Monthly Archives: March 2015


I can hang in one more day. Tomorrow I have an afternoon appointment with the grief support group. Only they aren’t sending me straight to a support group. I get to start one on one. Guess that means I need to work through some stuff before I can sit with a room of people.

I don’t get to do the  second treatment for the bugs till Wednesday, yet I can feel new bite.

I am out of my mind frustrated.

I guess I stand in a corner and don’t sit anywhere or touch anyone during my appointment.

I feel a thousand miles away from Mr. Yummy. He is frustrated too and said he hates waking up every day feeling dirty.

How am I to process that?

I have made him feel dirty.

It all makes me sad. I don’t think I’ll ever be to him, what I once was before this all happened. I’ll remain an old friend that he just happens to fuck.

As much as I love him and want to be more, If this is to be the case, I am not sure I am OK with that for him, or for me. Of course, I can’t think about another thing at the moment so till I make it through getting rid of these fuckers, and losing some of my anger at is on the back burner. For all I know, I am just doing my old, worry about the worst and make it happen. I don’t want to do that.

I just want my life back.



The night of my last post, the post about Universe telling me to this is my chance, Mr. Yummy popped a movie in and we watched.

He had no idea what the movie was about, nor did I. I may not have watched as it was. I feel as lost as Ms. Strayed. It took everything I had, not to fall apart during the movie. SO many parts of her are how I am feeling about losing Mel.

She was one of the great loves of my life, and I have lost her. I had 25 great years being her best friend, but I have lost her, too soon, too violently, too tragically. My love, my love, how I miss you through all my anger and rage.

I’ve cried so many tears over you and there are more to come. They come easily. They silently flow. Maybe they will never end, but I hope to find the peace that came at the end of the trail.

Though I don’t plan on an 1100 mile walk, nor shooting heroin, nor fucking any guy who looks at me, I am as lost as if I were.


It sounds so foreign on my tongue, yet I want it so badly.

Isn’t it ironic, I hear the Universe say, “Stay, this is your chance not to run” and then Mr. Yummy plays this movie. If you’re grieving, maybe you will find something in this movie like I did.

Things Got Sticky (whatchya gonna do?)

Hit Mel In The Throat Yep, so I pretty much heard the Universe say to me today, “This is your chance to prove you can stay, stick it out, stand your ground, and get it right iwentcrazy.” I look up and see him at his iPad. My heart just melts. I was awake last night, after a colossal migraine from my repeated melt-downs yesterday. I listened to him sleep and scratch. I could see his arm raise in silhouette and his hand scratch, softly, slowly, quietly. Then his arm slowly, lightly and gently lowered back to cuddle himself. My heart just melted. I don’t think I would have freaked out so bad the day after screaming in my car, except, when he left that day, he text at 5:30 saying he would grab himself some Epsom and half and half on the way home. I woke at 4:00 Sunday morning and he wasn’t home. Never. Ever. Not. Once. Ever. in the existence of peas and carrots (us) has he ever not come home or  not slept with me. At first I thought he was just angry at me and needed to get out and blow some steam. But then I thought, something happened. It had been raining heavily, he was on his bike. Perhaps he’s been hit, or is laying in a ditch and no one can see him. It was a sudden full-blown panic. Mel died. Anyone can die then. I stayed calm as I drove into town to work with a friend. I just kept thinking (for 40 miles) As soon as I get there, I’ll check the local jail registry. Perhaps he was arrested. That would explain the no call to say I am alright. I arrived, checked, and no Mr. Yummy on the jail registry. I went to mom’s to run an errand before working. Called all the local hospitals. Had a TOTAL melt down about both Mel and Mr. Yummy. My mother asked me for a second time, to hurry and get help. I left to go work, met my friend. He asked me if I wanted any tea. I shook my head. He asked how my mom was? I shook my head and my lip quivered. He asked how I was and then, the Melissa flood gates opened. He looked at me and said, “Wow, you need some help. Find a support group.” He then asked questions and I continued to fall apart. Each thing I put on the talking table, he just said, “You need help and support.” He continued to draw it out of me, not that I needed ANY prodding at that point. Part way through he mentioned when his Mel committed suicide. It hit me like a ton of bricks…He knows what I am going through. The moment of having someone fucking understand was almost peace inducing. Again he said that I needed a support group. His little network of close neighbors had been his after his Mel killed herself, because they were all friends. He told me that since I sat there at her side, watched, saw, and heard so much, then had her die two days after I left (as opposed to before I left) was brutal and I probably needed a lot of help (I actually laughed as I wrote that). His understanding of my reality was really beautiful and probably kept me a little saner yesterday than I was earlier in the day. It also helped that Mr. Yummy text me between mom’s house and my friend’s place saying that he was OK, just got too drunk to drive home in the deluge of rain. I took such a big breath of absolute relief. Then I cried. I’m still sad that he didn’t let me know he couldn’t make it home. Common courtesy, not nagging girlfriend control. He’s never so much as even said I am his girlfriend, even though I am living with him and sleeping in his bed. I don’t feel like I have a right to say anything to him, because I don’t really know that he wants to me to give a shit. Does that make sense? I don’t want some guy I’m not committed to, or even that I am committed to, calling MY shots. I know he has lived with his bike and the road for a long time. I know he was probably upset about the whole parasite thing. Hell, I am upset, that is what sent me off to the store, where I wound up screaming in my car. Regardless, today, I clearly heard the Universe say this was my chance to stay, not run, tough it out, do the work, and take control of my creating again.

Have I absolutely gone crazy?

