A Ceramic Fish Joint

So the news has reported some bomb threat scam craze that's sweeping the nation. Although CNN doesn't list my town as being affected, it actually was on Wednesday. The only mall in a 50+ mile radius – which consists of a large Wal*Mart and a couple other stores had a bomb threat Wednesday evening. The mall and Wal*Mart were closed for a few hours while the place was checked out. I had been too caught up in other things to realize this was happening elsewhere. Kinda interesting that it's hitting small towns.

Oh wait, I found a local news report and it's not related. Funny that it happened around the same time, though.

Well, I saw the neurologist today. The stuttering Indian neurologist. Once he knew my history, he basically said I was having panic attacks. No…my panic attacks don't leave me with the inability to move my left leg. Then he brought up migraines. No…I've had migraines for 15 years, they also don't leave me with the inability to move limbs. And, during my attack, I have no sensitivity to light, sound, smell or touch. So he said it was in my head. He couldn't actually say the word “psychosomatic” – even though I did a few times. He would try, then move on to something else. Heh.

I'm angry because he looked at my history and the medicine I currently take and gave the easy diagnosis. It's all in your head. You're not purposefully making this happen, but something inside is making it happen.

A few things that pissed me off:

-Initially, he said “What do you think is wrong with you?” Uhm. Well, you see…I was referred to you by my physician because nobody knows. I don't know. I don't have that handy dandy medical degree. He went on to say that he wanted me to tell him things that I thought it could be so he could explain why it wasn't those things. Struck me as a little odd.

-He said that young people don't have strokes. Wrong. My 16 year old step cousin had a stroke. I'm 27. According to the National Stroke Association, anyone can have a stroke – though there are certain risk factors that increase the chances of having one. “Even though it's considered an older person's disease, stroke is a potential risk for everyone, including children.” When I take the little “self test” that NSA provides – it tells me to please talk to my doctor about stroke prevention right away. Additional, it indicates the following about children and stroke:

-He said I had no risk factors for getting a blood clot. Wrong. I'm overweight, which increases the chances of blood clots. I take birth control. They increase the chances of having a blood clot. Additionally, if I look at the warning signs of a blood clot – I have four out of the five main symptoms.

-He said that if the episodes were TIAs – a person would not have multiple TIAs…they would have a stroke after the first TIA. Wrong. Approximately 1/3 of people who have a TIA will later have a stroke. According to Medline Plus Medical Encyclopedia, “Symptoms begin suddenly, last only a short time (from a few minutes to 24 hours), and disappear completely. Symptoms may occur again at a later time. Symptoms usually occur on the same side of the body if more than one body part is involved.” Additionally, a TIA is not exclusively caused by a blood clot. It can also be caused by narrowing or injury of the blood vessels in the brain, blood disorders, spasms of small arteries and disorders of blood vessels. Also, a history of migraine headaches increase the risk for having a TIA.

It angers me that I know this – and can easily find this information…but a neurologist who specializes in, you know, the BRAIN doesn't know these things. What I've quoted isn't new data, either.

On the positive side, he offerred a referral to a stroke specialist in Morgantown…and said we would just assume that the episodes are related to a stroke or TIAs. But that really it's just anxiety and fear and I needed to talk to a psychiatrist. The bad news is that the earliest appointment to see a specialist is September 28th. A freaking month away. There are a few problems with this. First, I've had 11 of these episodes since August 9th. That equals out to one every other day. In the past week or so – I've had them nearly every day…sometimes multiple times in a day. It's wearing me down. It's upsetting. I don't have a normal life anymore, I stay in a bedroom in my parent's house…afraid to go anywhere or do anything that might cause another episode. I'm not allowed to drive anymore. I can't imagine having to go through this 15 more times before I get to see someone. Second problem: My FMLA ends on September 27th. And I've had a really hard time getting that approved. I will need to file for medical leave as being disabled. This is harder to get approved. I do not want to lose my job as jobs with this pay aren't so easy to come by in Tampa…especially with no degree or any certifications. I had a third problem, but I've forgotten it now.

So, at this point…I don't know what's going to happen. I have an appointment with the physician's assistant on Friday and am going to request a referral to an endocrinologist. This may not be neurological…but I don't think it's in my head. I also see therapist lady next week. I mentioned to my mom that perhaps we could go to Morgantown and stay for a night or two. Chances of me having an episode while I'm there are strong since I do seem to have one almost every other day. If I am already there, then I can go to Ruby Memorial and have the treatment from the same group of neurologists that I have to wait a month or more to see.

