Rantings and Revelations ~ TW

Yeah, this is another TW: abuse related stuff and self-harm urges: actually, yeah, its kind of really fucked up. Enter at your own risk.

These self - harm urges are getting worse. I thought maybe I can get this out and place this here and it won't bother me as much.

I am not going to do this - I refuse. But I want to give in so bad. I feel like I have to punish it - it, the body, specifically -"there". I cant connect with the body. im having such a hard time seeing it as mine. This NEED to hurt and punish it is terrifying and I don't know what the hell is going on. This...anger, starting to just seep out.

I keep hearing, in these audible words i can hear without ears, " It's her fault". Followed by this Intense damn NEED to hurt her so bad - hurt her body to punish her. It's not even little me's fault. i will not do this but ahhhh, i just want some peace with all of this.

I feel scattered, maybe a little numb - more like slowly waking up ...emotions are getting worse, i can tell. that FEELING just keeps coming back. and the anger. the blame. I know I would feel so much better if I could burn and bleed.

but. i . will. fucking. not. do . it.

im may not have been safe nor even be safe now. but ill be damned if i am going to be unsafe to myself.

So, I managed to make it through the aftermath of my therapy session without a break down! I have no idea how that happened. I guess staying stoned the entire time helped, and the numbness that took over. But the then numbness left. And the emotions creeped in, and urged to SH. But I escaped.

And now...I have another therapy session - an " emergency session" a few days after the last one - because neither she or I thought I would escape the aftermath, unscathed. But I pretty much did. And I am bordering between numb and about to have everything just open up and fall into my face.

I have to say, I Am getting better at letting really hard stuff out, out loud. Even if it is me having to READ it to her and choke on my words. But I get it out. And the aftermaths, they are less and less a crisis post-talking reaction ...I am handling these memories and feelings so much better.

But per usual, I am worried that therapy will not be useful - that I will not be able to talk ( I will, I will read if I have to). Im worried that I will not be able to handle the aftermath ( I have and I still will). And I am worried that it will be too disgusting to talk about, or I will offend her or she will think I am just making a bigger deal out of this than necessary.

And I am worried that this deep truth that I am digging so near to - that maybe this is the one that will send me off the edge. That I was just passed around like an object to use, By him. How can someone do that to someone they are supposed to love and protect? Can you love and protect someone you are abusing? Can you love and protect someone you share with your friends and strangers to abuse?

My therapist asked me why I still have him in my life. After I told her the session before last, that if what I feel and know is true about what he did - basically, pimping me out to others - that I do not know if I can have him in my life. And I am not ready to have him out of my life - but I don't want him in my life. So that got me thinking - why in the fuck DO I want to keep him in my life? What am I getting from this/him? There Has to be something - otherwise I would not still have him in my life.

Does he love me? Let’s figure this out. Because I am keeping him in my life because I am getting, something, from him. I think its me trying to earn or have some scraps of love from him…making it so that I am loveable and worth something. Making it so that maybe if he does love me, it can somehow excuse all the abuse that happened. Or maybe it is because if he loves me, I can say then, it was okay, I forgive him because he loves me and was doing the best that he could for me, that he is just messed up.

What Do I get from him?

Pot: when I go to visit or he comes here, I get pot from him. But the last time he gave me some, he told me here, its garbage, I don’t like it. You can have it. Am I only worth garbage? And I don’t need him to get this.

Money: he gives me money when I go to visit him – it does help. It's not much at all. But I feel like he sort of owes me this, not money per say, but he owes me. He owes me for all the years of abuse and all the years I still loved him, protected him and tried to be a good enough for him. This is maybe him trying now to be a father and to take care of me - throwing a few bucks my way?

Love: It never feels like love or kindness or that he even knows me or likes me. It feels like a guilty obligation on his part. He is not even respectful of me. But I am hoping he loves me. If he makes time to see me and talk to me and wants to – that’s love, right? I love him, I do. I am so angry and so hurt, but I love him. Maybe not him and things he does - but maybe i love him for who he is to me - for who he is supposed to be , for me, but is not.

I get to pretend nothing happened: If the abuse was all true, I would want nothing to do with him or give him no priority in my life. So, if he is still an important part of my life – or any part of my life – it must be because he is deserving of it – and an abusive person isn’t deserving.

And now for the hard part...I have to name him. I have to name his relationship to me. I have to because this is such a big part of why I keep him in my life, pointlessly . I am ashamed, I am embarrassed, to name this. I feel tainted and disgusting. I feel unworthy of respect. I hate him for doing this to be, especially because of who is is.....a BIG reason I still keep him in my life is because I get:

A father: I feel I never got that growing up – I got abuse. And I still feel a need to have one, especially now that my mother has passed. And even if it is the shittiest one, at least it’s something – accepting scraps again. Maybe if my own father finally starts to act like a father, I am somehow worthy of a father now. I am so used to not having a father really - but at least I have some semblance of someone who will sit in that role - even if he can't fulfil that role.

Re-Victimizing myself: Maybe that part of me that blames myself for the abuse – the punisher part – keeps this relationship alive to hurt me. Won’t let me go – to have my freedom and life.

