Been Gone Too Long!

Hey Y'all! That means all three of who have subscribed, which I Truly Appreciate, How have you Been? I've been a lotta physical ailments.

I'm really and truly chagrined that I have not been able to post more. Please understand, I have been sick every. Single. Month this year. I have digested more antibiotics every month-Because I've been ill every month-That I developed C-Diff three weeks ago. I've had a staph infection, which required a pic line, and three months, every day, twice a day for Vancomycin sittings, and the TB dose of Rifampin. I was so sick that summer, all I could do was lay on my bed and watch the wind move the tree leaves. I was on so much Rifampin and Vanco, my freaking toes had a yeast infection!! I've had Cellulitis three times, and now, for some reason, I'm drawing a blank on the third time I was SuPeR sick, but C-Diff? Fugazi. I have NEVER been that GI sick in my life. Oh my lord! God. I was just in the fetal position for a week. I've also been through two psych med changes in the last month, and have become an Insulin dependent Diabetic. SO! That's why I haven't been keeping you in the loop like I promised. I'm really sorry. But, I have a feeling you understand. At least, I hope you understand!

But! While I was going through the C-Diff, I was on Vraylar- a psych med- and Cephlaxin for girl problems- and the Vraylar did NOT allow me to sleep, and made my mind race. Now that's just my reaction to Vraylar. Everyone is different with medications. Everyone's biochemistry is different, and then you have the chemistry of the pill. Hence why I think psychiatrists are legal, biochemical gamblers. But, I digress.

So, I took the time to pull myself apart. Cognitively. Look at my behavior-good, bad and ugly-decide where it came from, and how did the unhealthy coping skills develop, and how to change them-slowly. Rome wasn't built in a day, but it went to shit in one day. Reminds me of this morning and the song, "What a difference a day makes". Anyways, I realized the only two consistent, loving, good men I had in my formative years was my father, who is the only man I let monetarily, emotionally, wise, lesson teaching Buddha I've ever had in my life. Then, was my mom's dad, Jacket. Why do we call him Jacket? His first name was John. Back in the day, the name John was also substituted for the name Jack. Well, I was learning the word for Jacket at the same time. So, I called him Jacket. His wife's name, my grandmother (who wouldn't let me call her grandma, because it made her feel old. Love that woman.). Her name was Roma, Zora. Well, I changed her name too. To Zorza. They've been gone 11 years, and we still refer to them as Jacket and Zorza. Funny thing? I'm the nicknamer. I give people nicknames, and except for one person, they stick. The person also likes them, and that helps too. But, my father and Jacket were the only good, consistent, reliable, loving men I grew up with. My father is exceptionally wise. My grandfather, every morning like clockwork, from 6:oo am to 6:15 asm would read his Bible. That was the ONLY time he took for himself. I swear. He died at 97. Both he and Zorza were about 97 when they passed. My father's mother, Grandma Mary, who lived till 104, these three people, were the closest to true Christian values and beliefs that I have ever known. I had a friend in college who never went home all school year, and stayed in Detroit at University of Detroit Mercy all year. This one Thanksgiving, he was going to stay at the dorm, but the cafeteria was closed. He had zero dollars. I asked Zorza if I could bring him to Thanksgiving dinner. "Of course!" she exclaimed. So, he came and she loaded him up with leftovers. Hard pressed to find that here where I live now. Zorza wasn't a philanthropist or food bank volunteer, she just knew he was hungry and alone and it was the right thing to do. These are the people that were a very large presence in my formative years. I would get out of school a week before my parents school shut down for the summer. They were teachers. I was allowed to spend the week with Zorza and Jacket. Zorza let me have chocolate cake and lemonade for breakfast, Jacket would take me to the pool, he would take me on his errands, they would let me watch tv! Awesome. Zorza would play and draw with me. It was heaven, because school was over, my parents were home all summer, so I was free! I didn't have to be "Babysat" by the Roaches. I finally had a reprieve and was allowed to be a kid. Around 3:30 in the afternoon, I would go up to my grandparents bedroom and wait to see my mom driving down the hill into their condo complex to pick me up! Jacket also taught me how to ride my bike.

I had my mom and dad during the summer, Zorza and Jacket, once a year in the summer we'd go up to grandma Mary's and Grandpa Dee's house in the summer. There I could play and get harassed by my cousins, have one of grandmother's bad ass pies- Grandma Mary could make the best pies from berries from grandpa's mini farm, and Zorza could make the most awesome cakes-and just run around in nature.

