Bent, but not broken

I feel I need to take a moment to vent. I’m sitting here waiting for my husband to come in from Chicago. I don’t like living apart from him, but at least I have the kittens to keep me company. I also have the fucking clusters that went from episodic to chronic to intractable chronic to keep me company. I don’t like them so much. At the moment, I have a 5 threatening to go to 7. I took some Soma and a Xanax, but it doesn’t seem to be doing much. I’m tired. I’m exhausted actually. I’m tired of the clusters. I’m tired of the migraines. I’m tired of all the related crap. I’m tired of the narcolepsy. I’m tired of not being able to make/keep plans and/or appointments. I’m tired of functioning on a minimal to moderate level. I’m tired of not being able to live the life that I want to live. I don’t enjoy living my life dependent on these clusters. There are three particular times of day that determine how my day will go and that sucks and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it short of suicide, which is not an option, ever.

I’m also disillusioned. I’m disillusioned from the fact that from my adoption until I was about 15 was controlled by a monster. I could never do anything right. I did everything the hard way. I never listened. I was not loved. I was not needed. I was not wanted. I was beaten to a pulp often. My mother tried to sweep it under the rug with the ‘your father loves you. He just doesn’t know how to express his emotions.’ Well, beating me certainly helped be that message across. I got everything from a hand wooden spoon, belt/belt buckle, a switch that I had to pick myself and hot wheels racetracks. It was wondrous. Any little thing would set him off too. I looked at him wrong. I didn’t put the milk on the table quickly enough. It didn’t matter. Nothing was ever good enough. Then we’d go to church on Sunday, he was an elder or deacon, and he’d play the consummate Christian. Beyond that, I learned ‘It’s none of my business.’ I was forced to suck one of my classmate’s dick in the locked room while the rest watched in glee. The PE teacher knew what was going on and did not intervene. She also saw the welts on my legs often and didn’t intervene. Even our preacher knew what was happening and failed to intervene. I learned hypocrisy. I learned that I was basically alone in a hostile world.

There was only one thing I was looking for from my father. The only thing I ever wanted to hear him say was ‘I love you and I’m proud of you.’ He finally said it after I returned from my Jr. year in college that I spent in Barcelona. I just looked at him and said that it was too little and too late. He still tries to get aggressive with me to this day. I just tell him to hit me. The next thing he’ll see will be the police taking him away for domestic battery. I just don’t care enough to even hit him back.

I am absolutely sure that I made many mistakes though out my teens and early 20s in college. That’s when you’re supposed to make mistakes. I will completely own up to most of them. Some of them were from external causes where once again control was taken away from me. I would say that my biggest regret (not really a regret, but something I would like to have changed) is not being able to come out sooner. Since I lived in rural America it was never safe to come out, especially in 1987 or earlier. What would the neighbors think? Conversion therapy didn’t sound very fun either. So, I grew up with various views of myself. I was going to Hell bc I was a dirty abomination to god-a homosexual. That was a one-way ticket to Hell. I prayed and prayed and prayed for god to make me straight/normal. Again, the prayers, like the ones when I was little, fell on deaf ears. Once I got to college, I people like me. I thought I was the only one that existed. It was great. I had my first one-night stand and started making healthy-ish relationships. It didn’t all end up as roses and candy though. One night I was raped by a guy that I had begged my friend not to leave me alone with. Again, the loss of control. The second, I don’t remember much other than he was a football player at the college I attended. The first time, he used the date rape drug, but after that, he would just come to my room when I was alone and overpower me. That was the 1990-92 era. You didn’t report things like that to the police. They would just laugh at you. That was also when I was outed. An ex decided I didn’t spend enough time with him, we had remained friends, and he decided to call my mom and tell her that I was gay, on drugs and liked young boys. The only true part was being gay. That started a jihad in my family that lasted 8 long years. I still have an uncle who won’t talk to my or my husband. The third time was in Spain. I had missed the last train and a member of my theatre group told me that I could sleep at his place. Once I entered the house, I knew something was wrong. There were no doorknobs to the exterior doors or windows. They all worked with keys. It was basically put out if you want to get out. He wasn’t even attractive.

So, all of these experiences have made me into the person I am today. Oddly enough, I trust people until they prove me otherwise, but I don’t make friends easily because I don’t want to be let down. I have trouble expressing certain emotions because I can’t control them, such as rage and anger. I don’t feel guilt. Experience has taught me to be a realist, but I’m also jaded. I’m not bitter, just jaded. Through out all of this mess, I’ve been able to keep my sense of humor. It’s the only thing that hasn’t been taken away from me. I trust kids (high school) more than I trust adults and I’d rather be around them. Some see me as aloof. Other see me as pompous. I’ve been called cold, unapproachable, sarcastic, whatever. Those are parts of my personality that don’t go anywhere. I have to keep most people at an arm’s length. I really don’t want to get hurt. It’s happened too many times and if I can avoid it, I will.

Finally, that stupid expression, ‘god won’t give you any more than you can handle.’ Is a crock of shit. I’ve lost people I know to this disease because they just couldn’t deal with the constant pain anymore. If your god were to exist, I think I would have to have a rather stern talk with it. It owes a lot of people a lot of explanations. A kind and loving god would not subject its followers to this kind of constant misery with glimmers of the good days that were. A kind and loving god would not have allowed me to go through what I have endured personally. It has made me strong, but at a huge cost. Don’t give me the ‘free will’ crap or the ‘predestination’ garbage. Fuck off! Should your benevolent god exist I have lots of questions in store for it. Unfortunately, I don’t see the work of your god in anything; well, anything good, so I would end with ‘your god is dead and no one cares. and if there’s a Hell, I’ll see you there.’