But what do I really get? Constant abuse reminders. Disrespect. Boundaries not respected. Dirty jokes that make me feel like shit. Him not sticking up for me with this family. Telling me to just take the abuse from his family and not worry about it. Never listening to me or hearing me. Seeing me and treating me as an object to fill his needs. Him putting his needs in front of my life when he wanted me to come over when he had covid. Feeling uncomfortable. Getting triggered. Him blowing me off, all the time and the endless crying about it. Having to chase after him to keep him in my life. Emotional abuse from his family. Constant reminders that I do not count as a human being in his eyes. Not saving me, again, from harmful people like his family, this time.

A horrible sense of obligation to care for him and still meet his needs. Being triggered all the time. Going places and at times, that I really don’t want to. Feeling trapped by him and his whole family – and I want nothing to do with his family, but he won’t see me just alone. Empty conversations I am locked into with him just talking AT me. I really don’t want him in my life and after all has done to me and let others do – all that he has brought me around to see and know and experience - for fucking me over, so thoroughly - he doesn’t deserve to be in my life. But...I feel like I do not deserve anything else.

...Or maybe it is that I just can't get anything else.

TW: my meltdown IS starting after naming one of the he's as my father. No clue what's going to pour out, memories, emotions, new memories are popping up too, so many, so fast, I can't keep up - about him and the other he and both she's- so yeah, TW TW TW TW:

I immediately regret naming him. I feel so defiled, disgusted and disgusting, like...how shitty of a kid must I have been to make my father DO those things to me? And to just allow others to do them to me as well - bring me right to them, for them? Why did he not protect me? Why was he friends with my other abuser and hold him in such high regard? Why did he not love me? What was it/is it, about me that makes me so intrinsically bad? I swear I want to know so bad because if I knew, I would rip out whatever part of me that is that makes people hate me and hurt me, so I can finally be good enough.

How can he do that to me? Omg, It started when I was so damn little...I was 4 when he first raped me. Who even looks at a child in that way? I do not understand. And my own dad- looking at me like That. I don't understand. Literally, just holes to use - an object - a cum dumpster.

And all the times just sitting there, on the couch , trying to watch sesame street. Just be a kid. I was so little. Bring me a beer - I was so happy to go fetch him one, two, three...he got so happy when i did that. Like a dog behaving. Ahhh, I am so all over the place.

The couch - this horrible threaded white and blue plaid looking couch - with these holes torn … I remember staring off into the torn holes in the couch - I remember each thread with such detail. I hate that couch so much.

I saw it again, after many years of it hidden away from me - burried in my childhood - burried in my lies that nothing happened - everything was okay. I saw it again, in high school - I didn't know it was in the storage locker. I couldn't walk into the locker - my aunt was yelling at me to stop being lazy and help. I wasn't being lazy, I was so afraid to look at that couch - the fear of a thousand horrific memories flooding back.

I almost burned the couch - right there. It crossed my mind, as we were all leaving, I could just take out my lighter and burn the whole fucking filth dripping thing into flames - and it would be gone - the memories - the emotions - like it never existed, nothing ever happened. I didn't burn it though, its a good thing, but i kind of wish I had.

That ugly blue and white couch - playing games with daddy that hurt so bad and felt so wrong. Of sitting on his lap with no pants or underwear. Without him wearing pants or underwear either. The sound of the zipper - i still hate the sounds of zippers on pants. Of him playing some game similar to riding a horsey. Bouncing on the the persons leg, trying to not fall off, being thrown up and down - that game. I do not even know if that games is a real and okay game or an abuse game. I played that with him and the other he...and my grandpa. But on this couch - it was not a game - and it was not his leg. It was rape - of a tiny little child, of me.

And the other he - he played that horsey game too - so many times. Sometimes on his leg, bouncing so fast and it felt wrong and bad how he did it - and how he asked me, does it feel good? No, it doesn't feel good. I'm terrified. It already hurts from before and i have to bounce on it and its hurting more. And constant reminders of this because I am living in the house where that game was played. With the same damn chair here and everything. Like a fucking time capsule.

I think my grandpa was okay - I never tried to look at him and try to figure stuff out though - I did have suspicions the last time all this shit popped up for me. Something...wasn't right - but I'm NOT looking there now, not with all this other shit messing with my head - I can feel it, floodgates and memories are tumbling out.

And super baby - another abuse game. By the other he, I have not named. Laying on his back, holding me up in the air with his arms - saying, super baby, pretending I can fly - or that I'm an airplane - flying high in the sky. But it wasn't an okay game. It was just a way to get away with touching me , my chest, down there and inside. Played here too, in this house I am living in. I don't even go into that room anymore where he played that with me. The TV room.

At one point, I used to think that my dad only did THAT ( rape) once - I remember that first time. But then I think of the couch - so many times sitting on his lap, trying to make it through the pain, crying - being told to shut up, focusing so hard on big bird - sesame street. Or other times, while hes watching sports on tv - just dissolve into the static like sounds of the tv as it fades far into the background and I see nothing but the hole torn in the couch. Each frayed thread. Or staring at the door- the lock and chain on the door - becoming one with that lock and chain and making everything go away. Of the desperate attention needed to not fall off his lap, even though he was holding me down , I always felt I was going to fall off and go tumbling to the ground.

