I had this long, long… looooong post I was working on over the past few days but I deleted it and decided to do this instead.

Okay. I’ve been spending too much time wallowing in the misery of my past. I still have a lot to work through, and little help in doing so, but I don’t want to spend all of my time being negative and thinking back on how screwed up I am and how it’s brought me to this point in my life. It’s not healthy. It’s not helping. So I’m going to try (emphasis: TRY) to be more positive and forward thinking.

So what am I doing to try and make things better. Well, first things first, I’m getting my sleeping in order. I set my alarm for 6:00 am every morning. So far I’ve been up well before that as I haven’t quite adjusted to it yet. Like this morning I’ve actually been up since 3:30. Either way I’ll eventually get used to it. Bed time is 10:00 pm. So a good rounded schedule for sleep.

I’m trying to think of things to get myself to do during the day that I can easily deal with on a regular basis. Basically, it’s like I want to go back to school. Certain “periods” during the day when I’m going to expect myself to be doing something specific. I have a few interests, I’ve just never been able to get them to coalesce at any one time so it feels like I actually have a life. Usually I just focus on one thing until I’m burnt out on it and then move on to something else. I can’t do that any longer if I want to feel like I’m actually getting somewhere. Like I’m actually doing something.

Food is going to be the real hard part. I porked yesterday like nobody’s business. When I weighed myself last night (I just had to know) I’d gained around eight pounds. EIGHT! I’m down to like two to three this morning but still! I have a kitchen scale now though so I can keep track of calories and carbs more specifically. I just need to use it and keep my urges in check.

I’ve written off my foot. It’s actually healed rather well at this point, the ulcer is smaller than it’s ever been and seems to be healing over, but I can’t wait for it any longer. My podiatrist said it’s going to continue to break open anyway so what’s the alternative. Still no word on my surgery either. Going in to see the podiatrist in January to hopefully get some answers on that. In the mean time, a nice walk after lunch every day sounds like a good place to start. Nothing too long or too strenuous to begin with. A half hour or so at first. I’ll work up from there.

As you can see, I have a vague plan. I need to focus it though and figure out how to actually put it into action. The easiest will probably be having lunch at noon and then going for a walk after that. The rest I can build up around that. I just need something to anchor onto.

Now as for lunch, I need to work on eating better. Healthy eating is not my strong suit. Maybe a salad and a sandwich? We actually have the stuff to do that, I think. Lettuce needs to be checked on. I could do that today though. Tomorrow? We’ll worry about that then. Maybe soup and a sandwich? Gotta work on that whole “and a sandwich” thing though. Hmm… What else would make a quick but health-ish lunch.

Time to research!

Once upon a time…

I remember as a kid my mom got us all these story books. They came with audio cassettes of the story as well so you could read along while the cassette played. I don’t know why she got them, I don’t know where she got them, but I remember spending a lot of time with them. I would set up all my little toy cars and play drive-in. Turn the page. Listen to the audio. Turn the page.

They were older stories that, for the most part, I either had never heard before or were very different from versions that I had. There was the girl who’s brothers were turned into birds and she had to make shirts out of flax to turn them back. I think Rumpelstiltskin was there as well. As was the guy who made soup from a stone. Snow White, Rose Red, Briar Rose, Rapunzel. They were often quite dark, much closer to the original source material I’ve come to understand. Still, I liked them, and I would sit and listen to them for hours. They were warm to me. Comforting.

And then we left everything.


It’s hard learning from a young age never to trust anything or anyone because you never know when it will all just go away for no apparent reason. You never let yourself get close or attached. It’ll hurt just that much more when…

Jesus Christ! I never really had a childhood, did I. All the moving, running, hiding, homelessness. But you learn to bury it. Compartmentalize. Some of it even felt fun to me. Like when we were living in that abandoned duplex. It was almost like camping, at least I told myself. You had to slog through the garbage in the kitchen to get to the back bedroom where we had a mattress on the floor. The neighbor ran an extension cord to us so that we could have a lamp. There was a broken television in the back yard and me and my younger brother would throw rocks at it trying to break the tube. It was so cold that morning. There was frost on the grass.

Strange how certain memories stick with you when others completely fade away. It’s like your brain is literally trying to hide things from you. It tries to lock onto things that gave you even the tiniest bit of happiness and then amplifies them. I know a lot of terrible things happened to me as a kid. I remember quite a few of them. But I also know that there are a lot that I don’t remember for whatever reason.