This has put me in a very bad mood. One semi-good thing did happen Tuesday night, though. While I had the Holter Monitor recording my heart, I had another episode. So the three hours that I was all kinds of sick were recorded and a cardiologist will be able to review that. Maybe that will show something.

Hmm, I guess that's all. It doesn't look like I'll sleep tonight, since it's already after 4am. I took an angry nap this evening where apparently I was yelling in my sleep. I'll just be over here in the corner, stewing in my own juices or something.

Dear Blahg,

For quite a few years now, my mom does this thing where she interrups whomever is speaking. Usually it’s to change the subject. Or because something popped in her head. She says that she can’t help it, that she’s crazy. I think it’s an excuse to be rude. How can one have a conversation if there are constant interruptions? It pisses me off and makes me not want to speak.

But, you see… If I don’t speak then I’m being a bitch. And I get in trouble for it. At 27 years old, I get yelled at over the most petty things.

Thanks to the crazy that is my family, I’m now sick with something nobody can figure out. I’m sitting here with a heart monitor taped all over my body, and will see a neurologist tomorrow. I think the illness is because my family is too dysfunctional for anyone to be healthy.

After I had the heart monitor put in place today, I came home and took a nap. Blood pressure medicine makes me sleepy. Oh yeah, 27 and on blood pressure medicine. Lovely. I woke up a couple hours later to my mom being in the worst mood ever. Yelling because my bedroom was too hot. I’m not sure how that affected her, but it made her angry. Yelling about clothes. Yelling about yelling. I’m not even sure anymore. Apparently dear brother had caused a little ruckus – said that I stole pills from him. When really, the opposite has been happening. When mom raided his room she found many things he had taken and said he had no clue where it was. Along with stockpiling her pain pills. So that he has some when she runs out (from him taking too many.)

Well, I got to listen to the rant about dear brother. Then the rant turned into how the house was never kept up. And where does the money go. (She has no concept of how much it actually costs to, you know, live.) She’s angry that appliances are old. She’s angry that projects don’t get finished. She’s angry that she doesn’t have a car. Well, she has a car, but hates it because it’s old and was given to her during a time of crisis. The crisis? My brother had wreaked her new vehicle. He was forbidden by the insurance company to drive any of my parents insured vehicles. So, the newish car was a total loss. I think they managed to sell it for a couple thousand dollars – which went to bills. Bills that dear brother has so graciously helped create. So she’s bitching and bitching and bitching. Because I’m the one that gets to hear it. And dear brother always blames her for his problems…I do not. Well, not to her face. Yet she insinuates that her children hate her and blame her for everything..and then defends herself. I’m not sure what purpose this has, maybe it just makes her feel better. I don’t know.

Well, thanks to listening to the bitching about everything for a half hour or so…I got a headache. Then chest pain. Then dizzy. Then I had a full-blown attack of whatever the fuck is wrong with me. Can’t speak clearly, need two people to help me stand and/or walk, blood pressure goes up very high. I would say this is just from stress, but I’ve had 11 of these episodes in two and a half weeks. I did go to the ER the first time, via ambulance even. The ER doctor said “maybe you took too many pills.” Then said I had a concussion and discharged me. Then there was a fight. And I was told, by him – in front of two nurse supervisors, that I wasn’t the only patient in the hospital and wasn’t the only person in the world. I don’t really want to go back to the ER after that. Fuckers. And I used to work for that health system, as did my mom. Anyway, 11 episodes – 2 and a half weeks. They happen when I’m out, and sometimes when I’m out I don’t have one. They happen when there’s fighting, then sometimes not. They happen when I’m sitting watching TV. There’s no real rhyme or reason to it. All I know is that the stupid shit is keeping me stuck in West Virginia with my crazy family. I should have been back in Tampa by now. But I’m stuck in Rural, WV with the crappiest doctors.

I need an interruption from my life. One of the good interruptions, though.

Dear Blahg,

I mentioned earlier about my brother molesting and raping me. That’s not the only thing young-me experienced. Let’s go back, shall we?

