Something dark and hard but also viscous is rolling around inside me today. It started last night, on my walk. I started feeling dark and panicked and choked with grief and just… small and tender and tense. I keep bumping up against the hard edges of this thing no matter how I try to tiptoe around it. Depression? Anxiety? A combination of both? Could be PMS. Whatever it is, it makes me feel tacky and slightly soiled, completely exhausted, and way, way more pissed off than I am on a regular basis.

I'm angry, deeply angry, that I can't just get up and clean my house like I used to. Sure, it was hard back in the day (and now I know why), but it was doable. Now there are a hudred isolated little messes that I can't bring myself to corral. I'm too busy trying to drag my carcass through the day, make sure I take my meds, make sure I eat something, drink something, try not to vomit, futilely fight to stay awake… I'm weak as a kitten, and with less stamina. I hate being trapped in this body. Maybe that's it. Maybe that's the darkness I've run up against--I'm just finally fed up (again) with being trapped and shackled.

Yes, it happens to even the most cheerful and optimistic of us, "us" being those with otherwise invisible chronic illnesses. I don't have a remission to look forward to, just a further "managing" of symptoms that grow ever stronger and more varied as the months pass. I have to wonder, is this future I'm facing even worth all the effort I'm putting into it?

Perhaps I'm just over-exhausted. It was a busy, active weekend, as far as my energy levels are concerned. We spent hours in stores, looking at various things that we are shopping for, testing different mattresses and computer chairs… So exhausting, but also quite fun, because I was with Corey. But maybe my melancholy is simply a result of over-exerting myself during Corey's days off? That could very well be.

I spent some money yesterday, too, more than I usually do. I bought new components for a medic alert bracelet, a few other things… and I started feeling absolutely terrible and panicked later, sure that I'm a terrible person now because I bought frivolous things and I could have used the money to pay off medical bills… even though I took the thousand dollars I got from my late sister in law's life insurance and spent it exclusively on medical bills, and it seems that's all I spend money on these days… Like I'm no longer qualified to be a responsible adult who is good with money because I veered from absolutely necessary living-only expenses. Isn't that silly? I didn't use money appropriated for something else, and I can definitely make up for it in the next year. I guess I just don't feel like I could or should possibly… whatever. I don't even want to think about it anymore.

Whatever it is, I feel physically shitty (surprise surprise), I feel emotionally shitty, and I miss Bob with a fierce ache that won't be silenced. I contemplate getting up, doing the dishes, tidying the coffee table, even making an apple pie… and then I simply roll over and ignore my misguided ambitions. Perhaps later I'll dose up good with my meds, turn some energetic music on as loud as I can stand, and do the dishes and make that pie. Maybe a multi-berry apple pie? I dunno. I've been craving soda lately, too, mostly Coke. Gotta figure out how to get some of that here to the house, since I can't drive and I've got no vehicle… I wonder if I could simply order a 2 liter from a pizza place and get them to deliver just that to me? Hmmm… I'll have to make sure to hydrate alongside drinking soda, of course.

I'm sure my foul and exhausted mood will pass. I've got some exciting news that I'll write about then.

Note: I went and took a look at my "Quotes to keep me goin'" section, and it helped a remarkable lot. There's a reason I keep that page around… lol

Looking through the pictures from my party. The party was fun, everyone had a good time (I think), but I'm sitting here crying…

I've gained so much weight.

I'm so sad.

I've tried so hard not to gain this weight… to be healthy… to stay pretty and thin… to accept myself as "thick" or "curvy" or "big", and beautiful besides, but… pictures don't lie. (How does Drogo even pretend to still find me sexually appealing?)

I'm pretty fuckin' devastated.

Want an example? Here.

And now, for contrast, almost exactly a year ago…

That is what I'm used to looking like. Not the other one.

I hate this. I hate being encased in this blubber suit. My endocrinologist is worried about my thyroid, so we upped my dose. I don't have anything to worry about with the adrenals; we're monitoring those. My thyroid levels are good, but this inexplicable and seemingly unstoppable weight gain is a sign that something's up, somewhere.

You guuuuuuys… this may be shallow and petty, but I'm seriously very distressed and distraught over this. I hate being so out of control in every goddamn aspect of my life, even something as seemingly insignificant as my appearance.