The pain - how could I just forget the pain? I know my body went numb sometimes - because it still does. When I am triggered bad - body goes numb, I can not feel a thing. I know that saved me...but I am starting to remember the pain, more fully now. I thought he was putting it in where I pee. I didn't understand - I was scared. I didn't know why he was hurting me there. And his noises, so scary. Like he was so angry at me. Maybe it was a punishment. The pain and the bad stuff. He wasn't even nice about it - just ordering me around, using force. Ugh, nice wouldn't make it better anyways - I hate the sickenly sweet ways that abusers talk and touch - so sweet that its poison.

So much is just opening up and I can't keep up. God, I am so sorry if anyone is reading this. I just need to get this out - straighten it out in my head - place it Here so I don't have to go through this over and over again.

Of standing at the couch - in front of him, my dad - between his legs as he watched TV and drank his beer. Him telling me it was a snake and it can move like one too, if you touch it. Snake. I don't know how many times he talked about his snake. I know he did the first time he raped me - i don't know why I have such detailed memories - but I do, him explaining the snake. And by the couch - having to make the snake move - of feeling so shameful and wanting to disapear. Of the choking and gagging and crying and needing to throw up when he made me use my mouth. This is the father I am trying to keep in my life - this is the father that supposedly loves me - that I supposedly, love too.

Of all the times with the other he - in his office. Why was I always at work with him so much? In his upholstery shop. Was he babysitting me while working? Why was I there? It was too opportune, too private - so much bad happened there. And how when the little bell rang on the door how I knew I had to stop - how we both covered up what we were doing - just at the bell - like a pavlovian response. Can't let anyone know what I'm doing - its bad, I'm bad. He's hiding it too - so I don't get into trouble. And the don't tell look. That awful face telling me i have done something very bad and i am very bad.

How it seemed that everyone knew - my family - what the two main abusers were doing to me and how everyone refused to stop it. They walked in and opened doors and kept them open when he was in my room, hurting me ( the other he). Or how his customers saw, but pretended they didn't and paused a few minutes before walking in - so we could cover up and get away with it. Easier than addressing the issue, I guess. Me not worth saving. How my mom walked in mon my dad raping me - the first time he did it to me - and how she kicked him out but let him back in my life. How she walked in on the other he raping me and did the exact same thing. And the random men that fell into my life - she SAW things with them too - always the same, never protected. They were never punished. They always got away with it - and they just did it again, over and over again, for so many god damn years of my life. My entire childhood.

How the other he, when I stayed weekends, overnights or just visiting him - house rules: no clothes. But how were they house rules? When family or other people came visiting - clothes on, when I was there alone with them - clothes off - all of us: he, she ( his girlfriend) and me. And I even remember, my mother saying something about how she didn't like that they didn't wear clothes around me or me where clothes, when I used to spend the nights. But explaining it away that they were nudists. No mom, they were not nudists, they were pedophiles. They were abusers.

And how she, his gf - would watch him hurt me. In the hot tub, he is raping me, im crying, it hurts so bad, im so scared, i need to be saved - protected. She watches. Watches for only so long until she gets mad. Starts yelling . Thought she was yelling at me, about me, about the bad thing I was doing. I think she was yelling at him, though. But not enough anger to stop him...because it wasn't about me, it was about her - how she felt. It was never about me - other than to use me. Hurt me. She got up and left - she left me right there with him, while he was hurting me. She left him there to finish raping me. She didn't call my mom, or the police or get help. Just walked away.

Maybe she was mad at what he doing because it was wrong? Maybe because she was in some fucked up way, angry and jealous? The other she, my dads girlfriend - later his second wife, was a horrible jealous bitch. She Knew - without a doubt - that he was abusing me. Letting strangers and friends abuse me . She wouldn't let me play with her kids after I was abused - she told them not to play with me. She called me dirty and a prostitute. She called me dirty and a proustite other times, too...so many times. When I used the bathroom, she would Lysol it down after I used it, again, calling me: prostitute and dirty.

She would know. When they were fighting, she and my dad - she would scream at him that she wasn't going to let him fuck her. And that he has to fuck me. And I better like it - I better get ready. That she knows I like it. And you know what? He did do that to me. Even after I would get scared, look at his face as she was screaming this - and he would shake his head no, its not going to happen, don't worry - but it did happen. He lied. I remember being super still, so I don't wake him up, so I could sneak out of the sleeping bag, go into the bathroom and check to see if im okay down there. It was hurting and bleeding and i had to wipe it clean. And sneak right back in the sleeping bag - and wait for morning.

I remember that day she started yelling that - refused to let us sleep in the bed - only one communal bed - fucked up, I know. We slept in a sleeping bag together. He got into it with just his underwear - how was this okay? How was her screaming at him to fuck me , okay? How was him raping me in that sleeping bag, okay? Why am I trying to make this all, okay? I think I was 8 then - the sleeping bag time.