Being that I totally believe in creation and my co-creating with Universe and that there is that perfect circle, and we all are in it, but one with it…I would have to believe I created what happened to Mel, and I wouldn’t. I love(d) her. I want her back, even though I don’t fucking want to see her and am raging at her… If I could see her again, I would throw the above can of jalapeno chili peppers I took from her kitchen. I know, weird thing to take to remember her by huh? There’s a reason. Any way. I believe that we are one, that I am Mel and Mel is me and you are me and we are one together (coo-coo-kah-choo). But, I can’t crawl that deep into this rabbit home now. That will keep me perpetuating this instead of finding my god damned mother fucking peace with it. So, things just got sticky, whatchya gonna do?.

Screaming In My Car

I woke up this morning, feeling pretty good. On a scale of one to ten I was about a 4, which as of late, is very, VERY good.

I was laying in Mr. Yummy’s bed, slowly coming to. I heard my text notification, covered my head with the pillow and went back to the sleepier side of the pillow for a few minutes. Checked my text, woke up and realized that was the first time, since I got the flu a few months ago, that I woke up to something other than the intense itch.

I smiled inside.

Mr. Yummy, on the other hand has not been sleeping well. The itch is worse at night. He’s gotten really quiet and well, that’s scared me. I feel SO bad. This is not something I wanted to happen to him. I AM the cause of his intense itch.

Night before last, I did not take an antihistamine and I was up three times. I noticed that he was not sleeping, and was not in his bed with me. I felt really bad about that all day at work, so last night I again offered him a Zyrtec. This time, he slept a little better, and I was aware of him next to me. I was hopeful since we treated the same day, that he woke this morning with a little relief. He said he slept better but that it wasn’t getting better. He also said it wasn’t getting worse. That’s a YAY! But the fact he is going through this at all is killing me inside. ( I know, look at all the negative wording I am using.)

I was out of icky stick tubes and wanted to smoke so because I was suddenly SO much more angry at Melissa. I didn’t say anything, just got in my car and went to the smoke store. I got up to the highway and was getting ready to make my left, when I heard myself say start screaming, “Well, I could drive my car into a brick wall, but then I’D HAVE TO SEE MELISSA AND I DON”T WANT TO SEE THAT FUCKING BITCH YET!!! By now, I’m on the highway accelerating, but apparently, I had more to scream. “YOU FUCKING BITCH!!! I FUCKING HATE YOU! IT WASN’T ENOUGH TO FUCK UP YOUR OWN KID’S LIVES, BUT YOU HAD TO FUCK UP MINE AND NOW MR. YUMMY’S LIVES TOO?!?!?!” Then this primal screaming just started coming out of me.

It was a strange moment. As I was driving home, I heard myself utter, “Boy, that felt good.”

When I got here, the motorcycle was out and Mr. Yummy was coming out of the motorcycle hut. I didn’t say anything to him, I didn’t look at him, I just headed straight into the house. I was still angry and I am really upset that he has scabies. I don’t want to read more into his silence than there is because he went out of his way Wednesday night to tell me he has feelings for me. He left, I paced, and screamed, smoked, started making coffee and suddenly got scared at what I heard myself say in my car as I found myself alone in Mr. Yummy’s house, with all his rifles and handguns.

I picked up my phone and called 1-800-273-8255 (Thanks Google). I don’t know how long I talked to Karen, but it helped. I then text a friend. I asked him to call me when he was able, he did. We talked at length.

I’m still fucked up, but I feel like the wind up airplane rubber band that just released so, I am writing…because that’s what I do when I need to calm, breathe, think, flow and release. Then I am going to take an Epsom salt bath, to try to draw out some of the literal shit these fucking parasites have left inside my body. Before the bath though, I am going to try this recipe for Crazy Coffee that my friend text me. The only coconut oil that I have at the moment though, is infused.

I’ve never in my life heard the woman who was in my car this morning and she scared me.

I Went to Texas to Watch My Best Friend Die…

And all I got were these lousy scabies.

Didn’t have them when I left. But I spent 11 days in a hospital, several hours on airplanes, the same 11 days in hospital, I was also at her house. I slept in her daughter’s bed one night, who had a rash. Didn’t think twice of holding her hand, as I was trying not to cry as I walked in Mel’s room for the first time. Having been prepped, I still started to get emotional, and was telling myself I could do this for Mel, stiff upper lip. Her daughter heard me and took my hand and just marched me to her mother’s bedside.

I spent time talking to my mom today, reading her some of Mini Me (Mel’s daughter) and me talking. Explaining some of the things we went through and saw in the hospital, as well as heard. My mom was sort of beside herself at what it was like for 11 days. I told her I felt picked on by the Universe. Like I wasn’t specific about the type of happiness I wanted. I want unbridled joy and bliss, like that spiritual rush I had in 2011. I don’t want happy via tragedy or drama, like Mr. Yummy being very nice to me about his now having scabies.

This morning as we were showering, washing off our treatments, I noticed that he has bruises from scratching. I almost lost it, because I have been that way for almost two months and I didn’t want this to happen to him.

Thanks for moving me in, here…have some scabies!

My mother asked me to please go get some counseling because I do sound traumatized; when I talk about it.

We have to re-treat in two weeks. Hopefully, there is no re-infestation, hopefully our water and dryer were above 122 degrees. Hopefully I vacuumed everything thoroughly and efficiently because I have been itching for almost two months and am at my emotional limit. The itching just makes me more angry and I am pretty sure the anxiety of the itching and not knowing what it was has caused some of the panic.

But truth be told. I agree with my mom and my doctor, when I say I feel like I have a touch of PTSD, and they say…get some help.

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