The Story of Angel ❤

You know it’s bad when your therapist starts tearing up when you talk about something. So here is a cute pic of Dox to help you brace yourself for the real talk that’s about to go down. (My accent comes out when I am emotional sorry not sorry)


Well I was talking about three things. First of all how my school has no medical care or support for rape victims whatsoever. Secondly how when I was sexually assaulted I have had no end to the shit people say. There’s this meme on Pinterest I love


Ahewm. For those of you who don’t know and despite my resolution to complain less I think it’s time to talk about what happens when too many idiot young Mormon girls get together in one school. More specifically, young idiot- I mean, ignorant young girls. Can we relate people? There had to be at least one girl you knew growing up who was just so full of it and decided her calling in life was to talk smack about every other girl well guess what, we have a problem! Especially here! What I HATE (and I am going to add this is something I try to work on because I was raised in a home where this is a thing) is when a member of the church- particularly Christians- take on the name of Jesus on Sunday and show up to bitch on Monday.

Let me give you an example of a car ride with my dad.

Girl walks down the sidewalk wearing short shorts

“That is filthy and obscene and she looks like a whore.”

So, men can run around half naked, but when a girl wears shorts…

But now, and this may be just because I used to be more like my family, I now experience this on a day to day level yes. But it is even more fun. Apparently I am a boycrazy literally crazy bitch who lies about getting raped to seduce someone else’s boyfriend oh and did I mention she is so boycrazy she hangs out with guys all the time and also she is totally just wanting attention when she shows up with sliced arms to the gym. Also she lied about getting sexually assaulted it was her fault and she said it for attention from the boys.

sorry wednesday

Anyways so that’s a taste of the rumors about me and guess how I find out. A friend comes back to me and says hey did you know what the Tongan boys are saying about you?

My bitches, I literally baked those cookies and gave them out to y’all out of the goodness of my heart because it was Christmas. I in no way shape or form think of you as sexually attractive and I would rather vomit into a bucket than kiss you.

How’s that for boycrazy?

Ohmigosh though, these GIRLS. One minute they in church preaching God’s love and the next I get these text messages saying all kinds BS and of course I just backed off because I have plenty of drama (in case you didn’t notice) and I don’t need no immature insecure vomitously supposedly perfect prissy little Molly Mormon girls with their passive aggressive smacktalk and gossip whoring. And that goes for the Tongan gossipgirls too (that is what I call the Tongan men who do this). I. DON’T NEED YOU. Quite the opposite.

Anyways now that I have vented some anger I have to admit one nice little bonus to “coming out” is that these girls who lied? Girl I am about to make it rain and you are going to be exposed for what you are and regret everything you said. But like I said, that’s just a bonus. The main point is to get my dog and to help people understand my condition so that the next girl or guy who comes along will not have to go through what I did. If it saves even one other girl. It’s worth it for me to go through this hell that’s about to rain down when I come out with the truth.

Here is the more positive note of today. I finally put the pieces together about why I relapse over and over and why this stuff sticks.

Short version of my story with PTSD anorexia and depression: I was raped and beaten multiple times for 9 years starting when I was 5. The man was LDS and a temple worker and that was one of his reasons he gave me as to why I was the whore and I deserved this. My mom was mentally ill with anxiety and depression beginning during her pregnancy with me so she was not purposefully neglectful, but there was not enough left of her to care for me. My dad was emotionally shut down all business and very religiously strict. He also taught a lot of shame to me about being a girl and being weak enough to cry etc. I ended the rape when I was 13 and was finally strong enough to defend myself and all my memories blacked out. I got PTSD shortly after my grandma died and all my memories started to come back. It’s been almost 2 1/2 years now. I have been through rehab and therapy and survived suicide attempts, hospitals, and even college so far as well as coping with serious sport related injuries.

My dog, Angel came into my life when I was 8 years old. My only gift from my blood grandfather  (thanks to a bitter divorce I had three sets but now one grandma is dead and her husband was the bastard who raped me so he doesn’t count) was Angel. Angel was a Maltese and for those of you who want to hug puffy white clouds because they look SO. FLUFFY. That was my dog. She had the fluffiest, snow white fur and these soulful dark brown eyes and she was literally the sunshine of my life.