Another time - the camper- he took me far out, isolated in the woods- to go camping. It was a horrible horrible time. I remember being so sacred, so depressed and trying to fake happy. He raped me, over and over, in that camper. I don't know how old I was. Some random memory of the camping trip - some stranger my dad made friends with - someone unsafe. Showing him thigs that daddy taught me to do. Shared, again. Like his property - his object. He didn't even KNOW this ASSHOLE.

And her, my dad's girlfriend. She was abusive, too. In bed - we are all together, in that bed, in that first apartment they had. The one that scares me so much - the one I was hurt in so much. The one where my dad force fed me all these horrible bananas because he dumpster dove and brought home crates of bananas. Too many. He physically forced one after another into my mouth , laughing. When I tried telling him i cant - i cant eat this much - he got angry - so angry . I puked - it was too much - and he put his hand over my mouth and made me swallow what was coming out. Ahhhh - im so over the place. I cant follow a train of thought - so much all at once.

The bed....the bed where they were having sex next to me , bumping into my body, both touching me. Including me in their nasty sex games. Or her showing me herself on top, with no clothes' on and telling me to take off my top too - dad wasn't around. She was touching herself on top- and telling me to do that to myself, too. Because they grow that way. Why would she hurt me, too? So much I blocked from her - but so much hate for her - so much. HATE. So much I do remember. And so many questions. Why do I have multiple memories of detailed images of how she looks like, down there, with no clothes' on? Memories of her, sitting in a chair and my dad in the other chair - and I am standing in front of her. She is showing me herself on top - making me touch them. Laughing. Visions that pop in my head of her pulling up her skirt next and she had no underwear on - and i could see her - everything. I was standing so close. I was supposed to go closer. To do something. My dad didn't stop her. Didn't save me.

Always calling me dirty - but she was dirty - she let my dad hurt me, she punished me when he hurt me and when his friends and people he gave me to, hurt me. She hurt me! Why was She not dirty? She told him to fuck me. She included me in her...idk what to call it - sex games? I have no adult understanding of why or what was going on - the three of us, in bed - doing bad things together. I didn't understand the things that they were doing to each other or me or why. And the damn bleach - to this day I am so triggered and avoid bleach as much as I can. She poured bleach into my bathwater. It burned my skin, I was begging and crying for her to not do it. I was dirty. I was a prostitute.

And these are the people I am keeping in my life. My dad and his bitch wife. Well, I don't want her anywhere in my life but if i am to have him in my life, i have to have her in my life - because i told him before so many times i cant be around his family - but he never works it out so that I don't have to be nor does he even stick up for me . I can't even be around them without instant disassociation. I don't want them in my life and I feel so guilty for saying this. Because he is my dad and I am supposed to look out and care for him - its family.

But family - ha, what a joke. It is family that hurt me. So why do I have to be loyal and good to him and he doesn't have to do anything for me, not even keep me safe from abuse, from her or himself.

I am in overload - somewhere between panic and dissociation. My head is numb and it is spreading. Things are starting to ...fade away into the background - into the distance. I am still here though. Images of the couch. Of the car with the other he. Of her. Almost tangibly feeling the body pain that comes in spurts - in waves into my consciousness. The anger - so dangerous because it is so huge - so threatening to destroy. The anger is seeping in and I am so afraid that I will turn it inward against myself.

The Punisher - he says to. To hurt the body. The body is bad. Damn it - in my head/my eyes - wont stop. Its like rushes of all these memories. The pictures, the cameras, the big recording machine - that room, the other pictures, the present...ahhh: The fact that I keep trying to tell myself that this abuse stopped early with my dad - truth: I don't know when it stopped. I remember the very last time he hit me - i stood up to him - he was proud of that - I was 14. Why don't I remember when he stopped absuing me? How old was I? I can't put all the abuse to ages and timeframes - my brain just doesn't work that way. When did it stop? How old was I? I know it was still actively happening at 8. I remember having the bad feelings around him after that - I don't know when he stopped. I know it was NOT stopped at 8 or close to that.

And what about the other him? I told my therapist - when she asked, that it stopped at 12 or 13. He kept asking me about my period - warning me I have to tell him when i get it. I can't get pregnant. He taught me about those things - and all the awful things that would happen to me if i was. THIS was the start of my now paralyzing fear of getting pregnant. I still fucking have that. I am still damaged. I counted the years of abuse by him. 8.5 years. But that was with saying it stopped at 12. It didn't.

I told myself that when I stopped going to family gatherings and holidays or even going over to his house to eat - that's when it stopped because I refused to go. I told myself he stopped when I told him I got my period ( age 13). All these were lies - lies to keep me save. He was still abusing me when I had my period and he knew. I know this because he would, while abusing me, threaten me about getting pregnant, and forcefully tell me, as he was raping me, I better not get pregnant. No condoms though - he didn't care that much.