I have to be free. I cannot be restrained. One of my biggest fears is getting trapped with no way out or communication. Also, claustrophobia. The Roaches used-trigger warning- to put in me in this 1.5 foot, by three foot black box that had a sliding top. In the fetal position, pitch black, hands and feet tied, stuck in this box. Without any holes to breathe. Then, Mrs Roach would come down and slide the lid forward, already having PTSD and Johns at age 6, she'd come down with a bowl of milk and say, "Does the good little puppy want some milk? BUT, I had to perform sex acts on her to get the milk. She'd untie me I was occasionally naked, but if I was clothed? I'd push her in the stomach, as much as a 6 year old could, shove her out of the way, bolt up the stairs, out the back door and back fence and run the f home. Trigger Warning done.

So, to sum up my tangents, or was it back story? It's 7:42 in the morning. Give me a break. I know I'm not pumping quarters into the Ass Kicking Machine anymore. Anyways, the two good male role models I had, was Jacket and my dad. Who, even though he has had Cancer since August of 2017, has been a constant, hands on, loving parent my whole life. Just those two men.

The negative male role models I had in my formative years,Trigger Warning- were Mr. Roach, the truckers and bikers, he would whore me out to, his son, who is still alive and also sexually abused me. I mean, I was 6, and I had one regular John. His name was Billy. He was a biker with long, black greasy hair. I remember Billy coming to the Roaches house. I was watching, and Mr Roach and Billy were negotiating. Mr Roach just said, "Give me 20 bucks and you can do whatever you want to her." So, Billy handed him a 20 dollar bill, and Mr Roach said, "Come Here". You see, I never had a name. I was, "come here" or, "Bitch get over here" or any other vile words by the Roaches. With my dad- who grew up on farms and his father was a complete verbally abusive man- my name from my father was, "Jesus Christ" or "God damnit". So, until second grade I was come here, Bitch get over here, Suzie (NO ONE calls me that. I'll hurt them), Jesus Christ or God dammit. I'll never forget the moment in second grade when I heard my birth name called. I was all, "That's me?!?!" Trigger warning finished.

So, while on the Cephalaxin and the Vraylar, great they are mowing the lawns. I know! I'm VERY grateful I don't have to mow the lawn. Don't get me wrong. But, Damn they're loud!! I couldn't sleep between those meds and the C-Diff. So, I took a cognitive behavioral inventory. I learned a great deal. I mean, look at the two good men in my life: my father I saw everyday, except on weekends when he was golfing (Don't knock golfing. As soon as I could hold a club, I was golfing. Also? No Hybrids or Big Berthas for me. My dad made me an awesome driver, and I have a 1 and 2 iron. Don't judge. Let's sort it out on the course.). Jacket I saw all the time. Not just during that summer break, but for all holidays, all his performances directing his church's choir or his solos. I saw him a lot. He was also consistent and loving throughout my whole life until his death in 2009.

But the other men? Mr. Roach, my johns, Mr. Halsey, the headmaster of my school, he was a dead sonofabitch. Mean as hell to me. I was 9 years old, and apparently he had a wild hair up his ass that day, called me into his office, mind you I'm 9. NINE freaking years old. He proceeds to ream about something, but these following words I will Never forget: "You're a liar, you'll never get above a C, and you'll be a failure for the rest of your life." Walked out of his office with two feelings.

A. What the fuck was that about?

B. Feeling lower than a snake's nuts.

The divorced fathers at my school. Miserable, manipulative bastards.

So, those were the men in my formative years. Not too good, huh? You know during 5-8,9? You're supposed to be learning self esteem, playing, being a good kid, sharing your toys, self mastery, picking out good role models-male and female- all that good Piaget and the Maslow and the other developmental kid dude say.

What did I learn about men? And Myself? That I was a toy, a means to an end, a sex object, a punching bag, worthless, disposable, useless except for sex, dumb, not worth a goddamned thing. So, with this deep, underlying knowledge, that weekend, I pulled all their labels off of me, and put them back exactly where they belonged. On the sons of bitches that hurt me, treated me less than a human, an animal, liars, and dangerous people. So, naturally, like the rest of the goddamned human race, I carried-oh! and not even having a name till age 7- all that crap, all those experiences with me until my teenage years when I began to date.