Age 3: Molested by my grandfather. The alcoholic one, not the one with cancer. He was my paternal grandfather (though my dad is adopted.) For some reason, he and my grandma insisted on coming to our house and taking me while my mom was asleep. Or insisted that we be out at their house very frequently. I often spent large portions of my summers there. Anyway, not only did he try to rape my mom, he molested me.

The results from this were pretty harsh. One day, I couldn’t pee. I had to, but just couldn’t. I was taken to the hospital for tests, some of which were extremely painful. Like putting insanely large amounts of fluid in my bladder and clamping off the urethra to find any any leaks or tears. This hurt. I remember lying on the table screaming because my bladder was so full (there was enough fluid in me that it would have hurt an adult-sized bladder as well.) Final diagnosis? Torn urethra. The reason given for the torn urethra was either A)masturbation B)playing to hard C)molestation. Since my mom worked at the hospital, and since it was 1983, there were no investigations to see if I had been molested.

Not only did I suffer physically in that I couldn’t pee…but I seemed to regress in my skills. I had been potty trained at just over 1 year old. After the incident, I peed the bed every night until I was 9. Let me say, that’s pretty fucking embarrassing.

Age 7: It was my cousin this time. He was the one closest in age to me, just one year older. The house where they lived had a small room set up as his play room. All the windows in it faced a road. While not a super busy road, the house was right next to a church (it was meant to be the pastor’s house) and right next to the fire department. One day, he made me do some naked “modeling” for him. He had somehow constructed a large plastic parascope thing, which was meant to be the camera. He took off my clothes and pretended to take pictures. Every time I tried to stop him, he’d either shove me in front of the open windows so people could see me…or make a lot of noise so that his mom and my maternal grandma would come see what was wrong. Finally, they did come down – I had to throw on clothes so quickly that I couldn’t get my underwear on. I left them in a corner. I remember making up some excuse as to why I wasn’t wearing them anymore.

This is when I first started not trusting people. If your own family does things while you beg them to stop…what will random people you meet do? When the incident with my grandfather happened, I was too young to realize that he was using me. Abusing me.

Age 9: It was sometime after Halloween, but before the end of November. My maternal grandmother was dying of bone cancer. My mom’s attention was solely on taking care of her mom, or working. Kids were an afterthought, but I don’t blame her for that.

At a halloween party my brother attended, they played “Seven Minutes in Heaven.” He ended up going into the closet with his girlfriend and they had some quick sex – her riding him. A few days later he told me about it. Then he made me help masturbate him, using various items found around the house. A few days later he showed me porn magazines. Then finally, one weekend that my mom was asleep, it happened. He made me straddle him and he pushed me down so he could penetrate me. It hurt so fucking bad. I wasn’t allowed to cry or wake up mom – because he said he would blame it on me. If I ever told, it would be my fault that it happened.

After taking in all those things, I realized that I was used like a piece of meat. Someone to humiliate. Someone to quench everyone’s desires. That would be about the time I started gaining a lot of weight. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I guess I was subconsciously making myself unattractive so that I wouldn’t be used anymore. It’s taken a long time, and way too much weight, to realize this. It has also taken a long time for me to become comfortable with my body. I’ve slept with roughly 30 people, but only the latter part of those saw me as I truly am. I believe, and I hope, that realizing and accepting that which happened so long ago will help me move forward in a more positive way. I’ve sent a letter to Halcyon to take to Burning Man so that it can be burned for me. I hope that it will be cathartic for me. And I hope that I can look towards the future without dragging all that baggage behind me.

Please note: the above stories have never been shared with anyone. Well, other than this blahg and the letter I sent to be burned.

I forgot to mention that I received a call from the hospital yesterday. In regards to the asshattery treatment I received. In all, it was a very positive call. The doctor was head over the ER – and is super nice. He apologized profusely for what had happened, and tried to offer up some explainations of why certain aspects of my case were handled the way they were. He also admitted that the doctor who treated me has a real problem with handling patient questions or concerns and takes it personally. He indicated in a not so subtle way that complaints have been brought up before, and said that after August 31st the doctor wouldn't be working at that hospital system. Meaning, he will have to move because there aren't any other hospitals close.

He also said that since he works closely with nurses, the entire nursing staff will be receiving a reprimand regarding the way they treated me…not letting my parents into my room, ignoring my requests, etc. He said that while Dr. Weddle (the asshat) will be gone in just over a week, he will receive coaching based on my experience with him…and he can only hope that the asshat will take the advice and treat other patients with more respect.