I swore that this whatever-it-is wouldn't ruin my special day, my one special day, and it didn't… mostly. I didn't get to everything that I wanted, but I got enough done that it all worked out. It didn't mess up my day, though I was very tired and hurting (and I'm hurting like HELL right now… it's like, 8.5+ and I'm hating this), but it damn well has messed up my life, and I'm pissed.

I'll do a birthday recap later. Right now I'm too upset over my double chin, moon face, and gut. The enhanced bosom I can deal with… everything else, though, has gotta go. I'm doing my best. That's what kills me about this whole situation, is that I'm doing my best… and it's still not good enough. Not by a long shot. :'(

Well as it turns out, I didn't need to blog through my thoughts about what's going down with my honey. I just needed a good listening ear, sympathetic pats on the arm, and some words of sense that, yes, I already knew but needed to hear from another person. Most of my issues had to do with my being sicker than ever and wanting/needing more support from C in that regard. Mostly because I'm terrified and scared and lonely and overwhelmed. He stepped up admirably, and some solutions have been put forth that I find most satisfactory. Probably more on that later.

Also, the two M's are both making plans to vacate the premises within the next 6 months-ish. I am not pleased about this. However happy I am that they are moving on with their lives and getting out of this dead end town and pursuing their dreams and yada yada yada… I'm an inherently selfish person, and they are like, 8/10 of my support network here. They are, generally speaking, my rides places, my listening ears, my open hearts and arms, my dose of laughter when I don't feel like laughing and definitely when I do, my bawdy joke bandy-ers, and quest companions to both C and I in DnD and Magic. Whatever will I do without them? Just the thought makes me wilt inside. *sigh* But just because I'm settled here, likely for life, doesn't mean that others have to be chained here to suit my needs. It's just… why do all my good friends have to be at a distance?! J is all the way across the country, J and K and H are a full 24 hours' drive north, and the C family is hours north even of them… J and R are a state east of my family up north, my mom and the kids are all the way across the country as well, L is as far across the country as you can get from here (and is stealing M from me, that bitch! Kidding.), and E is too busy to come see me at all. If I'm not working with her I just don't see her, and we all know I don't leave the house any more.

My life is lonely. So lonely. That's part of what I was having problems with with C, is the sheer loneliness of my existence. Well, not the loneliness, but the inescapability of it all. He can comfort me and then go off and play games with B or D on the comp, but I'm stuck feeling awful. All day. Every day. It traps me, pins me to the couch or the bed, and there's nothing I can do about it that I'm not already doing. And who wants to ask people to come spend time with that?

How do I make new friends when these ones leave? They are taking pieces of my heart… but how do I find new people to fill the voids they will leave behind? It's not so simple for someone who is house bound, bed bound… Yes, I have my internet friends, but sometimes you just need someone to come over and be here with you, like M was for me last night. I'm happy for them, I really am, but I feel terribly selfish that this constitutes a personal crisis on my end of things.

Why do I have to be so all alone?

I guess it's a pity party. Why me? What did I ever do to deserve this? And I'm terrified, y'all. I'm so, so, so scared that this is my life, forever, for always… that I'll never get to really live life, not the way that I had always intended to. I won't get to travel. I won't get to work. I won't get to help people. I won't get to perform music. I won't get to raise a family. All of the talents and skills that I have are going to waste. My potential is withering like a sick plant because the body it is rooted in is inhospitable, toxic.

I realized the other day that, if I die (whether it's from natural causes, foul play, an accident, or by my own hand), C will be totally lost. It will destroy him. Do you know what it's like to basically be someone's reason for living? It's incredibly flattering, and it fills you with a sense of self-worth like none other. I mean, I'm his reason for living in a totally healthy kind of way, as in I'm his "true love" and I fill his life with meaning and joy, etc. etc. But I also feel bad because what kind of a life can I give him when I'm broken like this? He deserves so much more… Hell, I deserve so much more. We've had to deal with more in our first year of marriage than most people do in ten. I may be what gives his life meaning and dimension, as would the family that we someday hope to create, but… he kind of got gipped, I think.