And I stopped going over to family gatherings , not at 12, not at 14...I didn't have the guts to say no, i refuse to go - until about 16..maybe 17. But I was still around him for special occasions sometimes. And what gets me too, is my mom knew he was absuing me since very early on - she saw him do it - and she still made me hug and kiss him as greetings - hello and goodybe. As a little kid, so sacred, i would wrap myself around her leg and burry myself behind her skirt - hidden from him. I was that scared - and still, she made me come out, give him a hug and kiss - i didn't want the bad things to happen anymore.

I don't know when the abuse stopped with him , either. I know it trickled off. Did he just start stopping because of me getting older or not coming around as much - i honestly can not remember when it stopped. Maybe 14...i know it was when i was 13. But i don't know - maybe a lot longer - who knows. I have so much blocked and probs for a good reason.

But I am choking on this understanding that he didn't stop when I got my period. He was absuoing me when I was 13. So, for argument's sake, it stopped at 13. That's the last age with memories I have of abuse with him that I can easily recall without cloudiness. thats 9.5 YEARS of abuse by him. God knows how many years with my dad. And i can't hold the pain and panic of just thinking about ...how they both were hurting me for so many years - there was no safe place for me in the world. And I am sickened - I am sickened at him and at myself that I let this go on for almost 10 years, ten fucking years of abuse from just him, the other he.

I can't do this anymore, I can't think of all this - though its not stopping my head from being flooded - but i am keeping the emotions at bay. I am going to go smoke, take some anxiety meds and go back to sleep - try to sleep this away. And maybe when I wake up, none of this will be true.

...and to fight - fight this punisher voice in my head saying, it was my fault. I let this happen. She ( little me) deserved it. The body is the cause. It's bad and dirty. That little me is a bitch - little bitch. He wants to hurt me. Hurt her there - wants me to burn the body again. So she never forgets - so the body is marked: off limits. Damaged. Like a do not enter sign. Punished. Hate, so much hate for her. Convincing me to hurt myself to punish her. This frantic , clawing, screaming kind of madness and anger. I will not hurt her - it is not her fault. I will not hurt me. I do not need a damaged sign on my body to keep me safe. I am safe now.

I am just hoping this crazy journal entry and spewing all these sins here - I can leave all this here, that it can leave me alone. The swirling in my head is still there - all these bits and pieces of so many memories spanning so many years with different people- floodgates open - it is because I named him. It is real now. It is because I accepted that my dad abused me in this way. And it is like domino effect - I am accepting the others. All that I have fought against my whole life. I KNEW it all happened - but it was so far from me, even though I could hold the memories. Now they are real on such a deeper level and I can hardly breathe.

I am not sure how to come back to this journal this morning after what I have written. I feel as though I let out a dirty shameful secret. And I don't know how to show my face. Shame. But anger - growing anger at what happened - anger I have not let myself feel because I could not name him or say things that were done.

But I, again, have handled this - this accepting of what was and what is, without a major crisis! It Felt like a crisis - but I didn't act out in crisis. I am getting so much better at dealing with such hard things without taking it out on myself or getting so triggered that I can not function.

I am worried though about my next session. Because it is one thing to know what happened. It is another to name him. Yet another to stop censoring my words and call the abuse what it was. And still yet another, to speak to say, out loud that my father sexually abused me.

I still have this odd disconnect. My father. Sexually abused. me. It doesn't feel real and it feels all too real at the same time. It makes what he did real. It makes what they all did real. It makes me so...ashamed at myself for still wanting and trying to have a relationship with my dad. To keep him in my life. How pathetic am I to chase after someone who hurt me so much and still doesn't live up to the title of father. How pathetic to wait and hope and try...forever.

Because I used to be able to say, he loved me. He still loves me. This is just how he is. But he loves me. I can see things without so many of my blinders on now. I don't know if he loves me. I don't know if he ever loved me. I have had to tell myself , my whole life, that he did - just to make sense of things and feel safe in my own body. To feel safe in my own mind . To feel safe in my own soul.

What happens now? Where do I go from here? I know I have to tell my therapist that I named him. I know I have to tell my therapist, his name and relation to me. I have to tell her my father was the one that sexually abused me.

I feel like I am saying this, over and over again - to get used to it? To see how the words sound? To see if I break or disappear when I say it? I am still here. And so is the shame.

Will I break open and fall into pieces if I say this out loud - to another human being? Or will I just think I will, but handle this all in stride like I have been? My fear: I will break and shatter. I will cry in front of her and never stop. That every damaged part of me will rise to the surface. Fighting to be seen.

And how do I get through every damn day? And how do I hold my head. And how do I call him and see how he is feeling and doing? How do I stay on the phone while he just talks, at me - never seeing me or hearing me? How do I not hate myself for even hitting send on my call? And how do I deal with the guilt for knowing ( feeling) I should call him but then, don't?

I still feel so responsible to care about him. For him. WHY!? No seriously, why....I think I am relating to him, my father ( still getting used to using this word) from that child part of me, not as an adult. Needing to be loved. Needing to prove to him I am good enough. Hoping he will be nice this time. Fearing his anger - feeling powerless - feeling no right to stand up for myself.

How do I relate to him as an adult? I do not know how. I am so triggered around him. I can't even stay present and grounded. If I actually related to him, from and in, the present moment - there would be no reason for me to keep running after him or trying to have him in my life.