Who did I date? Men who started out really sweet and kind, laughed at my jokes, told me I was beautiful, blahx3. You know? The ones that are too good to be true? Yeah. Cuz they aren't. Not even in the zip code of good. I have dated the worst of the worst. I confused their controlling natures with they really had their shit together, and they were really good for me, because they could teach me to be organized. The criticisms just turned into plain, old verbal abuse. As I got to be 21, I had Trigger warning- my first ever boyfriend slam my left forearm in a door, and proceed to lock me in a room with him beating and restraint me, while with, added bonus: verbal abuse. So, I had to go to work in a sling and a bruised bone. Then he tried some shit with me a few days later. It was at a house party where he lived. He came in and was all, you have to go, you need to get out of here, you don't live here anymore yada x 3. So, I started taking off my earrings. My one friend was freaking. She's looking around the room at all of the people, like "do you know what's about to go down?" So, she and I walk past him. He's harassing us as we walk down the hall, to door in the bathroom that leads to very steep set of metal stairs, and there was broken glass at the bottom. He came out on the landing, I pulled my friend behind me. He started the door game again. Open and close, open and close, so he could bust my right arm and I wasn't going to be pushed down no stairs. So, I stopped playing with the door. He came out again and was being all loud and vicious and abusive, so I looked behind me at the stairs, the glass and my poor, terrified friend, and I thought this is a low blow, but it's the only option I have to having him fuck off. I was wearing Birkenstocks. He came at me, I pulled back my right knee, and I thought to myself, "You'd better make this count, hit him with all you got, cuz your just wearing sandals", and BOOM BITCH!!!! I kicked him right in the nuts, as Cartman would say. He doubled over, stumbling back into the house, and man. I fucking LOST MY GATDAHMNED MIND. I flew at hims fists flying, I had a hold of long hair, he pushed me into the shower and began to walk away. Fuck you. I used that push to bounce off the shower like a trampoline, and came at him. HARD. It took 4 meaty, strong guys, no I think it was 5v guys actually, men, and they had to pull him away from me. I walk out the bathroom door, my friend was pie eyed, and I told her, you're not staying here tonight. Let's go home and have a beer and some hoist anoish. That was my first time I beat up a man because what? He treated me well, and cooked for me, and we watched Aladdin after work, and I thought he was all that. Hung the moon and stars. Nope, just another manipulative, controlling abusive asshole I dated.

When I was 25, I met this dude at Renaissance Festival. I worked there from 16-till Jesus graduated. OH! By the way, trigger warning over. Sorry about that. I was just entranced by him. He was tall and big and blonde and blue. We laughed. We had a really good time together, so, things progressed. I had visited him a couple of times, 1.5 hours one way. He didn't have a car. (As Cardi raps, Broke N don't deserve no pussy! If only I had known my worth). So, I left my home, my hometown, my friends, my family, a good paying entry level job I loved for this jerk off. Lived together for about a year and change. I could NOT find a good paying job, except in shops, at Adult Foster Care homes-midnight shift- or as a Janitor. I chose Janitor. But it took me, like months to find a job. Not kidding. So, it's been a year and change, right? I'm living in the barrio, with three guys, one being my whatever the fuck he was (controlling, verbally and sexually and mentally abusive, demanding man child), and I asked him:

Are we ever going to get married?

I'm not going to marry you.

What there fuck? I thought to myself. Then what the fuck am I doing here? Fuck you.

My man child and the guy that lived in the basement were all musicians who played in actual bands. I bought that asshole a 1973 silver sparkle Pearl drum kit. Nothing. I bought him an outfit he liked one time, I showed it to him, and said do you like it? At this exact moment in time Basement musicians younger brother, who was in school, earned number one fencer in Michigan, was coming in the door, and walk by us while man child proceeded to chew my ass until he was full, got steaming mad when he saw the outfit (it was a Carhartt shirt and cargo shorts), and proceeded to rip me a new one. Fencer boy, just looked at me like, "I'm so sorry you have to put up with this. It's so wrong. I'm sorry he's such an asshole". I know that's a lot for one look, but swear to Christ, it's true.

So, if jerk off isn't going to marry me, I gotta get outta here. So, I had enrolled at the community college, just to take some core classes. I got an apartment, told him, "You know, I'm back in school, and I can't live here anymore. It's too loud. It's a band house, and I need to study." Oh oh okay.