I'm sorry. It just hits me sometimes… how sad I am about everything. I mean, I am such a bright, talented young woman. I am. But it seems like every single thing that I was, that I was capable of, is being systematically stripped away by this cocktail of sicknesses. My mental capacity and acuity that I was so proud of is falling by the wayside as forgetfulness and cognitive fog dominate my mental landscape. Often I have conversations of late that, later, I cannot tell whether they were reality or a dream unless there is some physical marker or transcript left behind. My vocabulary and spelling has taken a sharp decline, and I frequently struggle to find the "right" word, one that I know very well but cannot seem to access. I lose the names for commonplace things and events. The events of my own past are shrouded in mystery, lost to the gaping, fuzzy holes that have sprouted in my memory banks. It feels like my brain is made of swiss cheese. M remembers more about my life than I do because I've blogged it and he's read every single post, plus the events that he's actually been there for. J remembers more about my SOULS years than I do, more about our conversations… it's just frustrating to feel like a spectator to your own life.

All the things that I considered to be me… they're gone. Inaccessible. Stripped away, dulled down, tattered fragments. Who am I? What's the use of my even being here? At least I can still write, most of the time. My hands aren't that bad, not on a consistent basis. (Am I jinxing myself here? Ugh.)

It's just… it's just a pity party. An identity crisis. A sadness at losing two of my best friends to distance and the inevitable increase in isolation that will come with it.

On a completely different and random note, I watched Frozen yesterday, and it. is. awesome. A must-see. It's more musical than I expected, but it's very well done. Some of the songs get stuck in your head very firmly, such as "Let It Go". It's a short number, but powerful. I really like it. Here's the original song, and then here's The Piano Guys' interpretation of it, which is equally amazing.

I lie here in the semi-darkness; the room is lit with a weird half glow from the gibbous moon somewhere outside. The darkness is translucent and diaphanous about me, tinged with heady blues and soft blacks and the minute, luminous influence of starlight.

I am alive, vibrant, and humming despite my inevitable fatigue. My body yawns and curls in on itself; my spirit swings wildly in the breeze of my thoughts and flutters on the edge of an abyss. It reaches out with impossible hands to gather the moonlight to myself, to pluck the stars from the sky one by one and place them on my tongue to feel them melt into inexplicable froth and disappear.

The ever present question looms large in the darkness of my supposed rest: what is wrong? Another disease stricken off the list, and I suppose I ought to be grateful for each horrible fate that no longer awaits, each drooling and writhing hydra gnashing its teeth I somehow manage to escape. And yet… I find myself disappointed. Each awful reality would make so much sense, it would fit so well, and yet it all remains enigmatic and foggy… a foe that strikes at me from the mist, and I am helpless to identify it, to strike back, or indeed do more than clumsily dodge blows as best I can and try to staunch the bleeding.

It's not lupus. Well what the hell is it?! It's not multiple sclerosis. It's not this. It's not that. Do I just have the worst case of fibromyalgia in the whole freaking world?! Did I just hit the terrible luck jackpot and I have to live this way the rest of my life? Continually worsening… medications ineffective… barely scraping by financially because everything extra goes towards medical bills and the trips it takes to get me to doctors who might actually be able to do something… Maybe I should just do what a good soldier does and fall on my sword. But no… I've contemplated that so much lately, down to the minutae of planning and taking into account all the loose ends to be tied up upon my demise… and the thing that gets me every time is the mental image of C finding my body. I can't bear the look on his face or the tears. I just can't do it. So I curl up into a ball and whimper while the mist swirls and eddies around me, while the unknown, unnamed, faceless enemy (enemies??) stalks and jeers and jabs and demoralizes.

I want to get better. I want to be better so bad it hurts. (Maybe that's my problem. Hah!) I have so much potential… so much locked away inside because I don't have the energy or strength to pull it from myself and lay it out in the sun. I need an assistant, a minion, a crone… Someone to hobble hunchbackedly to and fro at my beck and call. Someone to take over the menial tasks of living so that I can focus all my precious remaining energy on creative, ennobling endeavors.