He was really shocked when I relayed certain things he told me…like the part where he said “You're not the only patient in this hospital, nor are you the only person in the world!” He said that with two nurse supervisors in the room to witness. Whether they will admit that is yet to be seen. The one nurse supervisor was a real bitch…but the other is a very nice person who my mom had worked with for many years.

So that was something very positive that happened on Tuesday evening. Things like that are important, if only to allow validation of your feelings. The doctor calling said I would most likely hear from someone in Risk Management at the hospital. I let him know I'd be advising various organizations of the breaches in patient rights that I had because I want formal investigations done on the hospital.

At least the asshat doctor in question is getting fired, presumably from his behavior towards me and other patients.

I'm becoming one of them. You know the ones. The girls these days…the ones who knit. I'm now learning how to knit, and actually enjoying it a lot. I had always found it more intimidating than crocheting (two needles instead of one, had been taught as a young girl to crochet but never to knit.) But really, it seems easier. And I don't get as bored with it…in fact I haven't wanted to put it down despite the cramping in my neck and shoulders. I just take more muscle relaxers and keep on knitting.

Obviously, my first skein of yarn is pink. I'm not exactly “making” anything with it beyond pink strip o' fun. I'm down with that, though. I figure I'll practice and practice through the entire skein, and hopefully I'll be a bit more steady and even with the knitting and/or purling so I can actually make something. Like a star! A fabulous pink star. Can you even imagine the fun I'm going to have with this? It's going to be better than the discovery of glitter glue!

It is actually cold enough here that my mom has *gasp* turned off the air conditioner. Right now, it's 63 outside. I'm fucking freezing. When I came here, I brought flip flops and tank tops and one t-shirt. Did not expect to be here long enough for cold. Jeebus.

The funiest part about this is that this is one of the few times my mom will turn off the air conditioner. She has been angered in the past that the electricity was out due to a SNOWSTORM, and thus her air conditioner wouldn't run. There are very few days out of the year that it's not turned on, and in an area with a temperate climate – that's unusual. Even more unusual is everyone besides her will turn on the heat in their bedroom and she will have the a/c on in the livingroom – thus cooling any room that's open. The bathroom is a comprimise; the thermostat cannot be put above 60…ever.

So today I'm recovering from having not one but two lovely episodes of death yesterday. Same deal as Thursday. Got sick early in the day, wasn't too bad and didn't last long…was fine for a few hours. I even made dinner. Well, I started dinner – then got dizzy again and it went downhill from there. The suckiest part of it all is that when I'm in the midst of these death episodes, I can't walk without holding onto someone/something. And even then it's really hard to make my legs understand how to move. I really need a walker sometimes, though I guess that wouldn't help my legs move. But I could totally pimp out a walker. I don't think my parents would appreciate it as much. As it is now, I have one person on either side of me and they keep with the forward motion so my legs learn to follow – or one person in front and one behind if I'm especially unsteady so I don't fall straight down.

It really feels like sometimes the signal to move doesn't get to my legs. Or my arms. But at the same time, I lose most of my muscle strength. My core muscles (abdomen and back) don't seem to be doing anything and my spine feels completely unsupported. And my legs. Oh the legs. They just don't want to go through the standing or walking motions at all. Seriously, did I become 90 last week or something?

On the days that I'm not all kinds of dying, I feel like crap. Stricken with a feeling of general malaise. I don't even feel like typing or sending emails. Mostly I just read the internets, though they're not updated frequently enough for me…or watch movies and/or Firefly. Except I'm missing disk 1 from Firefly and that makes me sad.

Oh, I bought (pink) yarn and (pinkish) knitting needles yesterday. I'm going to try to learn knitting. I know how to cast on…and am learning the knitting part, which I kind of understand but my hands don't. I need to know the purl part and casting off. And then successfully implement them into a pink something. I assume it will be a pink square thing. Or pink rectangle. Either will make me feel accomplished. It's not really the end result, it's the path to getting there.

I'm excited for HugNation tomorrow. I've never been a fan of Halcyon, but I have to admit that the hugnation idea is awesome and it makes me feel so much better in ways I didn't realize I felt bad. The Tao Buffet is nice, and the hour of overwhelming positivity is great. So, I still don't really like the guy – but admire and appreciate what he's trying to do with HugNation. Also, I can't wait to see Hugnation from the Playa.

