Am I supposed to write? I don’t really know. Some of it is self-indulgent for sure. Some of it seems necessary.
I used to write all the time. Out of desperation probably.
I used to write in the car when my parents were arguing.
I used to make journals. Lots of them. And I destroyed them all. Gone. I feel sad about that. It’s like that is the only proof because my mind closes off parts of the past. I have just these flashes like pictures. I hope that I don’t make them up. I’ve verified a few. Enough to know that I remember correctly and I probably am remembering most of everything correctly.
Right now I am stuck. In a rut. Of doing nothing.
Feeling angry. Feeling like I have to hide my pain. At the church. Like I’m supposed to be happy happy all the time. And if I’m not then I’m not grateful.
I want to scream at them.Itt feels like my childhood all over again.
I’m afraid to get too close. I don’t want to trust them just to have some scandal exposed and realize it was all fake. Fake is so disheartening.
Cori left. I wanted her to leave. She is out of the country. I don’t know if she is going to come back. I kind of hope she does not come back. I was feeling like she was not genuine. She was just here to use me. Then when she realized she couldn’t use me, I was on the back burner. Trash time. Oops, cover her tracks. No more nice words. Flattery. I should do a Bible study on the word flattery.
I’m stuck here thinking about the past. About setting things on fire. I want to scream at these people, “I used to burn my arms. I used to take a hammer and hit my arms. I used to slam my arms against the doorframe at the house. I used to collect my blood on pieces of paper.” When I was a kid.
See, I’m sick. I don’t need to be taking care of children. If their parents knew what kind of a monster I am. And more. Things that I could be in jail for.
I don’t understand. What happened to me? Why did I go into the woods as a kid and undress and lay on top of the boards in the tree? Waiting to get hurt. Wanting to get hurt. I don’t understand why I hurt myself in specific ways. I don’t understand.
I want to ask God but I’m afraid He is going to tell me not to think about it anymore. Just like everyone else.
I want answers. I can’t lie about that. But is it the tree of good and evil? Will i surely die if I know what happened for real? If I understand.
So much pain. In this world. The old days are gone.
But were there really any old days? I mean the Bible is full of horrid actions.
What is the answer? It seems like we are swirling in a toilet. Nothing else. Nothing redeemable. I don’t know what to do.
Part of me accepts invitations. Part of me wants nothing to do with anyone.
I’m having a dark day. Where that part of me just wants to curl up and wants to be comforted and kept safe and quiet. But I am not a child anymore. No pity for me.
I kinda feel robbed. Because I kept it together. So I didn’t get a chance for help. Until it was almost too late. Until they said, “You are bad”. Whereas before maybe they would have helped me.
Who knows. I can’t do this to myself. I can’t play the “what if” game. That is just torturing myself. It is what it is.
I’d say enough is enough, but I feel like I’m playing catch up. Like it’s starting to soak in. Like, do other kids do that?
I don’t want to write specifics because I’m at work. And I need to email this to myself. Not quite sure how I’m going to do that. Email is public also.
I shouldn’t be emailing the doctor. That is exposing her to too much liability.
I can’t say what I want to say because there are probably people who read my email. So be it.
I should be the first one to expose myself though. They should at least give me that.
Am I supposed to write? It’s been on my mind for years really. What purpose would it serve?
Do I really want recognition? Of course.
I want to be vindicated. By the public. Of course. I could lie and say no, but I sometimes want them to be on trial. The ones who hurt me.
But do I want to be on trial for the things that I’ve done to other people? Do I want my business published to the whole entire world?
Is this just some hope we have in this century? That we want to drag our business out for everyone to see?
I could say I’d write to try to help someone. But that is not the primary reason. A big part of me wants it out of my head. I used to tell the doctor stuff. And it helped to be able to let it breathe and be heard. But I don’t have her in that capacity anymore. I’m sad about that. I think I messed it all up. I think maybe God stopped me before I ruined everything and ran her off.
I don’t really want to say this because I don’t want to insult her. But part of my mind wonders if she ended it sort of before she got rid of me. Because maybe I just couldn’t be fixed. And she didn’t want to admit that she couldn’t fix me. That’s my fear anyway. That’s not what I want. But that’s my fear.
Sometimes I think I live too much in my fear and I make it a self-fulfilling prophecy.
But the female adult doesn’t talk to me really. And the male adult doesn’t have anything to do with me. And the other stupid adults say they love me but they don’t. Not really. Their actions don’t show it.
But I probably run many off with the Bible talk.
I called one for the first time. To wish her a happy birthday. And she didn’t return my call. But she talks to family members of mine and throws it in my face. How messed up is that? Yes, I am mad about it. Not that anybody is asking.
I’m mad about a lot of things.
I’m mad that an elderly woman asked me to come with her down the hall and then just had me watch her urinate. I’m mad that I didn’t know what to say and I didn’t walk away. A 60+ year old woman. Is she supposed to do that? I felt violated. But I froze. Stupid me. Makes me feel like I wanted it. But I did not!!! Makes me feel ashamed.
I went to her house. She started undressing. Just her top. I didn’t want to see that either. I froze again. Stupid me.
I don’t want to be around her anymore. Am I just playing a victim and telling myself a story to make me feel better about not wanting to deal with her? There could be lots of scenarios. But I know I felt uncomfortable.
Same with another adult female. We don’t do that in our family.
But it’s the thing of not having a choice. That is what is disturbing to me! Angry.
Angry that another older woman is nice to me. Because I don’t know if it is genuine or if she just feels like she has to. I don’t want her to be nice to me because she feels like she has to. She doesn’t know me. I don’t want her to lie to me and tell me that I look nice if I don’t look nice.
I want to be there for her. I want her to want me. Not sexually. But still, I’m sure that is not healthy.