I sit here bare skinned, swathed only in quilts and blankets, and even in the dark I cannot bear the sight of myself. It is not that my form is displeasing, per se… but it's because I can see what is inside me and it kills me that I can't be everything that I want to be. On the inside, I am wind chimes and church bells and Tibetan prayer bowls and bagpipes and a hand drum. I am brightly colored beads flashing in the sun, multi-hued fish swishing secretly through cool ponds and rivers, and the whisper of leaves as the weather changes. I am the smell of rain on the way, the eye boggling pleasure of a riotous tie dye pattern, the satin caress of age-smoothed wood, and the soul satisfying release of the perfect cup of tea or coffee. I am so many bright, beautiful, eclectic, warm and neutral, shining, earthy, wildfire things inside… and I can't get them out. I can't be who I really am and who I really could and should be because of this poor broken body that I can't help but hate sometimes. Most of the time I regard it with a fond kind of pity as you would with an injured kitten, maybe with a bad leg. Other times, though, the frustration boils up in me like a scalding magma that feels so good to indulge yet at the same time fills me with a deep and ineffable despair and sadness… because I am not sure that this body, this prison, will ever change. Kitten's legs can heal. My beautiful soul-skeleton is closed in by swaths of pale, chubby flesh shot through with purple stretch marks that were never there before. Sometimes they are beautiful tattoos that tell the story of my Amazonian endurance, and other times they are the ragged cracks through which despair and disgust ooze from my very core as lava from the earth's crust.

So I lie here in the half-moonlight, and I wait. I wait for sleep to overcome me, as inevitably it will. I wait for tomorrow to begin. I wait… I just… wait.

I've been turning this around and around in my head and heart for the past few days, and I need to just get it out on "paper" so I can think through it... or at least feel it less... or maybe feel it fully. I dunno.

Saturday night, my youngest (bio) sister J called me in tears. She said that she was breaking down and that she couldn't stop crying and she didn't know who to call 'cause Mom wasn't answering her phone so she called me. I was honored, but concerned. As it turns out, she was having a PTSD flashback attack, being assaulted by memories that she had previously been repressing, and she didn't know how to deal with it or how to stop the memories. I talked with her through it and managed to get her calmed down, and we talked for about 2 hours. She didn't want to talk specifics at all, which I totally understand, but she said that she had memories of bad things happening to her. I guess that I just couldn't absorb what she was telling me, so I assumed she was talking about physical abuse and went with that for the rest of the conversation.

R called me in a panic an hour or two later (well, as panicked as he gets, anyway) saying that J had texted him in the course of a text convo they were having that the same thing that happened to me had happened to her. After our conversation and my piecing together the big picture from context clues in our conversation, I fb messaged her and asked outright, "Those memories that are troubling you... are they sexual in nature?" She responded that they were.

Dear god.

Here's the kicker... we share the same molester.

He's her father. Her biological father. I mean, how sick is that?! One thing that I've clung to all these years is that, "Well, at least he was only my step dad." 

She's been disclosing to family members and calling people involved the past few days... trying to make sense of the whole thing, I think, and also to validate her memories. She doesn't trust herself fully, so she needs someone to confirm that she was, in fact, abused and that she's not making it up. We've been in close contact since that night, whether it be through phone call, text, or Facebook chat. I am so glad that I followed the impulse I had recently to reach out to her and establish a deeper bond and to make myself available to her via regular phone calls. When she needed a support and someone to turn to, she had someone who was there for her.

Although I hate the situation with a passion, it did help to boost my professional confidence that I handled her crisis so well. I had no idea that I knew so much! I'm pretty much terrified of dealing with my girls when they're in crisis mode, and I have avoided giving out my phone number for that very reason. Besides my own trepidation, fear of somehow bungling it and damaging them further, and feelings of inadequacy, I know that it takes a lot of energy to deal with someone in an emotional crisis and I don't always have anything to give. I am selfish, I'll admit it. When I'm home, I don't want to be bothered with someone else's problems most of the time. Now, though... my perspective has changed. I realize how much I know, that I can help someone through a crisis... and I feel like my heart has been opened towards my girls a little more now. I have more love for them. It's hard to explain. But I'll be handing out my card with my phone number on it tonight to all of the girls, and I started a Facebook group last week just for them. I'm glad that I am involved in the teen/tween group again. It's not like it was last time when I was drowning, untrained and casting about on my own while battling my own demons without any weapons. I'm in a much stronger place emotionally, the turmoil of my romantic life has died down, and I've gotten some good counseling and experience under my belt. I've also gone through the program myself for a while, and that was worth more than anything in terms of training and learning.