I didn’t have much to hold onto at home and I was bullied at school for being “ugly” and “weird” and church was a nightmare because of the girls. My dog was the one thing in my life I could attach to and love unconditionally. She was someone I never had to pretend for and I would cuddle with her and talk to her. Because of the rape I had stopped letting anyone touch me and for those of you who don’t know that can literally kill a child or give them severe depression later on in life.

Angel was my heart.


To the end of her days she was an unfailing companion. She came down with Cushings Disease about the same time my grandma passed away. For those of you who don’t know how horrible that particular disease is, the entire dogs body bloats and goes tight as a drum. This pressure causes intense severe and constant pain to the dog. Angel used to run faster than me, I could never catch her. But for those last months, Angel could barely walk or jump up onto anything. I would carry her in my arms on walks so she could smell the fresh air and lay in the grass. She decidedly was there for me. I would come home from school and those 15 minutes with my mom in the car, due to her issues, were hell. Nothing is EVER enough for my mother. An A should be A+. Don’t get me wrong, I was above average student and did well in sports and spoke 4 languages (5 now ) but she never seemed happy. Not necessarily her fault, but watching her have anxiety attacks and have to lay in bed or listening to her worrying constantly about things that would never happen or hear her crying or just laying in bed all day, too depressed to get up- it was exhausting.

But then I would come in and Angel would dance in circles and bark and be SO. HAPPUMY!!! (New word it is mine) and I felt so much better. She followed me around the house and never let me out of her sight and check on me every night. When I was gone she would sit on top of the stairs and howl. One time she even clawed a hole through a wall because she wanted out to look for me so bad. She also would chase our car. Or sit behind the tire so we couldn’t leave.

My last night after those months of watching her succumb to Cushings was by far the worst night of my life and I have been through some of the worst horrors life has to offer. Hospitals rehab car accidents deaths etc, seen it. Losing Angel was worse than starving nearly to death or cracking a bone or losing all my friends-all of it.

I remember the first day I came home and Angel was gone my heart was like a closed fist in my chest. I felt this emptiness crash over my head like a riptide and over the next few months I could not even cry. I was so, soo broken over losing her that I lost the ability to feel anything else and the ability to cry. I lost her in March and 2 years later (anniversary is soon) I cry my eyes out when I talk about her.

I finally understand my relapse factor. Isolation. Lack of connection. I finally realized that if you want to understand me, you need to imagine me as a German shepherd dog. I am fiercely protective and loyal. I do not love everyone. But when there is a person, that I love, come hell or high water, I will risk anything for them. Even if they betray me, I will still love and miss them. With KT, that guyfriend who left, I am just like a dog, waiting for her best friend to come home.

That kind of heart, you cannot just expect someone like me (or a dog) to instantly love and connect with a new owner. I do not connect with people now and guess what, I never did! UNLESS I had a dog to come home to! It all makes sense. I have never been capable of connection unless I had at least 1 or 2 stable intimate unconditional relationships that were 24/7- i.e. my dog and cat. I had to have a safe base to branch out.

With that being said, in therapy and for years now, everyone has wanted me to have my own dog. My family my therapists my doctors have seen me with animals and how much better I am with my disabilities and my mood swings just by having a dog and GUESS WHAT I MAY BE CRAZY BUT IF YOU LOOK AT MY HISTORY, I MAKE HELLA SENSE. Of COURSE I would attach to dogs! Of course I need that connection. Of course I would take losses very very hard. I am a German shepherd personality wise!

Anyways I am home with Dox now and I have midterms and blahblahblah plus video fundraising and MY PERIOD

Nothing like oversleeping and then leaving religion class to wipe blood off your thigh and then fainting in the girls bathroom from fatigue and then having to just take painkillers and buckup buttercup classes homework therapy session in Haleiwa 1 hour there 1 hour back and have to go shopping and have mandatory dance practice 9-11. Usually the only two things I like about my period are 1) I feel no mercy when I am a cruel tyrannical queen of evil and walk around hurting everyone’s feelings because if you were being knifed in the pelvis you wouldn’t be feeling very charitable either. And 2) Usually I STAY HOME TO SLEEP. Which has nothing to do with the fact that I try not to kill peasants on Tuesdays and everything to do with the fact that my period drains my strength literally sucks it out of my body and I fall down and pass out a lot.

Damnit. If I have to do this once a month shouldn’t I at least be able to get some rest? I have been through enough.

Also. Me and Dox. 😍❤💋 (apologize for my awkward face but Dox kept moving and trying to kiss me😒)



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