I'm Frigging Fantastic

Before you get the wrong idea and think I'm suicidal or some crazy shit like that, just think again.  The picture is a JOKE ... which is apparently all my thoughts, emotions, sacrifices, and hopes are to everyone. It seems like every time I CRY because I'm hurting inside, I'm told, "no, let's get you some better pills!" or "no, you can't cry here." or "no, stop crying, you'll upset the kids." Well, here's a news flash. I have been strong for so long and I'm tired already.  My brain is chock full of stuff that doesn't make any sense.  Half of it I know is true for sure, but it still makes no sense. Some of it was put in there through hypnosis by "trained professionals" who were supposed to be "helping" me with my supposed "mental problems."  Did it ever occur to anybody that just MAYBE I might have gone through some crazy shit that my mind couldn't process or even make sense of? Yes, I'm sure there's a chemical imbalance component to it -- which is why I faithfully and RELIGIOUSLY take the pills they shove at me.  But enough is enough.

All I ever wanted was a friend. Somebody I could trust. Somebody I could talk to that wouldn't call me crazy or stupid.  That wouldn't laugh at me. That wouldn't be overwhelmed by me. That wouldn't call freaking 911 and lie and say I'm a danger -- because I pose NO THREAT to myself or anybody else.  

HOWEVER, if this shit of messing with me keeps on and my kids keep having to SUFFER because they see ME suffering, which in turn makes me suffer MORE (because there's nothing in this world worse than seeing your kids suffer and not being able to "make it better"), then maybe, just MAYBE . . . some heads are gonna roll!

I am OUT!  I am RETIRED! I am of no use to ANYBODY! So please, just leave me the hell alone and give me some time to heal already!  For years I wasn't allowed to cry or get angry.  It just made things worse.  

The last "professional" I met with said, and I quote, "Where is this anger coming from?  I think we need to find some way to tone this down. You're not sleeping long enough. Here, take "pill A" and "pill B" ..." to which I replied, "I've taken those before. they're very addictive and I don't want to get addicted to stuff ever again."  To which this lovely "professional" replied, "Oh, I just need to make sure you're coherent & functional" (i.e. not looking sad or angry). We'll worry about the addiction later." Those were the exact words -- we'll worry about the addiction LATER!  WTH?  

How long do I have to be a frigging guinea pig for? My whole life?  What did I ever do wrong besides be born? I know I made some messed up choices when I was younger, but I didn't really know what I was doing totally ... a lot of it was trial and error and trying to figure out what "the game" was and what the "rules" were, etc.  Which is frigging HILARIOUS, because even though most people are playing "the game" (whether they know it or not), there ARE NO STATIONARY RULES!  They change as you go. As the song says, "life's a dance you learn as you go."  Well it's pretty freaking hard to figure life out then, if you were never allowed to dance, you barely got to go to school, most of what you know you learned from books, and you've been medicated into submission pretty much your whole life.  

So, am I a little angry? I dunno. Maybe just a tad.  Am I sad? Oh yeah.  The first man I fell in love with left me less than 2 weeks before we were to be married.  His reason was that I couldn't tell him for sure whether I was a "virgin" or not . . . funny thing is, near as I can tell, I WAS most likely a virgin (in a technical sense?) at that time ... I just didn't know exactly what that word MEANT or what it IMPLIED. So I answered him honestly and said, "I don't know." So he called off our wedding and I haven't seen him since. That was a pretty sucky shitty thing to do to a young teenager who was just trying to figure out what the hell the world was all about.

But didn't you have parents? oh, sure.  And they loved me A LOT.  so much that when I ran to them after husband #1 first threatened me and our infant son and smashed the windshield on my car, and I had some of his ranting and raving ON VHS TAPE and they WATCHED IT -- and they SAW the DENTS he had put in my car and my totally SMASHED windshield . . . they let me stay over night . . . and then the next day, my mom said, "You made your bed, you gotta learn to lie in it," and they sent me back to him. My first husband fixed the windshield that same day. Paid cash. No trace. That's how abusers like it ... just pretend like nothing ever happened. 

I called the TWO PEOPLE in the world that I thought I could count on for help, and they turned me away ... mumbling under their breath something like, "you reap what you sow" (i guess referring to the fact that I'd had the NERVE to fall in love, have sex, and get pregnant outside of wedlock) or some such horse shit.  (In all fairness, my folks later helped me realize that part of life is learning to deal with the consequences of the choices one makes. Maybe if they had "rescued" me at that point, I never would have learned? I dunno ... )

Well, we can't all be perfect goody two-shoes, now can we?  

Well, excuse me ... but I don't believe in killing my children by aborting them or giving them away for someone else to raise or pretending they're not mine in the first place.  Every child I've ever carried, I WANTED DESPERATELY TO KEEP!  I just didn't get to.  Life isn't always fair. Sooner you get used to that idea, the better. You just gotta catch and hold the love you can while you can. 

Do I hope there's a heaven? Yes, because I have AT LEAST 6-7 more babies waiting for me there that I never got to know.  (maybe more; those were the only ones I could find medical records on; I'm guessing there were maybe a couple more?).

So excuse me if I get a little upset every now and then. I'm human. I'm a woman. We cry. We weep. We mourn. And sometimes we make "dark" jokes because we have to try to find something to amuse ourselves. Sometimes crying isn't an option. So we have to keep our chins up . . . or else all we're doing is walking around staring at our boobs!