So back to J. R called me while I was traveling the other day, and we urgently hammered out some of the details for me to fly back and be there with the folks for a few weeks next month. Mom will be having a hysterectomy and will be physically out of commission for a while and J needs a good support system more than ever right now. (She was hospitalized for suicidal ideations again last week.) She and I have really, really clicked and connected, and being a survivor of the same kind of abuse from the same abuser puts me in a unique position to minister to her. She sees that my life is good, that I have not only survived but thrived (HJ mission statement plug, lol), and I think that will give her hope. The beginning is hard, but the healing is even harder, and she's got a lot to work through. K was very abusive to her while they were growing up and it has affected her in dramatic ways. I'm trying to convince her to move here to Y with me for a year or two at the least after she graduates high school this year. I think that going through the HJ program with girls her age that are also wonderful, strong, empathetic survivors would hep her avoid a lot of heartache, pain, and dysfunction in the future.

Those are the facts. But the feelings? I guess I'm just numb still. I'm shocked, disgusted, sorrowful... but it's all kind of muted, far-off, tamped down. It'll probably be really intense while I'm there with her. I had restless sleep last night and woke up feeling all gross inside and I know it's because of this. I guess I've just written G off to such a degree that I can't feel anything about him right now, not yet. But I guess the biggest thing I feel is relief. I am relieved that I can do what I've been doing my whole life and rush in to take care of my family and help make things better, make them run smoother. I don't feel so helpless because I was there for J in her hour of need, I had the experience and training necessary to help her through the critical juncture, and I'll be there physically to be a support for her. I'll be there physically to help take care of my family's physical needs while Mom is out of commission (and even while she's not-- I've had reports that she's overwhelmed right now and not doing so well). I can do something, I already have, and that relief trumps everything else. I can't fix it; I know that. But I can help set the bone and make sure the fracture heals clean while the healing takes place.

I guess that I just never thought he would hurt his own kids, you know? Me, obviously. K, maybe. But his kids? They were obviously his favorites. I can't believe that even after all he did to me I still accorded him some measure of decency. Guess I was wrong. I would do a lot of things to make sure he never sees the light of day again... not for me, but for my baby girl, my sweet little sister. God. I can't even assimilate this. How could he? I don't have english words strong enough for my sense of outrage and repulsion. He is her father. I just... I just... I don't know. My heart is broken and inflamed all at once. My baby... he hurt my baby.

When it was just about me, it was excusable. (I know, I know, logic says it's not, but this is what the inner voices say, ok? I'm working on it. Give me a break.) I took the hit so the other kids would be safe. I took care of them, you know? But then when we were all taken away, when they were out of my care, he hurt her. He did bad things to her. There's nothing I could have done to stop it; I know that. But I spent all of these years believing that I had somehow saved the rest of them... that I had done my job as Second Mommy and taken care of my family to the best of my ability. But now I realize that I never could. I was just a kid, and he was a sick adult bent on draining the life and livelihood of those around him for his own selfish purposes. He never cared about us. It was always about him, only about him. This is proof.

There is no "I should have been there", because there is no way I could have been. The situation was out of my hands. I was too busy trying to take care of K and myself, and then Mom when we got back to her. The kids were with their Gramma and Grampa, so of course they were safe! They were taken care of. I didn't have to worry. Because, I mean, of course he singled me out... I was the oldest. The blonde one. The one that looked different. They were his. He doted on them. He'd take care of them, even if he despised K and I.

I was wrong.

But I can take care of her now. I can help. I can't change what happened, but I can change what happens from here on out... and I'm going to take care of my baby.

Hell hath no fury like that of a woman whose loved ones have been hurt.

I'm seriously agitated and distressed right now... aggravated by every little thing... jumpy and fidgety and pissed off about nothing in particular.

It could be because I've been exhausted to the core all. day. long., and I've had to just keep going and going and going because life doesn't stop for people like me.

Could be the depression, kicking in and getting worse.

Could be pms. Could be that my body is whacking out and I don't know what the hell is going on anymore. Could be that I'm gaining weight, probably because of my new steroid, and I hate that. Could be that C won't have sex with me because I'm mysteriously bleeding, so it's been over a week. Could be that I've been feeling really insecure and under a lot of pressure and stress lately.

Could be that I just need to call it a night and get the hell off of the computer.

There have been a few interesting twists and turns of events in the past few days. I just haven't had the energy to think about them, only react in real-time.