But, anyways - pushing this shit to the side - so I can function today. Not that I am telling myself it is all a lie - but pushing it to the side so that I do not have to be steeped in all the damn feels, all day long - saturated in it. God - what a joke. How can I not be saturated in all of this - it constantly lives in my head.

I know the damage was done when I was a child - but it feels so fresh, every day, so fresh. And he is still abusive to me. Not sexually or physically - but very emotionally abusive. Ahhh - and that just adds to this:

WHY AM I TRYING TO EARN THE LOVE OF MY FATHER WHO SEXUALLY ABUSED ME, PHYSICALLY ABUSED ME AND IS STILL, NOW, EMOTIONALLY ABUISIVE TO ME.

I don't know if he even loves me. But I can not face or hold the idea that he does not. Because then, what does that make me?

Well, it happened - the seething bubbling beneath the surface anger exploded outwards. It was kind of like how I had that little me tantrum - but different. Wasn't little me part - was not quite adult me either - was like an angsty, raging, frustrated teen-ager part just came out.

I was in the kitchen - and all this was seething and I flipped my shit. Something my aunt said and did triggered this idea that all I do is beg for scraps from him. And I do not even get that. And then it took on a life of it's own. I trashed the kitchen - literally threw the garbage can against the wall - sending trash everywhere. Without thinking, i saw that damn pair of scissors in the pend cup - grabbed them and was going to self harm - but dropped them because i realized, Im not mad at me- i am mad at him, at all i went through - that everything was taken and stolen from me.

I got the fuck out of the house - and took a drive, to get away....and was filled with such road rage I had to come home. I do not know what I am going to do with this anger. I do not want to stuff it away or tur it in on myself. I am so damn sick of turning this in on myself. But how the hell am I supposed to express this? I can not tell this to him, it would be pointless - he cant or chooses not to hear me. He shuts every serious conversation down with anger.

I thought I was mad because my damn dr has not refilled my pain meds yet - I have severe nerve pain. Every damn minute. But in all honestly, yes, its taking its toll one me - I have been without pain meds since Saturday. But it's not that.

And I thought, if I could just smoke, everything would be fine. It wasn't - plus I had one bowl left, that's it. But the one didn't even help.

Thought it was anger at my aunt - always helping her and getting only help from her with meds and groceries. I am a full human being with needs more than just food or medicine. I do without everything , all the time. I am upset about this - but this isn't the reason i was seething.

I am SO ANGRY at how I was treated. At having a dad that REFUSED to be a dad to me and instead hurt me and continues to do so in a different way. I am so angry at how no one saved me , that no one saw my worth. That I pathetically feel guilty and an obligation and put myself through absolute hell in order to be there for my dad when he NEVER has and never will, do that for me.

I am so angry at making excuses for him, at my expense. Of being forced to come over out of guilt or obligation to ppl that do not deserve this - and made to feel I have no right to leave when I decide it is time. So angry at myself for allowing myself to be treated this for so long. For loving him and needing him, my dad - so much that I accepted all of his abuse and still tried to prove to him I am good enough.

I am angry at a LIFETIME of taking this angry and directing it towards myself - hurting myself, holding myself back- feeling, thinking and believing that I have now worth because of how my father treated me. I am angry at how he manipulates and his family manipulates in order for me to to stay stuck frozen in this box of guilt and responsibility for him. I am so angry at myself for running after him my whole life, in hopes of scraps. So angry that I have only seen myself as worth of accepting scraps.

I have so much anger and its easting away at my soul, turning everything into blackness. I do not know how to let this out or let this go. I am so scared of my anger right now. I did handle it way better than before - i pulled my shit together pretty quick and apologized. But this anger - this rage - it has a life of its own. I am so scared its going to be destructive because I do not know how to get it out and it is Constantly building up.

I cannot do this anymore. I can't take this - this anger is seething. I do not know if it is just anger or mixed with something else. But I can not sit with all of this - i can not stay in my skin.

its this constant...torture. This horrible feeling that NEVER leaves me. i can't get it out - it just staying. i have to get this out - i am going to lose my shit, i am going to fucking go crazy. I cannot sit with this anymore. and what if it never goes away?

i want to cry ( i am crying) . I want to SCREAM - i can't because my aunt. ive tried a thousand ways to cover it up - make it go away. i cant.

and so the punisher part of me comes out - taunting me that the only way to feel better - is to fucking self harm. turn that anger inwards . I can't turn it outwards - anger is so destructive. I have seen this first hand my whole life. i can choke it down and posion myself from the inside out. posion, it feels like poison, this anger. i have to get it out. even writing here, its not getting it out.

my aunt has been staring at my sh scars from the last over the top cutting session I had. Week - or two(?) ago . And they are still healing. but shes been looking at them - i hate that look. i am such a disappointment to her.

and i hate that there is no way to get any of this out unless i self harm. this anger will be my constant companion, tormenting me forever. i can not be in my body with this anger in there, too - not enough room for both.

