August 08, 2018|
I would like to share my timeline of being repeatedly smashed down and destroyed and my subsequent crippled shambling into the next nightmare, but to do so, I would feel compelled to constantly say how badly I fucked up, accompanying every line about how wronged I've been.
I feel like a little girl trapped in a fat monstrous body. Crying in my car, frustrated.
Four years ago, I was punched in the back of the head by someone who asked my name and then told me not to talk shit about him on the internet. I did talk shit and essentially doxed him by showing that I knew who he was after he wouldn't back off bugging me and mocking other people for how they look. My behavior was poor, not because he's so deserving of privacy, but because he was a psychopathic idiot who would stalk and pepper spray someone for responding to his insults. In the emergency room, a nurse excused his behavior, asking me what I thought would happen. Yeah, what did I think would happen.
My mistakes trailed behind me like a dust cloud, as I let go of the case after being ignored by the investigator I emailed, Then becoming despondent after being laughed at by the person who received the restraining order forms. I guess it was funny that I didn't have them in the proper order, so I would have to go to the back of the line to present them properly. The laughing sounds like an exaggeration, which it is. It was more of an exasperated laugh than a mocking one. I gave up on that, and I still can't walk without feeling constantly threatened. He wanted to break me, and I think he may have. The sense of injustice is painful. And maybe most of it is my fault.
I wanted to be Marilyn Manson, but could only believe in myself in theory, not long enough to work toward it. I'm too old now, and it's still hard to make myself into anything. It's harder now, and it seems pointless to try at all. I dream about music, but everything toward realizing music seems empty.
I didn't know how to handle a bossy roommate and former friend. I slammed things around and eventually, sufficiently scared off by a series of disjointed scary texts, ran back to my mom's place. I didn't like any aspect of how I handled that, but we seemed to be making progress at renewing our friendship, when I was #metooed by a mutual friend, who lied about a video that I stupidly shared online of us in our underwear. Stupid, stupid, stupid, and dangerous. I did not realize the social dynamic that I had empowered. She complained to me, lied to me and everyone else about it, and I lost every friend from that group. I was left only with long distance friends, and my mother, who had lulled me away from the volatile roommate situation, then kicked me out and filed a police report in which she said that I'm mentally ill after I pushed a door she had her hand on and hurt her wrist. Oh, and I'd become entrenched in a polyamorous diabetic idiot's life, who screamed at me that I'm an abuser because I threw a bag out of frustration after she tossed my phone, whose strap managed to slap her.
I was an idiot for being with a woman who shit talked me constantly before we were together, and shit talked me after, and then #metooed me online. I was an idiot for running away to my mother who turns demonic when faced with the possibility of losing money. I was an idiot for being involved with a diabetic idiot, for throwing shit near a person who screamed shit that would get me thrown in prison if a cop was in earshot. And I have been alone since.
I never drank because I was a mama's kid for a long time, but thankfully, my mama introduced me to narcotics.
I received surgery last year and gained a ton of age and weight in a short period of time. I don't know if I'll ever recover or just become a bloated pinpoint that people don't recognize as human. Women used to look at me, but no one does anymore. There's an attractive bone structure underneath all this, but I don't really feel that I exist anymore.
My relationship with my mother is tattered beyond recognition. It became acceptable when I was living with friends. But now that I live in a Chinese family's home, our relationship is just on the verge of cracking into nothingness, constantly. It destroys me. I am tattered beyond recognition, now.
And I am alone, ever since.