So Tuesday was kind of a sad day, with this giant wall of "shoulds" looming over me that I felt in no way equipped to fight. I felt trapped by my body and my health problems, trapped by my financial situation, trapped by my living situation (more on that in a minute), like I was failing as an employee and a productive member of society, and just generally defeated.

See, it's one thing when the Should Monster (who bears a striking resemblance to the Cookie Monster) is stridently insisting upon one particular Should. It's a whole 'nother ball of wax when it feels like a veritable tidal wave of Should is bearing down upon you, and you can't pick out one particular thing to combat.

I can't be too hard on myself, though, because truly, I'm still learning how to pull out my tools and deal with this stuff. I'm not going to get it perfectly the first time, or every time for that matter. So I forgive myself for not immediately bouncing up and away from the sadness and the Shoulds and the defeated attitude.

Wednesday, I had my last session with my counselor. It was a good one, and I realized something interesting towards the end, beyond the things I already know. Like, I know that the Should Monster is handing me a load of crap and I need to stand up to it, and self-affirmations will help a ton in this regard; that I am afraid of either living up to or acknowledging and owning my awesomeness, because then I feel like I have to perform at this super-high level all the time and that just kind of sets me up for failure and disappointment, so it's better and easier to just put myself down all the time and operate under the premise of "I'm messed up, I'm sick, I'm so screwed up" all the time.

I learned that I perform in spurts. Seriously. This is how I operate best. Rather than having to be operating or performing at a certain level all the time (think 9-5 job, 5 days a week), I am way more productive and don't have meltdowns when I have a spurt of awesome (however long that lasts) and then can retreat into non-productive mode. Think artist, or wedding planner, or somesuch. Musician. Trapeze artist. Writer. Whatever. Being "on" all the time doesn't work for me. And realizing that is super freeing and empowering. Like, just realizing how I operate is... cool. Part of what's been such a downer about the struggle with work is that I "SHOULD" be able to do that 9-5 thing and make it work and get over myself and just survive, right? Dude, I'm just not wired that way. Even if I weren't sick, I would still hate it and get burnt out. Which I have. Again and again. And being frustrated by it because I couldn't understand what was going on.

I also realized that I tend to live so much in the present that it's hard for me to see past this moment. I know it's a little weird, because I have struggles with being fully present in the moment, but let me explain... It's like, whatever is happening now is how things will be forever. If I'm happy now, I will always be happy. If I'm sad now, I will always be sad. If I'm in a place of limbo (which I am), things will never change and it will always be like this and I've failed. If I'm succeeding, it will always be like this... and when it changes, I'm devastated. Destroyed. Because I must have done something wrong, or else it would have always been like that.

I have a hard time understanding on a very fundamental level the ebb and flow of life, the changing, and the fact that whatever is happening now... will not be this way forever.

Maybe it comes from the type of childhood I lived. When things are crazy and dysfunctional, you're not thinking of the future. You're reacting to right now, and this is all there is. "Right now" is your world, because you never, ever know how things are going to change in three seconds. They could stay the same (Daddy's happy. Good. He's been happy all afternoon. Good.), or they could change in the blink of an eye. (Daddy was happy, but then I made a noise and annoyed him and now he's really mad and I'm being punished and he'll be in a bad mood the rest of the night.) The present moment is your world.

So. Interesting things.

But I am learning, and growing, and learning how to wield my tools with yet more proficiency. I was sad about things ending with my counselor, but I'm grateful for all she taught me and showed me. It was really a good little phase, and I know I'll always remember her fondly.

So then I've been fighting Food Stamps for two weeks, 'cause they're playing these stupid games with me. They called me for my interview a couple of times during the time when I specifically wrote down that I was unavailable, and when I (finally!) got a hold of them again, they said they'd put me back on the call list. Days later, when I haven't heard anything, I call back and find out that they never actually put me back on the list. That happened several times. Finally, yesterday, I decided to go down there after school. It was the first day that my schedule allowed me to, so I figured I'd take advantage of it. Plus they'd pissed me off the day before. After another round of calling me during unavailable hours, my calling them and them promising to call me back that day, I called them just before closing and got put on hold... for over twenty minutes. Then they hung up on me and wouldn't answer the phone anymore. (Did I mention this isn't the first time they've put me on hold and then hung up on me?) I was ticked.