Crap. I just got a call with not so great news from a lawyer. I'm a sad panda.

I am so tired of being in West Virginia. I know I say that frequently, but it's the truth. I'm bored. I'm unhappy. And mostly it just sucks.

My therapist said that if I really want to get more stable mentally – I have to get away from my family. I really love being validated by statements like that. I thought I would be going back to Tampa tomorrow, and going back to work on the 1st – but that's not happening now.

A week ago, I had this awesome incident where it seemed like I had a stroke. I even rode in an ambulance to the ER. And then was treated like shit. The doctor assumed upon examination that I had overdosed (because of an explaination of some scars that I gave, and telling him I had been suicidal but was being treated in therapy.) My parents weren't allowed in the room with me until they snuck in. I could barely speak, so I couldn't give my own history too well – and he ignored the notes that the ambulance staff took. So, a few hours later I finally had the cervical collar taken off. Because he had already decided I either had a concussion or had overdosed. Or was drug-seeking. But mostly that I had overdosed. He even asked if I had maybe taken too many pills. (This was further enforced when I looked at the reports from that night, multiple drug abuse and toxicology tests were ordered.) I could tell he dismissed the idea of a stroke, or mini-stroke because after looking at me for two minutes he said “doesn't look like a stroke to me.” Nevermind the not being able to talk, not being able to walk, extremely high blood pressure and all these other fun stroke symptoms. He discharged me saying I had a concussion. When my parents and I asked why I had all these additional symptoms which wouldn't be present with a concussion, he got pissed. As he was arguing he started to walk out the room and said, “Fine…I'll just call the admitting doctor then.” What an ass. My dad went out to tell him I was not going to stay overnight…he hadn't given me another diagnosis…hadn't explained anything, or any reasoning for his change. Just, you know, that he was getting me off his floor one way or another. So he came back in the room, we had another argument and finally asked for the nurse manager or patient advocate. He laughed at the request and was like, sure – whatever.

The nurse supervisor on duty came down (and later a second one came down) to listen to our complaints. He talked to the doctor, who wouldn't budge. The doctor came back and with all four of us in the room we were trying to discuss what had happened, and that we had, in fact, told him my complaints to the best of my ability. He kept interrupting the entire time and, again, was just an ass. At one point he told me, “You're not the only patient in this hospital, nor are you the only person in the world.” Can you even believe that? I told him that he wasn't, either. I was a little shocked he would be so arrogant in front of two supervisors. One started writing out my complaint..then finally said we needed to wrap things up because she had other things to do. So she stopped writing down the things I was upset about and just took my name and phone number. She also refused my request to see my chart and reports…despite my right to see them. She told me it didn't apply that night. What. The. Fuck.

So, yeah. I'm still fuming over this. And I need to call a lawyer, and start filing formal complaints with a few oranizations. Fucker broke some major rules for patient rights (denying me safe care, denying me pain medicine, discriminating against mental illness – which is a disability, not allowing me to ask questions and give input on my care to name a few.) He also broke one big, big rule. HIPPA is something that is put in place to protect the confedentiality of a patient. This means that nobody is allowed to know about another person's care that doesn't need to. Especially non-staff members. One of the times him and a nurse walked out of the room, they were joking loudly about me being a difficult patient with all these demands, etc. I could hear them from 20 feet away, meaning other patients and family heard them. It will be interesting to see what comes of this. One of the main things is that I left against medical advice, because he was admitting me to placate my family. Not because he believed something was wrong. So it meant I would stay in the hospital overnight and have nothing done. I came to be treated, and I wasn't.

Anyway, so that happened. And then it's happened 3 more times, minus the hospital part. Two of the three were minor and lasted a half hour or so. The last one happened Thursday night; it was quite bad. I had slightly different symptoms, but still had a stroke-like episode. My blood pressure goes high – despite being on medicine now to control it. I get shakey and really weak. I get a horrible headache. And I have problems talking and walking. The most recent one had more motor function failure, and the first one had more speech failure. This time, I couldn't walk…couldn't stand up on my own. I had to have two people help me get up and go to the bathroom because my legs both wouldn't move and couldn't support my weight. My mom had to help me use the bathroom. Even when the main part was over, I was still really unsteady and falling into stuff as well as having some problems walking. That lasted until the next afternoon.