When my mother’s boyfriend slashed our bike tires because they were fighting. I remember that one because it was so odd to me. The violence in my mother’s relationships was usually confined to her and whoever. She kept the right to be violent towards us all to herself. That was a strange incident though because it spilled out on us. Not in the usual way either like being sent to call the police in the middle of the night at the payphone around the corner after whoever it was got a little too drunk. Not that any of them were ever sober to begin with. I don’t even remember why he did it. All I remember is yelling and then he pulled out his switchblade, went into our bedroom, and literally cut the tires on all our bikes.

I don’t think it really mattered much anyway as shortly after that we ended up having to leave most everything again. It’s hard to keep the order straight though when you moved so often. That was when we were living in the building with the two trees out front. When my mother and whoever had decided, one Friday, to simply run off to Reno for the weekend and get married. Without telling anyone. Let alone her own children who were in school at the time. I think it was the tire slasher she married.

I’m just rambling at this point.


I feel so empty all the time. I don’t know what to do anymore. I’ve lost so much over the years. I’ve lost so many years. All of it just feels like one endless slog towards where I can finally begin… beginning, but I never seem to get there. I just slog and slog and slog and never get anywhere. I really don’t think people realize just how much I don’t feel like I’m “allowed” to be or do anything. The thing is, I don’t have the faintest clue who I’m waiting for to give me permission. I know it’s supposed to be me. I mean, it has to be. Right?

Beyond that, I hate me. I mean I really, really hate me. I’m soft and weak and pitiful. My emotions run rampant. My fears corral me. I’m the bull in the china shop stomping on the shattered remnants of whatever I was supposed to be if I hadn’t been born me. If I hadn’t been.

Why am I?

I never had any support growing up. Well, a few teachers tried to support me but there wasn’t much they could do when we were constantly moving. It was rare for me to spend an entire year at one school. Outside of that though, no one in my family supported me. To my mother I was a walking welfare check, at least it very often felt like that. To my siblings, the ones I grew up with anyway, I was an easy target because I was quiet and meek. I feel like I was cheated of so much. Now, I don’t really care. Why should I? I Just want to be left alone.

I really don’t know how to connect with people. I’ve never really felt close to anyone. People are like inscrutable aliens to me. I’ve learned to read emotions and I tend to be deeply empathetic but none of it feels right to me. It feels like I’m faking all of it. Like my tendency to mimic people when someone is talking to me. I don’t mean to but I’ll slowly begin to copy the way they talk, act, move. I’ve even gone so far as to imitate accents. It’s all subconscious. I’m not sure where that comes from other than my fear of being found out as “different”.

My teachers often told me I was special. Now, I’m not sure if that was a compliment or an insult. Being special means you’re different. Being different means people notice you. When people notice you, bad things happen. At least, that’s been my experience. Get a good grade on a test. The teacher compliments you. The other students resent you. Win a pointless student award. Same thing happens. It goes on like that. Do anything that garners attention and you’re dog food.

I just realized that I talk a lot about my childhood. I don’t talk very much about myself after, say, my mid 20s even though I’m now in my 40s. There’s a reason for that. Not much has happened since then. I’ve kept my head down and out of sight. Don’t really go anywhere and don’t really do anything. It’s been quiet. So quiet. Quiet enough to ruminate. On things and in ways that-.

Don’t want to be here anymore. Feel like I’m being crushed by my own existence. Every second that passes adding untold pressure. Tick… Hate me. Tock… HATE ME! Tick… Useless. Tock… Pointless. Tick… Empty. Tock… Trash. Tick… Go away. Tock… GO AWAY! Tick… You’re not needed. Tock… You’re not wanted. Tick… Just disappear. Tock… It would be better if you had never been born. Tick… Everything wrong is your fault. Tock… Everything wrong is because of you.


What happened?

Not much. Robert blew another $50 or so after telling me that he was through. That it was over. That he was never doing it again… For the millionth time. Yesterday he came out and woke me up by sitting on the foot of my bed to tell me for the millionth-and-first time that it was over, etc. Now I’m just waiting to see how much money he blows this time.

This all makes me sound like one of those housewives you see in those Made for Lifetime movies that won’t leave their abusive husbands, and in a lot of ways, I am I guess. I learned it from my mother and her disastrous string of what you could generously refer to as “relationships” that she went through while I was growing up. Most were definitely alcoholics. All were violent in one way or another.