As I'm walking up the sidewalk to the Food Stamp building's front doors, my phone rings. It's them, and they're calling for my interview. So I talk to the lady while I'm standing in front of the building! Hah! Long story short? I don't qualify for Food Stamps, because I'm a student and I'm working less than twenty hours a week.

Now, let me get this straight.

You won't help me because I'm in a position where I need help?

Right. Because, the lady explains, food stamps are meant to be a supplement, not the sole source of support.

Yeah, okay, so supplement me. I don't need to be fully supported. If you only knew how I'd been scraping by...! I can make it with your supplement. I'm not asking for welfare, here.

So I explained that I'm physically incapable of working 20+ hours a week while in school, but it makes no difference.

The door is closed in my face.

So I did what any normal woman would do... I went to my car and I cried. Because I don't know how I'm going to survive. Food stamps are out, disability isn't an option at this point... work is a mess right now anyway, but I'm doing all I can there... I'm out of options, and the only thing I can do at this point is live off of my credit card.

So I cried.

Then I called my mom. And she sympathized, but had no ideas for me, except that C should be supporting me.

I've heard that from people before, and I disagree.

It's not that he won't help me out if I ask, because he will. He's proven it, and he's blatantly stated that he won't let me go hungry. That's great. But, though we are engaged... I am not his financial responsibility. I didn't move in with him so that he would take care of me. We never, ever agreed to that, and I refuse to place a burden of responsibility on him that doesn't belong there. Just like if I moved back in with Gramma and Grampa, it wouldn't be their responsibility to take care of me, just because I'm living with them, just because I'm their granddaughter. It doesn't work like that. So I guess I get a little up in arms when people question C's moral integrity for not "taking care" of me while I'm in my dire straits here, because it's like judging him for failing to do a job that's not his. You know?

So I thought about it all day, and I finally decided to bite the bullet. Unfortunately for me, I didn't even think of the fact that I'd had all day to mull it over and C had just gotten home from work and needed some time to decompress, because I just hit him with it right after he walked in the door! I apologized later-- it was thoughtless of me, and rude. He accepted the apology and told me it was fine. Whew.

Now, we've had several "serious" conversations the past few days. There was Tuesday, when I broke down crying because I felt like a failure. (He maintains that I'm not.) Then there was Wednesday, when I had realized from Tuesday's conversation about having space of my own and feeling like a hangers-on that it's really, really important to me that a.) I know that when the house is purchased that it's our house and not just his, and b.) it's really important to me that after we're married we have our own place and space (i.e. no roommates). That was a good convo, and it went well. And, yes, it will be OUR home, OUR house, not just his. It's hard for me to feel that way now, because he's the one putting all the finances toward it... but when we're married, we're partners. Equals. His house, my house. (Right now, in the bachelor apartment, my stuff is kind of socked away in convenient locations because I came along last. He was already settled, and so was S, so it's their place, it feels... I just happen to live here.) And I'll be the one decorating it and cleaning it and all that, so I think I will feel more ownership. Right now is just a weird time of trying to fit myself into convenient little gaps.

I explained what happened with the food stamps, and C was sympathetic. He was very upset on my behalf when they were being so frustrating, so I knew he'd understand my disappointment at being turned down. So then I told him how I went and cried, and then I just asked him... I asked him if he'd be willing to support me until I can graduate and get a job. I know it's bad timing, what with trying to save for a house, but I'm trying my best and I'm doing all that I can, but I'm stuck in this weird limbo and falling between the cracks and I just don't know what else to do.

He asked how much I thought I'd need a week, and then he kissed the top of my head after I told him, "Sorry." He said that he knows I'm trying my best, and that means a lot to him. It's not like I'm just sitting back and doing nothing. So I asked for $200 a month. That will cover gas and should cover most basic food. I will continue to work and go to school... none of that will change. I'm just getting some help from my sugar daddy :) He says he knows what he can afford, and he's told me before that it's not like I'm a gold-digger. I hate to ask him to do this for me, but... I can't see any other way at this point.

It was funny-- I had texted him during the day that I wanted to make Rice Krispies treats, but he doesn't get the texts until he picks up his phone from the weapons locker at the end of his shift. So he's walking out the door with some other guy, and his phone goes off. When he sees it's from me, he's like, "Uh-oh, that's never good..." So he opens it and reads, "I want to make Rice Krispies treats...", and he's like, "I can deal with that. I can very, very much deal with that!" LOL He told me the story when he got home.

