I’m so lonely this morning. Maybe it’s just my meds causing this feeling…I just don’t know. I told Head Doc that I didn’t feel lonely anymore. I told him, quite confidently, that I am alone, but not lonely. That was not 100% true. But, I wanted it to be. I’ve been trying very hard to make it so.

At the end of the day…each solitary motherfucking day…I am both; alone and lonely. I suppose it’s my own fault. I’ve sought anonymity for some time now. I just wanted to disappear, so I did. Not that I’m some celebrity, or even very popular…it’s just that I found that the people closest to me aren’t necessarily good for me. So much so that my relationships had grown so toxic that I wanted to die. Still do. It’s an everyday struggle not to put one in my brain. In any case, I decided that I needed to just go away, to the extent that I could. I have always been lonely, so this is nothing new, but I didn’t think leaving who I was behind would take the toll that it has. I only do business in my legal name, even though my alias IS my real, real, name. The one given to me at birth. Anyone with any drive to do so could find me. As it is, my youngest son is the only person on this planet that even knows where I actually live. lol! OMG, I sound so paranoid. But I had to defend myself, somehow, and this is the way I chose, for better or worse. Let me say this: Those toxic relationships were NOT one-way streets. I accept my responsibility in them. But the cycles would not stop and I didn’t know how to disengage any other way but in the way that I have. That’s all.

I’ve been trying to overcome agoraphobia for some time now. There are many days that I cannot even make myself walk out the door to go for a drive. If it weren’t for Walmart Grocery Pick-up and drive-thrus, I’d starve. I’d also be unbearably sober. Head Doc says I have severe PTSD, which is a diagnosis that I don’t think is right for a civilian to have. When he first told me, I told him that. I said that’s for soldiers and I’m no soldier. He said that thirty years of abuse by my husband was justification for his diagnosis, which, in terms of my behavior and state of mental health, is appropriate. Even so, I think it should be called something else if you haven’t fought in a war. He wants me to go to AA. He thinks that I may be able to function around alcoholics, who are my tribe, basically. There’s nothing I don’t know about drunks and how they think and the terrible things they do. In fact, I hate them so much that I became one. lol! Imagine that…

I think that another reason I don’t want that diagnosis is that it reminds me of what, exactly, I have been through over the thirty years before Exish died, nevermind my childhood. He only hit me a few times in all of that time. But, he’d yell at me. Every day. Just scream and yell and turn the furniture over and scare me. Then…grand finale…he’d spit in my face. Just like that. One minute, he’s shaking, an inch away, then he’d spit in my fucking face like I was nothing. I’d have knocked the shit out of him, but I never knew what might happen. My entire life was spent getting yelled at and talked to like I didn’t matter. Working for my mother wasn’t the good time you’d think it might be. She didn’t treat me any better than Exish did. She was mean and demanding and just kept wanting more, even though I was operating at 100% while working in a tremendous amount of pain. Then, it was home to Exish. After a round, or ten, with him, I’d hit the road to the fucking dope house looking for our youngest. The days never seemed to end and, to me, it was all just yesterday. In reality, it was almost ten years ago that Youngest got off drugs and 3/12 years since Exish died. At the end of his life, he was so doped up that he had little energy to flip furniture over and scream much. He took to sitting in his favorite chair with an AK next to it. All he had to do was tap it for me to know it was time to see things his way. I still don’t know why he didn’t just kill me. I think he knew it would’ve been doing me a favor.

So, basically, that’s my life: Trying to figure out the future and shake the past. Isolating so that I don’t have to pile on to what’s already there. I do talk to my mother daily, but only as much as I want to. She has no idea how I feel, except for the few things I say now and then. Unlike me, she has a bullet-proof ego, so nothing I ever say will matter. All this bullshit and I’m 52 years old. I shouldn’t be this way at this time in my life. If things don’t start to line out soon, I’m going to move on, so to speak. Anything would be better than the life I’ve had. Especially the last twenty years. I was happy for about ten, when things weren’t so bad that I couldn’t cover them up and make things look nice to the outside world. Once that ended…well… Anyway, it is what it is.

Peace out, girl scouts…

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