So I moved. Then we went on the ever so popular and full of shit, "Break". He had already introduced me to someone else, and he was just giddy and thought she was all that. He was showing her off like a new toy. I'm thinking to myself, do I really need to say what I was thinking? The next weekend I went home to reconnect with some old friends and get my drink on. Well, we all know I was, and still could be, rrrreeeaallllllly good at getting my swerve on. So, I was superdrunk. Slurring, ready to pass out, couldn't walk, couldn't see straight or think. There was a dude there who worked with my friend's husband. He and I had always flirted and stuff. So, at the end of the night, I go to go home with my friends, and my friend's husband says you're going with so and so. They like, pour me into his truck. I looked at my girlfriend like, HELP, but she knew she couldn't anything. So, yeah. Just as you would imagine. So, I get back home Sunday night? Because man child wants to talk. Ok? So, he comes over and he makes me dinner and then busts out with: "I want to make this work." Ohhhh fuuuuuuk. But, then I got really fucking pissed. Like, who the fuck do you think you are, you fuck? So I told him what happened. He storms out of the house I was staying at, with his new toys on and off again for years boyfriend. They were broken up at the time. Didn't think anything of it.

Asshole ran his mouth, told everyone I cheated on him, blahx3. His twisted version of events, and I was black listed from the social circle. Well, His new toy lived at the end of my and her ex boyfriend's street. Man child never wanted to lay in bed or lounge around the house on the weekends. Never. I'm busting my ass doing 2 to 6 houses as a maid all week, he worked in construction, but no! NO LOLLYGAGGING ON THE WEEKENDS. I just needed to rest but man child was just Get Up. Why? Is the goddamned house on fire? Fuck off, I need to rest. Don't even get me started on that one. But, now that he was totally with ex boyfriends girlfriend, who, like I said lived at the end and across our street, we were broken up, ex toy boy and broken up, Voila! They were on. So, man child would park his car (yeah, he finally got one of those. But he always made me drive my car. Whatever, dude) ass in first, like cops do. Ex bf and I always had to work on Saturday mornings. So, we drive to the end of our road, and there, across the street from toy's house, man child's car is parked, every weekend morning, facing ex bf and my view. I think pretty much anyone reading this would be like: how did you not smother him in his sleep?

Before all this shit happened, I discovered Jim Heath's band, The Reverend Horton Heat. DUDE!!! I was in LOVE with Jim Heath and the band and the music, and they came like, a half a mile from when I was living with man child, and I'm like, I'm going. What did man child do- and there is a reason for this vignette-Piss all over the band, their music, Jim Heath. All of it. Why? Because it made me happy. If anything other than man child made me happy, he bashed it. A$$hole.

So, fast forward to the era of social media and Facebook. I don't remember what year he wanted to "friend" me, but I'm like, we're older now, he's been married for 15 years, he has a teenage daughter, maybe he's changed. Nope. Rev Horton Heat's new album came out, I oredered it in Vinyl, was over the fucking moon. What did he do? Get this:

"He's a fucking ego maniac. We opened for him, and when we were done with our set, we took most of the audience with us to the bar in the basement. He was fucking pissed. He's Just an asshole."

UNFRIEND. He's never bothered me since. Fucker knew what an asshole man child he was to and still was to me. But, I cooked and cleaned that house. I cleaned our bedroom. Did our laundry, worked, was his sex toy, was his verbal and mental punching bag. Did I learn anything? My conclusion? I give up. I am never doing a relationship with a man. I haven't had a male interested in me-except for just sex-since December 23, 2011.

You know what? Since I couldn't date any lower than a serial killer- no shit. I am NOT joking. Jeckyll and Hyde- I'm done. I'm tired of being used, shamed, a sex toy an object, a punching bag- you seeing the pattern here?

I was telling my mom that I don't even like myself. I know familial love, agape, but I don't love myself. If I can't love myself enough, how am I going to date a man? Do I really love my family? Yes. Do I like all of them? No. But I'm not going to cut them off or anything. I know why and what makes me love my friends. Can I apply that to myself? Can I learn self mastery with 9 head injuries? Can I forgive myself for things I did. but didn't know any better? Can I forgive or at least accept things about myself that I don't like? My mom said, "You always go back to the past."

That's because that's where it all began. All these unhealthy coping skills, behaviors, volatility, shitty relationships, PTSD and DID, and all the other shit comes from!

I told my therapist last week: I don't need to relive the past. I may, like I did, to find out why I have these nasty, unconscious behaviors, and then correct them. He was dumbfounded.

So, that's the beginning, middle and the beginning of the end.

Don't take shit from anyone, including yourself.