So we traipsed off to Wally World to get the ingredients, and while we were there, do you know what he got me?!??!

A neon/fluorescent sweater! Like the one I used to have in high school! (Actually, he's the one who bought the first one for me, while we were up at Ren Fair the year it was super cold and rainy.) I wore that thing to death, and finally got rid of it at SOULS, because I learned that you weren't supposed to draw attention to yourself with your clothes... and neon is definitely attention garnering. In the years since, I've regretted getting rid of it, since I figured I'd never have an opportunity to own one again.

I thought wrong!

You should see this baby in the sunlight. It'll sear your retinas right off :D

So. That has been my past few days. What an adventure. *sigh*

And what a good guy I've found.

Thank you, God, for my fiance.

And with that... I'm off to make the promised RK treats.

Okay, you wanna know what's really getting me?

I feel like G is breathing down my neck.

I wanna throw up, because he's there, in my mind, inside me, and I can't get rid of him.

No, he doesn't have the power to ruin my life, but the bastard sure knows how to do a good haunting.

I don't even know how to describe, explain, or remedy this.

Why is he in my head? Why do I feel so gross? Why am I so on guard?

Why am I so agitated? There's nothing to be afraid of, there's nothing to be worried about...

I'm safe here. I know that.

But I still feel like my stomach is turning itself inside out... like a sewer has upended itself in my mind...

It's probably all the various abuse-related things I've been working on and associating with this past week.

I don't want to do abuse related things anymore. I'm getting tired of being triggered when I work with the girls or when I'm helping E.

It's getting real old, real fast.

On the bright side, Jesus Jam is tonight. Looking forward to my first concert.

You've got my attention
There's no need to hurt yourself this way
You think no one will notice you're feeling
When you cry yourself to sleep

You feel stuck on the outside looking inside
Wishing this life wasn't your life
And you think you're damaged way beyond repair
Well you're not so far that I can't get to where you are

Chorus
You wish you were someone else
Every night you fall to pieces
Knowing you can't save yourself
I can see you, I can hear you
There's a place where the broken go
There's a room full of second chances
You're not stranded on your own
You're not invisible

I'm ready to listen
There's no need to hold it all inside
The smallest whisper
I hear it when your strength has all but died

I need you to believe me, can you trust me
That what you see, is not what I see
The reflection in the mirror's telling lies
Cause nothing you have done could change how much I love you

Bridge
You're not invisible
I can see you as you're falling on your knees
You're not invisible to Me


I get overwhelmed so easily... it is a puzzling plague that I do not know how to lift.


It's like my depression... I'm not really sure where it comes from, why it strikes, or why it's so intense... but I do know it's crippling and I don't know how to rise above it.


I was talking to E about my role in the HJ. I want to help out as much as possible, but I also want to be sure not to overwhelm myself.


The problem is... I get overwhelmed so easily... and she wants to stack all this responsibility on me, because I'm one of the few people she trusts... but everything is still so disorganized and grassroots, and there's so much to be done... I just... shut down. Just thinking about it.


And I'm frustrated with myself (read: caustically bitter and condescending) for being overwhelmed when I have nothing to be overwhelmed about. I'm not doing anything, and I can't even handle that?! I might as well just quit life, because clearly I can't muster the maturity needed to take it in stride.


Yes, I'm still pissed at myself for not having a paying job. I'm still super pissed that I have descended to the level of looking to others to support me.


And yet... I don't hate S for being in the same boat. Why is that? Why is it only me that's the bad person for being in this situation, for allowing myself to be in this situation?


WHAT'S WRONG WITH ME?!?!?!?!?!


How can I hope to help other people when I cower from the weight that accompanies it?


So I'm agitated. I don't know the solution to this, except to keep plugging away at my large to-do list that I've written out for myself. 


There's nothing else to do, really.


And I'm sad, because I want to be strong. I want to be good. I want to be Superwoman.


But I'm not.


I'm overwhelmed... with nothing on my plate.


sigh.


(and I do... want to hurt myself. Like it would help me be better? Hardly. Then I'd just have something else to hate myself for. But I feel like it would ease some of the anger and maybe bleed the agitation out of me.)