I'm refusing to go back to the hospital unless I'm having a seizure or have passed out. There are only two hospitals in this area and they're under the same shitty management. What's sad is that I used to work for this hospital. As did my mom – for 30 years…the majority of that time as an ICU nurse, and the rest as a High Level Care nurse. When she asks questions, she knows what she's talking about because she always dealt with critical and unstable patients. And it just pisses the doctors off because she knows more than they expect her to know.

So, yeah. I saw a nurse practitioner on Friday…all labwork, MRI and CT scans are good and she doesn't know what's wrong with me. So I have to go to a neurologist at the end of the month. However, my mom wants me to go out of town, preferably to Morgantown as there is a teaching hospital related to WVU. She thinks I'll have better luck with the specialists there. Sadly, there are only two neurologists in this part of the country…and the good one is book through October. I'm really just hoping that someone can diagnose this so I can get on with my life. It sucks being stuck in a bedroom in your parent's house. They won't let me drive anymore because of what's been happening. So I'm really just stuck here with my laptop. And books that I don't feel like reading. And, honestly, I don't feel like doing much of anything. I feel so drained all the time now. I believe I'm going to take up knitting though. I know that's really random, but it might make me feel better to be doing something rather than this forced relaxation thing. Because this crap is boring as hell. And besides, knitting is the hot new thing. Everyone's doing it!

Dear Blahg,

So, I’ve been single again for about a month and a half. For some reason, this time around it feels really weird. I dated Robert from January until late April. Brian came along right when I was breaking up with Robert. We were an immediate fit for one another. I only found out later that he had just been seperated from his wife of ten years. I think he had been out of their house for maybe three weeks. I guess I was supposed to be a quick fuck that just turned into something more. That something more being the rebound girlfriend.

Everything was perfect. We got along so well. We already knew one another from a former job, but didn’t really know one another that well. His personality was exhilirating. His passion for the rights of animals was so sincere, and so touching. I never wanted to date someone with children, but I adored his son. And loved being around them both. Because I could see what a caring person he was, and how much he loved the little guy.

The breakup was devastating. I guess mostly because I didn’t see it coming. He asked me to get an apartment with him shortly after we began dating. I guess we had been together around two months at that point. We moved into the new place, did the apartment shopping together the first weekend because neither of us had anything to really contribute to an apartment. The next three weeks I worked nearly every day. Well, the first weekend I moved in I was off – but he also had his son there. The second weekend, we had planned to do things together but I ended up working day shift both days. Also, I was working night shift during this time so I only saw him for about a half hour in the morning unless I was off. The final weekend, exactly three weeks after we moved in together, he broke up with me.

It feels pretty shitty to have somebody be sick of you when you’re not even around. It also feels shitty when they know that the crappy assed schedule is temporary, and was actually changing two days after he broke up with me – so I could have actually seen him every day. His excuse? “It’s not you, it’s me.” Jeez, how many times do we have to hear that? He says that he was upset over the divorce, the fact that his ex was now seeing someone new – and this new person was going to be more of a father figure than himself. Us getting into routines was difficult. He said he just wasn’t ready to be serious.

Hmm, perhaps he could have saved me some time and heartbreak. We had discussed all of this mere weeks before the breakup. Before moving in. When we made the decision. He cost me the opportunity of going to Texas to persue a new job with my company. He cost me money by having to pay for movers. He cost me a lot of heartache, because I fell so deeply for him. I was so honest – which isn’t something I do. With anyone. Nobody is allowed to know the deep dark secrets inside. Well, I suppose I did still keep a few. I’m angry at myself because I allowed myself to get into the situation where I could get hurt. I normally keep a safe distance. My feelings are my own, and not for sharing with others.

Since the breakup, I had the huge wave of depression. I had the decision to kill myself…but was not satisfied with having to wait until I could make it happen. I cut the hell out of myself, something I hadn’t done since I was probably 15. I could not stop bawling. Out of fucking control. It wasn’t just him. It was the breakdown of everything in my life. Everything was wrong. Everything IS wrong.

He said he wanted to remain friends, and maybe at a later date slowly start dating again. I’m not sure if he said it just to appease me. Looking back, I’m pretty positive he did. All communication with him since the breakup has been so….aniseptic. Void of any emotion at all. I try to get bits and pieces out of him, and he just ignores it. When I called him out on it, he said he was doing it to everyone…he was still very not ready to delve into his feelings. That he’s had a hard time since I left and had finally gotten to an even plateau and just didn’t want to talk about his problems right now. It was just so weird to have one line conversations with this guy I had dated for three months, lived with for a month, cared about…whatever. His side of the convo would be “No problem.” “It’s fine.” “Here’s pictures.” Very odd to me.