And yet my mother would break up with them, very publicly from time to time, involving police occasionally or whatnot, and then get back together with them as if nothing had ever happened. These weren’t relationships that she just fell into either, as happened with me and Robert, she went out looking for them. She met most of them at the Salvation Army or “The Sally” as was the local slang term for it. As a kid, I never understood why we always seemed to be down there. It was because she was on the lookout for her next fuck.

I remember Mike the best. He was one of her last relationships and they were actually “together” for quite a while. I don’t remember when they met but I remember when we were living in the house. The one where we left everything two days into summer vacation and fled to the woman’s shelter that didn’t want to take me because a 12 year old boy was too threatening for the other women. From there we moved in with my sister and then it was hotels after that. And lo and behold, Mike also returned.

My mother had literally left everything behind, including our bikes which were everything to us kids, in order to “escape” a violent situation so that we could go from living in an actual house (something that was extremely rare for us) to ping-ponging between trashy hotels, while getting back together with the guy that kicked all this off because she was supposedly trying to get away from him.

Yeah… “Mike” went on for years. I remember we were living at this one hotel and she had decided to “leave” him again. We were all packed up in the station wagon while she was talking to the manager at the front office. All of a sudden she just took off like rocket. I guess she had literally slammed her foot down on the gas because she had seen Mike and was trying to get away from him. Why, I don’t know. They got back together again shortly after that.

Eventually Mike seemed to go away. Thing is, I don’t remember when. There were so many false endings with him that I simply stopped caring to keep track. I can’t remember exactly but I think she might have even married him at one point? I don’t know. Really. But I do know that by the time I started high school he was gone for good.

After that it was mostly one-night-stands. My mother would have guys over and we’d have to hide out in our rooms while they made out or had sex in the living room. There weren’t any other live-in “boyfriends” that I can recall.

Things were quiet after that. Not good, but quiet. At least I wasn’t being woken up by a screaming match in the middle of the night and being sent out to call 911.

Beyond the quiet, it didn’t really feel that much different. My mother’s boyfriends were her boyfriends. Even with living with them for years and her even marrying some of them they would always remain simply her boyfriends. None of them seemed to give a damn about us kids, other than when they wanted another beer. There was no attempt to bond or even interact at all really. Looking back on it the situation was really strange. You married a woman with three kids but had no interest in even getting to know them?


I know one of the issues in my life is that I never had a father and I’ve been looking for something to fill that gap in myself. Honestly, I never had a mother either but that’s for a different discussion. I’ve gone so far as to actually look up my biological father. Well, at least I think it’s him. It’s so exhausting being alone and sometimes I really want to try to reach out and make contact with him if just so I can have some kind of family in my life.

And then I remember that this man married my mother, had two sons with her, and then vanished into the either never to be seen again. I don’t even remember seeing any pictures of him in the family photo albums. Before they got lost during one of our many, many moves anyway. How insane must he have been to do that? I mean, he married my mother. And would he even want to hear from me if I did try to contact him? I don’t think I could take the rejection. I already hate myself enough as it is. To learn that neither of my parents even wanted me.

When I was in my early 20s’ my mother actually came to me and told me that I had ruined her life. That everything bad that had ever happened to her was because of me. I had driven all of her husbands and boyfriends away and it was because of me that she was alone. According to her, I was completely out of control and she told me that she was going to go out and find some guy to move in just so he could kick my ass. My ass that was almost always locked in my room quietly on my computer because my anxiety and depression wouldn’t allow me to do anything more. She never did it of course, but it still hurts me that she actually blamed me for her life and decisions. Even for decisions from when I was little.

Robert said the same thing to me yesterday. He was angry. I was angry. There was yelling. Doors were slamming. I stomped on a bag of chips and threw them at him. He threw a roll of paper towels at me. Both of us were on edge and stressed out. And then he told me that I had ruined his life. Not that I was ruining his life by trying to get him to stop doing what he was doing, but that I had already (as in past tense) ruined it.

We’ve discussed my mother at length and the terrible things that she said, let alone did, to me over the years. He knew that she blamed me for her life. And then to hear him say the same thing? I dunno. It really, really hurt me to hear him say that. He seems to be trying to go back on it today though. Like he’s trying to make up for it without actually saying anything about it. I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Right now I’m laying in bed eating Wintergreen Life Savers and enjoying slightly low blood sugar.

And… now I’m crashing.