I have to self harm. not because i deserve it or want tp punish myself - but it is the ONLY damn thing that is going to help ease this so i can get through another damn day...or even get through the next few minutes of this day.

I am scared though - im being honest. it was extreme the last time, even for me. and this anger - its HUGE - it is so uncomfortable that i can not stay in my skin. i know, Know that nothing short of pretty intense sh again, will make any of this go away.

i feel like i am losing my mind. i cant do this. i cant hold this. i am so far from okay. I AM SO NOT OK

I texted my therapist - bc i dont know what to do. i made it sound like i was fine though - i asked if i could just email her something...i dont remember is she said i could or she wanted me to not do that anymore. in the text - i said something about sh....i really dont want to do it but there really is no choice because i can not live like this. maybe i will have to bleed the anger out - every day of my life, just to be okay.'

she never respoded though - its sunday, i kind of didnt expect her to. She will tomorrow. I am dredding the response that she might say, no emails. Then it will never come out.

but then that pisses me ( sh - lol, sorry - tangents) off too bc then im punishing myself because i am angry at what happened to me. seems like the end result of every choice i have that could actually work - is just hurting me. i am panicked - honestly panicked.

im on meds that I can not drink on - im pretty sure a few drinks might be okay - maybe not, but whatever. i HAVE NO POT, SMOKING CIGS DOESNT WORK AND THIS WILL NOT GO AWAY. SO I GUESS ITS DRINKING MYSELF NUMB...sorry, caps locked and i dont give a shit enough to re-type all that....or SHing myself numb.

or even better yet: drunk sh!

fuck this - i am taking out the bottle. i am going to drink until i am fucking numb - or at least until i can hold all this anger without feeling like it is choking the life out of me.

i cant live like this

i cant be like this

i cant hold this anymore

and i dont want to have to drink or take pills or sh every damn day of my life just in order to exist.

i wish i would have never been born.

I am not sure if it is my sister ( step sister) or my dad called - but I got 2 new fucking duo cam chat messages this am. All before 7 am - wtf? I hate how they invade my life like this - and expect calls right back, and vids. And if they do not get them, they get mad.

So I am torn between checking the messages asap and responding - so there is less anger at me...or just throwing my phone at the wall, and smashing it into bits and pieces until there is nothing left. Smashing it over and over, until my hands are raw and bloody and the phone ceases to exist. Deleting their connection into my life.

And you know what's funny? for weeks I have been not calling my dad - I just can't. I don't even want to. And been plagued with such guilt for not calling him. But he had not called me either. Why do I hold all the shame and guilt for not calling and he does the exact same thing to me - the not calling, but just points that blame at me and he is free to be however he wants.

Oh - my therapist did text back late...she said i can in fact, email. I don't know why, but I have this weird recollection that she told me that I can not email her anymore. Guess what was wrong. Anyways, I send her an email about what's going on, asking her to read it before our session. Not going to help anything, though.

I do not even know what my problem is - I am such a loser. All this crap happened to me, the abuse stuff - when I was a kid. I am a fucking grown adult now. This should not even bother me anymore. But it does. Why? Because I am an ugly, lazy, worthless, piece of shit, loser.

Life feels so unbearable. thoroughly , unbearable.

I have this...I don't know how to describe it, its More than anger. It is this CONSTANT feeling ( is it a feeling?) state of mine? state of being? This constant ache. Everything is triggering this to come out even more. It is this feeling of : life is unbearable. I can not take another god damn minute or another god damn day. It is just too hard.

And I am all over the place. One minute resolute in my healing, the next I am a worthless little piece of shit kid no one cares about if she survives or not. And I thought - maybe this is because the physical pain I'm in:

I have been off my pain meds for 4 god damn days. An issue with my insurance - then tried to get dr to resend the original script...nothing. I send email after email - i hear Nothing BACK. tHEY READ IT - IT MARKS THE TIME THEY OPENED AND READ IT. i AM BEING FUCKING IGNORED. sorry, cap lock - again, no one caring enough to make sure im not suffering in intense pain for days without meds. Triggering taht again, even as an adult - no one cares and im not good enough for anyone to want to save me - or at least help me take myself away from this pain and misery.

then i think about it - im not in that much physical pain. I am in a lot of pain - but my pain tolerance is so high, its crazy. or maybe i have been in so much physical pain for so long that I can not even tell anymore - sensations just blurring. I don't think this is even ABOUT the pain meds - this ...stirring, bubbling, clawing, screaming sensation is not about my physical pain. It's about my emotional pain. And no amount of pain meds will take THAT away. So why bother even trying to get meds anymore?

I do not remember the last time I ate a meal. I am not hungry - ever. I know i will be eating tonight - because i am cooking this dinner up for my aunt for Chinese Lunar New Years - thought it would be fun. I do not even want any of it. I do not even have anything in the house for food anyways - besides what i have to make dinners for her. and i dont even care. And this coming week i have to take money for groceries, again, and spend it on other things i need - not food.

And what is going to take this gnawing away ???? What is this gnawing, really? Anger? angst? sorrow? despair? utter hopelessness? am i stuck in little me thinking? I think i am - no one will help, i can not hold these feelings - nowhere to put them, no one to help - all alone - too much. And how do i even use adult thinking at this point because it feels like my god damned adult life is just as shitty as my childhood life.

