Lisa’s more right in the head than she was in 2009 or 2010 or whenever it was that she went ballistic on me, but who knows? Many victims of abuse still worship their abusers, and I even wondered if Tammy was still in love with the bastard when the unwanted subject of him came up in Florida.

I told Tom I hoped to hell his theory of those in the afterlife not being able to affect the living is correct, cuz he’d shit on me every chance he got if he could. Tom doesn’t think he can do anything when you consider how many assholes out there have it well, and how many good people are suffering. This is part of what makes me unsure if there is a God. Besides, if they could influence us, wouldn’t my parents have seen to it that we won big bucks? Well, we didn’t win the smart home in NC or else they’d have ambushed us with the news by now.

So much more I want to write about, but I slept like shit and so I feel like shit. I only slept 6.5 hours and am VERY fatigued and dizzy. Got enough of a period to need to take something for the cramps too, but I’m hoping it will be shorter and lighter like the last one. Hopefully, I won’t have to spend nearly 3 weeks waterlogged before the next one either.

It’s just so fucking frustrating cuz it never ends. I have a few good days here and there and that’s it. I have shit for energy most days where I used to have an overabundance of it. It sucks. It really does. I want to write, I want to take my Italian lesson, I want to work on my story, I want to start some ideas I had, but I just don’t have the energy. Gotta go lay down now. Maybe later I can write more.

Later…

At the risk of sounding as negative as Tammy pointed out… I’m not only fatigued as hell and dizzy (my right ear rang for a minute and I had a huge head rush earlier in the shower) but depressed as well. I cried a bit and wished Tom were up, but was glad he wasn’t so I wouldn’t depress him, too.

I’m just sick of suffering most days and feeling like an unhealthy person who really isn’t. In the past when I’d be shorted on sleep and a bit tired, I’d still be able to get more done than I have today, and I’d even be pissed cuz I’d usually perk up at the end of my day. Only now I’m so fatigued that I feel drugged. I miss my energy! I’m still afraid I’m never going to get better. It’s like sinking into this quicksand you can’t pull yourself out of.

Tom was right… people are either overly sympathetic or they complain that you complain. That’s why I stopped public blogging. I don’t need either one of those things yet I got the same thing when I broke my arm; I either got smothered or turned against. Why is everyone so black and white? But society’s warped attitude isn’t my problem. I’m my problem. And I feel like I’m never going to be able to fix it.

I’m pissed that the doc has blown me off. I feel like she’s not being helpful enough, but when she does do something to help it backfires on me. :( Why can’t I just take whatever pills they recommend and be ok? I am so fucking frustrated that I wonder if I’m going to eventually lose my will to even live. I’m just not a strong person.

I fear that she’ll never believe me no matter how much I try to tell her that extreme anxiety is NOT normal for me and I don’t think it was all just me manifesting the side effects through my fears. I fear spiders and heights, yet still don’t react that way. In my most stressful times in life, I never reacted that way. So why now???

I still want the option of going back to visit Hawaii someday from here or to sail/fly to Jamaica from Florida if we move there, yet none of that will be possible if I feel this bad this often. I’m not having a few bad days anymore. I’m having a few good days. :(

I still like the idea (I think) of moving near family, but then again, what could they do if something went wrong? Tammy’s got her own problems, I don’t know that I trust Becky and Sarah, (especially Sarah), and Lisa wants nothing to do with me.

I think of some aspects of the past and miss them. I didn’t know as much then as I do now, but I also didn’t know what it was like to have scary beat downs and I miss those days. Those young, carefree, adventurous days where my worst crisis was usually a kick-ass sneezing fit. Ugh, gonna cry again. :( Maybe it’s time to tap for depression?

Later…

Well, I did perk up a bit after some tapping, coffee and food, but we’ll see how long it lasts.

I asked Tammy, but she doesn’t know how old Mom was when her periods stopped. This period is still lighter overall in that I haven’t needed a big pad, but who knows what tomorrow may bring? Hard to believe it’ll pick up at this point, though.

If there’s anything good to her marriage with the little weasel not working out (and I told her this) it’s that if it had, she would be about to become a widow and she’s not even 60.

I’d like to think Bill’s suffering, but what’s sad is that unlike what we’ll have, he has this really great support system. If I really did die before Tom, whom would he have? No one? A bunch of strangers who don’t feel anything for him?

Tom said that he sees things differently than I do, and it’s true. He does. He said that even if he got cancer right now, suffered and then died in 5 years, it’s still a small percentage of his life. I totally see his point, but that 5 years may seem like a lifetime. The more we suffer, the more time slows to a crawl. It sure does for me anyway.

I just wish I could stop worrying about an end that’s not here yet. Until something actually happens to one of us other than me feeling like shit, why worry? But I do. All the fucking time. What if, for example, we’re both “destined” to live to 85? Well, that would mean I’d still have 8 years to go after he died. No way. Just no fucking way. Not only would I not be able to fend for myself, but even if I could, I couldn’t live with the horrible, horrible depression of knowing I’d never see him again.

And then there’s the suicide issue. What if I don’t have the guts to go through with it or I fuck it up? If I’m afraid to take something I’m pretty sure won’t kill me, then how could I take/do something I was sure would kill me? So if I couldn’t kill myself, but I couldn’t live, where would that leave me? Forced to commit a crime so I could at least have a prison house/feed me? And maybe give me medication I needed that I could actually stand to take? I would have to do it right cuz I couldn’t stand the depression of not having Tom no matter where I lived.

Later…

Another lie. Yeah, I happened to glance at the list of new users on Prosebox and thought a certain one sounded like something she would pick. Does she want to be obvious? I clicked on the name, and sure enough, I was blocked. So much for “severing” those ties, huh? I knew damn well she/they’d be back sooner or later.

I asked Tom if he thought the constant creating and deleting of accounts meant they were up to no good. He said it could be the case, or they at least think they’re doing something wrong. Whatever the reason, I’m SICK to death of them playing victim over there. So not wanting to be public anymore anyway, I deleted that account and disappeared in the night. Now they can only play their blocking games on Google and Facebook. Pretty sure they don’t use LiveJournal, and my-diary has no blocking. Also, if they do block me on other sites, I won’t know it.

I created another account in a bogus name. I casually scanned the room and my eyes rested on a doll called Peyton. So Peyton I am, with a close-up of a golden retriever for a profile pic. No age, gender or bio info is visible on me, though the gender should be obvious. Most people who keep a journal/diary are female anyway.

What was surprising was that after resurrecting my old Twitter account long enough to mention SaltyAlty and call out an account of Kim’s, which I even tweeted to, she totally ignored me. I fully expected her to run and change the link, but nope. So now I’m back to using just my secret Twitter account to tweet whatever comes to mind, some of which I may not even bother to mention in my journal.

I copied all my Prosebox books to the new account but the journals. I have a plan for that which I’ll discuss in my next entry. I’m out of energy to write much more, and it looks like today’s Italian lesson and getting any work done on my story will be out of the question.

A couple of quick dreams: In one, I was being interviewed. The interviewer and I were outside a poor, rundown apartment complex with the neighborhood people watching.

“You recently moved from a posh neighborhood to this. How does it make you feel?” the interviewer asked me.

“Well,” I said, “the other place was more comfortable, but poor folks are more real.”

Then there were the pistol-packing ladies in pink gowns. I was talking with a woman about guns, and she pointed to a picture of some people at some social event. Her daughter wore a long hot pink gown, and she told me she had a gun on her. I thought she hid it very well as the woman went on to say that she’d had some weird boyfriends, so the protection was nice to have.