Just Chillin’

If you believe that, I have a bridge to sell you.

To the moon, that is.

So I start off with 4 hours of sleep, waking up from a nightmare every hour. I finally stopped taking that one medication that was making me pass out but I’m still having insanely weird mood swings and don’t worry my doctors know ^-^ I like to complain at them. They always say things like “Hardly anyone has any side-effects!”

They lie.

Anyways I woke up depressed and then just so angry. I was furious. I wanted to punch a wall. Write a stern letter to President Trump and hand-deliver it with a pie in the face. Scream at the Starbucks barista. Just do… something!

They now have a sandbag in the gym so my knuckles are now bruised but no blood. I did good today.

I was just so ANGRY. It is very rare that I get truly furious. I get frustrated or annoyed but I’m over it in maybe a day or two and that’s if it’s mildly serious, but me this frustrated?

I’ll give you an example of what happens. I punched the bag straight for ten minutes, beat the crap out of it, and with every punch there was this voice in my head yelling “I HATE MEN. TAKE THAT YOU B**” And so forth and I could almost envision the faces of all those men who did me wrong. The ones who abandoned me. The ones who raped me. The ones who took advantage of me. The ones who made me ashamed of being a girl. And let me tell you people in the gym backed away from me this morning.

And I was so angry but at the same time I wanted to cry so badly. It was so confusing and I had trouble finishing my workout because I was so depressed I didn’t want to do anything. I didn’t see the point in trying.

So then I go to dance and I get upset because I’m having a hard time focusing on the dance class and I’m struggling with some basic motions and of course the comparison is happening too. But I muscle through it regardless and I head to my Samoan class and of course no breakfast because no microwave because it took so long to try to convince myself to shower in the icy cold water because I just did not care what I looked like. And I HATE the cold. I’m cold in Hawaii at 80 degrees Fahrenheit. That should tell you something about my cold tolerance level. I like to “visit” snow through the window thank you unless we’re doing a sport and you stay hot. So that was the other factor in this decision.

I was so sad but at the same time absolutely furious.

I get to Samoan and I am just so angry but so sad and I can’t figure out what is going on there’s this thought running through my head something’swrongsomething’swrong but I don’t know what and then the sounds around me are just too much and I just shut down. I feel like I have to curl up into a ball or just go somewhere with no sound and no people. The world gets too close.

And then my teacher asks me to retell a Samoan legend in Samoan and I absolutely shut down. My brain literally will not do it. It’s like something bigger is trying to push through and I’m pushing back at all the feelings.

And I suspect what it was now, looking back, but right then I had no response. I just could not handle how close the world was.

You know when autistic kids are around too much noise and they start shaking their head and rocking? Sometimes I do that. My head is running at a million miles an hour but at the same time is aware of all my surroundings and it’s too close and too loud and it won’t shut off. Welcome to my life.

And so I just stare at the textbook and I had two partners trying to help me do it but I couldn’t do it so I just sat there. And then the teacher looks over at me and says “Translate it fa’apalagi”. Just me. She won’t speak Samoan to me, but she does to the others. And she told me to do English and everyone else to do Samoan which I guess she was trying to be nice but as we know I was already having a bad morning. And I just gt so upset. And tears start falling from my eyes and that was not nice because I did the Audrey Hepburn cateye makeup this morning, hoping it would be incentive not to cry. Well today, I was only Audrey Hepburn for ten minutes. I wipe it off with my sleeve, shut my textbook, pack my bags, and leave. Thankfully she dismissed class early but I ran out, smacking the door open with one hand, and I’m desperately trying not to let any more tears get out and GUESS WHO IS THERE.

APPLE. The guy I am actually jealous of because he is dating someone and he’s happy and he’s fine and he can work and he can sleep at night and he’s healthy. And if I wasn’t such a screwup, that’s the kind of guy I’d want to be with, if I’d never been raped, that’s what I would want in a guy. That is when I close my eyes and I imagine having a boyfriend- and I’m not after sex or kissing- but I imagine snuggling up to him or hugging him and that’s it. It’s my most secret desire is that that’s what I truly want.

And he’s the one who sees me

“What’s going on?!” And he stops and he looks at me and he’s waiting for an answer but I just need to hide because I can feel a panic attack coming on so I look at him, another pair of tears pearl in my eyes burst and spray into my lashes, and then I couldn’t look him in the eye, I turn and practically ran away from him.

I ended up forcefeeding myself breakfast and hiding in the church again. Under the piano. In a corner. But that was after I locked myself in the bathroom and cried for an hour. And did NOT get my homework done, I will add.

What kept running through my mind was F this. I can’t take this. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t want to talk to anyone I don’t want to see anyone. I hate men. They are all blankity blank blank blank why am I even trying?!

Oh and it gets better. Because then I pressure myself over my scholarship and my leg and my grades and I just get so overwhelmed I feel like I’m just going to die right then and there.

And there’s a few reasons I ran away from Apple. #1 He is a reminder of exactly what was hurting me #2 I hate it when someone sees me cry because I hate the idea that anyone sees that vulnerability. For me in the past that was an invitation to get raped #3 Snowball’s chance of me trying to explain “Oh my grandma died and I found out I was raped repeatedly for ten years of my childhood oh and did I mention I have PTSD, anorexia, and depression and that I used to starve myself and slice my arms open and work out until my bones cracked to try to numb the pain? Am I really going to tell him “Yeah I’m working stuff out with the police” Or which doctors I am actually seeing. Or that my last drug made me cry for a PR of 8 hours in one week. Or that I’m mentally ill.