Why am i bothering to fight so hard to heal? or to even live? There is no quality of life. But maybe that is why i am fighting and hanging on - for a quality of life, one day.

And my sister keeps texting me - nothing is wrong at home - its just bullshit texting . She will not leave me alone. I want nothing to do with them - i cant do this today.

And my dad has called me and left voice mail - 2 god damned times today, once this am, once this afternoon. And it is just sitting there as a notification. And sitting there in my voicemail. And the damn guilt for not checking the voicemail and not calling him back. ANd this TRAPPED feeling - they can get to me anytime and anywhere I am. just invade my phone, my life, my personal space and my head.

tik tik tik - the clock is tiking - each damn second that goes by in which i do not respond to him, or her - guilt. fear. worried. retaliation will come. hes upset - i am not doing my job making sure he feels okay. Hahahha, he probs just wants to ask me when i am coming over again? Ant they are still sick. So then more anger and more guilt - i even feel guilty for not putting my life in danger and even dying - so that I come over and make sure hes okay or happy or I am doing what i am told. This is sick. this is insane. I am insane.

I NEED THEM ALL TO FUCKING LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE. They have done enough damage to me. why do they just not stop? I honestly had to put my phone in the other room in case i get another duo call, or voice mail, or call or text from them. Demanding everything from me. And me feeling guilt for not providing their every need.

I am not coping with this at all. I do not even know what this is. WHAT IS GOING ON WITH ME? WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH ME?

I keep slamming shit around, breaking out in sobbing, basically acting crazy. And all i can say to my aunt is that its because i am in so much pain and have no pain meds. Truth: i can deal with this physical pain - its real bad, but the emotional pain is so much worse. I do not even know a word to label what it is im feeling - but i feel i am hanging onto my sanity by this very fine thread that is slowly breaking.

I had to put my phone away, not only because I do not want to be invaded by their calls and texts and my own guilt - but because i want to smash my phone into tiny bits. I want to smash anything i can get my hands on, into tiny fucking bits.

I do not even care about my lungs anymore. I know I can not take the amount of anxiety meds i need and still have my lungs function at a safe degree. But I do not even care anymore. It is worth the risk - because i cant be in my head anymore and my heart. i cant be in this life with everything how it is. something is so very wrong with me and i dont know how to express it or fix it.

nothing helps. nothing makes this go away. so i just keep popping the meds like candy. and even that doesn't work - it just makes my brain fuzzy enough so i have a harder time following a thought through - which helps.

Why am i even trying so hard to not self harm?? its the only thing that is going to offer any sort of relief. it is self love, self compassion. even if it only makes things better for a few minutes. isn't that so much better then a life of endless suffering ?

and this all consuming guilt for not rushing to voicemail, rushing to call him and apologizing and making excuses why I didn't call before or return the calls earlier. And the inevitable excuses I have to give to not see him - that he doesn't even hear. I will not survive what you have if i catch what you have - lung issue. But come over anyways...omg.

I am so at my wits end. Nothing is easing any of this non stop pain. I don't know what this pain is - i feel so stupid but i don't. But thankfully I have managed to endure half of a day so far. its 2 here. i still have to cook this stupid dinner that i dont even want to eat with her. I never want to eat again, its just pointless and i have no hunger. but i can use this horrible time i have - to distract: make her dinner, pull out my car and pull it back in so aunt can get out, do dishes, come onto cups and spew into my journal. take more meds. take a nap because my head and body are so fuzzy. Silently say to myself, before i drift into sleep - i dont even care if i awak/e up anymore.

Make it to the next day, in hopes things settle. they ever settle down - they grow and grow and get more intense and worse. I have therapy tomorrow - how do i even explain this to her? i dont even know what's wrong. how do i tell her that i do not even care if i wake up anymore - as long as all this stops. i will probably just cry and cry and cry and not even get out how desperate i am feeling - how i am scaring myself.

I feel i will never have any peace in life. ever. and whatever this is , plaguing me - i think its anger ...constant triggering...emotions of little me filling my brain in whooshes. nothing gets this out. i may have to live like this for the rest of my life and i cant. i wont be able to. i cannot do this much longer. i do not know how much longer i can hold on like this.

and nothing, nothing, nothing relives any of this. it just keeps getting bigger and bigger - its so big that its eating me alive! i can feel pieces of myself falling off. i am beyond panic and beyond desperate. nothing is making this go away.

i have filled myself with pills and booze and sleep, and journaling. i have ripped apart the kitchen in a violent outburst of sheer frustration, anger and helplessness. it will not go away. i just dont want to be, anymore.

i even looked in my closet for my curling iron or straightening iron - this need to punish the body and mark it as damaged and off limits - screaming in my head. i dont have them anymore. i learned from the last time. i threw them out. now my head goes to - boils some water in a pot - just use the damn pot to burn. burn it so bad it no longer exists. but i keep trying, keep trying to distract, keep myself busy. but this ganwing - constant, relentless.