Anyway, a funny thing happened less than a week after I finally called him out on him clamming up when asked how he’s doing or whatever. He emails me and says he’s dating someone new. He didn’t mean to, wasn’t looking for it…it just happened a few days after the email exchange. He says he shouldn’t be involved with anyone, but is. It’s just breaking my heart even more.

I see it to mean that although he’s having these emotional problems (fuck, aren’t we all) that I’m not able to make him happy enough…or he can’t trust me enough to help with his problems. Or, well.. I guess that I’m just not good enough, or attractive enough, or funny/enteresting/intelligent enough. I guess it’s a step above being dumped for somebody else – which happened to me last fall. The real blow to my self confidence is that both the person I was dumped for last fall, and the new girl Brian is seeing are much less attractive to me. Even in my eyes, and I don’t have that high of an opinion for myself. I realize I’m fat. Both men seemed to appreciate me for me, and still saw my beauty. These other women? Also large – but with the ugliest appearances. Maybe they have awesome personalities or give better head than me. Wait, there’s no way they give better head than I do.

So anyway, I find myself stalking the ex via MySpace. I guess everybody does that, right? Checking when their profile was updating…trying to see who they are dating based on comments (Brian tends to delete comments, though…making it difficult) and looking at all of their friends. I don’t want to be obsessive over him. I know it’s over. I know he doesn’t want me. And I know he has somebody new. But, fuck…I miss him. I even look at his profile and remember the annoying things about him and STILL want him to want me.

I guess the point to this post is that when he broke up with me, I wanted to die. I attributed it to everything going wrong in my life. It’s still going wrong but I don’t want to die every day. When he told me he was dating someone, I wanted to kill myself. Then, a couple days later when I thought I had a stroke and was treated like an piece of shit at the ER, I wanted to kill myself. It just feels like nobody cares about me. Nobody wants me to be okay…so why would I want to make myself okay?

Dear Blahg,

Once, when I was sixteen, my parents had agreed to let me go to Mexico as part of a school trip. It was going to cost $2000, but money had been saved. My brother had been doing and dealing a lot of drugs by this point…and there were a few occassions where thousands of dollars had to be sent for bail, lawyers or just to get him home from where he was currently located in the country. By the time I was sixteen, I’m sure they spent at least 20 – 30 grand on him and his adventures. He was “really good” at dealing them drugs.

So, it’s summer of 1996. I’m excited about the trip the following spring to Mexico. We get a collect call from Jeremy. He’s in the Arizona desert, and the “Mexican Mafia” is going to kill him if he doesn’t get $2000 within 24 hours. The rational part of the family knows this is just him needing more money to pull off whatever he was trying to pull off. Of course, my mom flips the fuck out. Calls off work. Promises to work lots of extra days (like she always says.) And takes out the money from her credit union. Rather than her sending it via Western Union, I was forced to send the money. I got to send my trip to Mexico to my brother. That didn’t hurt at all. Rather, it put me right in my place as being inconsequential to her, and her family.

He claims I’m spoiled, and have always gotten whatever I wanted. He claims my parents have paid my way through school (yet I have a 15 thousand dollar student loan I’m paying back) or that they’ve paid for my apartments or given me money. I just don’t see it. The one thing that was ever done for me was that I got a car of my own shortly after I went away to college. Nevermind that by this point, he had been given 3 cars and many thousands of dollars. I was a spoiled brat, and I fucked myself over by not finishing school when I was being handed everything on a silver platter.

I’m not sure if he’s delusional, or just spiteful. I mean, maybe he really does believe this stuff. He was convinced my dad was addicted to crack and that’s why there was never any money. When in reality there’s never any money because of the loans taken out to get Jeremy out of trouble.

My mom often wonders why Jeremy and I don’t get along. Could it be the manipulative behavior? The time he raped me? His spitefulness? His cruelty to animals? His claims of killing someone? The anguish he has imposed on my family? His continued laziness, living off of my parents, eating my mom’s pills like candy? Gee – I just can’t think of a good reason we don’t like one another. The only time we speak is if we’re getting high together. And that’s just because I’ve learned to use him in the same way he has always used others.