See cause here’s the thing that is really hard for me. Most of the time I can ignore it, but seeing my guyfriends in relationships with girls who look well-adjusted, healthy, happy, who can give them a healthy normal does of physical affection well…

You might as well tear my heart out of my chest, rub salt all over it, and crush it.

I don’t get why I’m not over my anorexia and my post-traumatic stress disorder and my depression! I’m DAMN TIRED OF BEING SICK!!!!

And in the meantime I’m going to a college where getting married is the cool kids thing to do and I’m watching Mormon dating. And TBH in high school all we did was talk about sex. Over here? NOOO. You can say some innuendo very casually as a joke but actually talking about kissing or whatever. No. It feels so pretentious. “Oh look, I have the pretty ring!” And the stupid Instagram captions “My eternity”

Your bitch, you mean.

I guess I’m what you call disillusioned. And bitter. And heartbroken.

And here’s what was going down. Think about this. I am touch deprived. I am stressed out almost beyond comparison because I can barely hold the little things together and here I am like “I want to be in the night show! Time to train up to be a professional dancer” And then all the rumors and those hos who keep making fun of me and gossiping about me my GOODNESS have they nothing better to do?! I am a fabulous person why all the hatin’?

Here’s the thing. I’m stressed. I’m struggling. And my Samoans are gone. And I had connected to them. And they abandoned me. Which seems to be an unfortunate pattern in my life and part of the reason I really want a dog. So here I am doing college and I’m pressuring myself to do really well, but my medications are working me over and making me cry for hours and then I get migraines, my housing situation is stressful, I don’t really have a safe place to go to, and then you add in the fact that my “connect to people” switch is behind the “break in case of emergency” glass in the center of Fort Knox.

What I was afraid of and what is keeping me up tonight, is that when someone actually catches me having a hard moment, and they hug me, I cannot control the emotions it brings up. Because a huge reason I’m crying in the first place is because I feel totally alone and very much scorned an ostracized. I don’t know how much of that is PTSD and how much of that is my guyfriends saying not to talk to them anymore because they have girlfriends or that all my guyfriends are in relationships, or that other guys are saying don’t talk to me anymore and that I’m not getting invited to hang out by anyone and when I ask they don’t come. I am physically alone most of the time and it’s killing me.

And yeah what I was really afraid of is that I remember Apple being a safe hug person. And the last thing I want to do is have any feelings of connection to a guy dating a snickerdoodle vanilla white blonde mocha from Utah who looks like the f-ing perfect Mormon baby mommy I read about in the church magazines. The one who crotchets “I am a child of God” into potholders for her lesson? The one who color coordinates entire journals, scrapbooks, props, activities, and costumes for Girls Camp every year. The one who shows up to church in her silky flowery dresses with the gold glinting around her neck, the perfectly permed hair and makeup and right down to the shoes from Target.

If you don’t follow my blog this won’t make any sense to you but I had two guyfriends in high school and they were the first people allowed to touch me after what 13 years. Because after I got raped I stopped cuddling, I stopped hugging, I wouldn’t let anyone touch me. One of them was good for casual hugs and the other one was K and I only hugged him twice and it changed my life.

I felt whole with him. I felt safe. I felt warm. And I was comforted by him. I connected very deeply in that moment.

I’m not a typical person. Can you imagine what it’s like to have nightmares of rape and not really have anyone being kind to you and your family punishing you for starving yourself and fighting all the time and having just one friend who you could talk to about what was actually going on, who you could be real with. And that friend happened to give you one magical hug.

I slept better for 3 weeks after that hug. All I had to do was remember what it felt like and I would be able to fall asleep. I had less nightmares. It was literally a miracle.

And then he was just gone.

So I am in hedgehog mode. I will poke you and curl up into a ball if you try to see my soft tummy because I do not need collateral damage.

I do not want to attach to anyone.

But at the same time touch deprivation is slowly killing me. It’s worsening my depression, raising my stress, and killing my relationships. I feel so stuck. And so I’m just shoving away when what I really need is just more hugs and more compassion. I’m acting tough because in the past that was always how I got hurt the worst. And maybe I shouldn’t say it even though I think it, but what happened with my guyfriend K was almost worse than all the rapes put together.

When someone is forcing sex on you, it’s hell. But you know deep down that you hate what is happening and that you didn’t want it and that it is disgusting and horrifying. But when someone loves you, cares about you, and gets close to you- and THEN they just up and walk out like you never happened my God it hurts like hell. I didn’t love my rapist. I hated him. But I did love K so much and that gave him the power to hurt me in ways that rape never could.

If I had a choice right now and Apple was here I would resist very strongly the “need a hug” urge but I keep circling back to this that if I keep not getting enough “food” (in this case, a healthy dose of safe physical affection) I am going to end up straight back in that hospital. I need to nurture alternatives to these damned medications that mess with my mind and my personality. Find natural ways to balance my hormones. And I can’t think of anything I want more than a solid hug from a guyfriend right now.

But we don’t always get what we want.




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