pee.tee.ess.dee

ptsd_invisible_wounds

I have decided all on my own, that I have gone into PTSD again. I am convinced I am holding so much in that it is coming out the only way it knows how.

If I could walk into a room full of Kleenex and breakie things, I could get a lot out.

I’d like to punch Melissa in the throat. She left so much SHIT behind, but I also have a clue now, how much she was dealing with. I know why she always kept her family separate from her friends and she didn’t allow us to co-mingle.

I am appalled at the treatment her daughter is receiving from her SIL. She called me last night on Facebook, crying. “Auntie, I hurt so bad I want to call 911 and I can’t reach SIL on Facebook phone.” I could barely understand her. I asked if she wanted me to text SIL, she said yes, because she wasn’t able to.

The texts I received, were rude, condescending and controlling. I only responded once, saying “All I know is I got a tearful call I could barely understand.” Later that night I got a text from SIL saying “She has a UTI.” I didn’t respond, because all I wanted to say was, “Well, at least she wasn’t FAKING and now you don’t have get to kick her out.” So fucking sorry.

Obviously the treatment is because of the accusation that I stole a ring from Melissa. What a pile of bull shit. I didn’t need to steal anything. All I had to do if I wanted her jewelry, was ask the kids. I did not ask for anything, because her jewelry should go to her KIDS, NOT other family members, not me and NOT the SIL. Bling is not how I will remember her. Our perfume we both wore will always remind me of her. Books will always remind me of her. Real estate and mortgage is how I will always remember her. Coffee is how I will always remember her. Music is how I will always remember her. Her drive is how I’ll always remember her. Her love for me is how I’ll always remember her. Her perfectionism is how I’ll always remember her. Her desire to be seen as a good person, with good morals and no flaws is how I’ll always remember her, but not her bling. I am not that person and they (her SIL and family) obviously don’t know who I was to her and who I remain to her children. If I am called as I was last night, it was OBVIOUSLY because someone needed care she wasn’t getting and she knew how to force the issue. Use me baby, use me.

The texts that Mel’s daughter received AFTER I text SIL, were  nothing about, “What is wrong, where is your pain? Have you tried your biofeedback? Is there something else going on that you need to talk about?” No, it was, “Why did you text her? Why didn’t you text my husband, my son, me, or your dad?” Followed by texts to me, “Why is she calling YOU? My son is taking her to the ER, she has been FINE all this time till I had to be out of town…I told her if this isn’t real, that’s it. I know that’s brutal, but that’s how it has to be.”

Melissa would be livid, but then Melissa isn’t fucking here. She fucking checked out with a fucking spinal cord infarction that just kept progressing.

I’m calling her ex today. This is not acceptable and although they are not my children and it is not my responsibility, they are, and it is.

Fuck you Mel. I love you, but I am mad at you and FUCK YOU!

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About iwentcrazy

I am very, very, very average. And very, very, very lucky.

Posted on March 14, 2015, in Anger, Death, Life, Love and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. 2 Comments.

  1. I thought Mel was pretty nice…

    • If you knew her, she was the best. At least she was the best to me.
      If you ever truly pissed her off, look out. She wasn’t big on forgiveness if you fucked her over.

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