Category Archives: Anger

Fucking Angry

So,  I appreciate any attempt at stopping DAPL. But I don’t appreciate doing it while culturally appropriating what isn’t your culture.

The drumming isn’t correct,  the headdress is inauthentic. By the way,  women don’t wear them.  The chanting? WTF?!

What the fuck? Can’t you support the issue from the point of fact that you drink water also?

Our land had been taken. Our families stolen, split up, white washed and assimilated.  Do you have to steal our culture too?

This person is NOT honoring Indigenous people! She us insulting us, making a mockery of our life,  all to play pretindian.

It’s not OK. If you want to honor Indigenous people, LEARN. HEAR US, when we say we aren’t honored. STOP your friends when you see them appropriating our culture. TELL THEM, it leads to resentment and we LAUGH at them, while crying inside at how you see us.

That video, is maddening and is probably a good thing I can’t tell her what I think.

We aren’t costumes. You don’t blackface,  so don’t do the equivalent to us. I won’t feel friendly to you.

Support the water protectors, but stop playing Indian.  It’s super unbecoming and makes you looking like a shitty fucking ally.

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Three Months

Dear Mel,

Tomorrow is three months. I miss you SO fucking much. Part of me tells myself that it’s “already” been three months! Get off your ass and get your shit together! The other part says, “It’s only been three months?! Life without you is going to seem like an eternity!

I had to stop writing to you here till I accepted that you are gone. You really aren’t going to call me ever again, I’m never going to hear that, “Hey Girl!” again. There is no mistake, you’re gone. I hate it, but I know it is true.

Remember the only concert we went to? kd lang, the Invincible Summer tour. She sang Hallelujah. We had good seats. It was right before you left for Texas, that God forsaken shit hole that I am convinced, houses Hell. There is one kd song in particular that has become your song. Though you have so many songs, this one really rang true to me this morning, when I was sitting in my car, in the dark, early for work.

I don’t think tomorrow, I want to write about the three months mark. In fact, I wish I could just let the day slide by, but I imagine, or at least I thought so on my drive home, that for a while, the 8th of every month will probably make me think of it, since I am now counting your death in months. At first, it was days, then weeks. One day it will be years. An eternity…life will be that without you.

I’m not so angry at you. I’m still pissed, don’t get me wrong. I always will be, but the love will by far outweigh the anger. I even managed to have a happy memory of you this morning, when I thought of us at the Egyptian getting ready to see kd lang together!

I still see your eyes. Your in the hospital dying eyes. Staring into mine. J asked his dad if he did the right thing not spending lots of time with you. I told him to tell him I think he did. It was his preference to remember you as you were in life. My problem at the moment is that I can’t un-see so many things I saw. I hate that the last time we locked eyes, was the suction debacle in hospice.

I told the lady in the grief session about that. All of it. I said out-loud to another human being that I whispered to you if you didn’t want it to bite down, and you did, and your mom fought you as I held your face in my hands, eyes locked, jaw clamped, breathing heavy, fighting her every step of the way, wanting death on your terms. Do you know what she told me? This grief counselor lady? She told me I honored you, our friendship, your wishes, and I had your back.

It was like she understood what I was trying to do with you as you walked that road. I just wanted you to know how fucking honored I am to have been your friend and soul-mate in life.

We had something a lot of people don’t have. I may have had shit luck with relationships that are romantic, but I fucking nailed it with you. It’s not something that is just an in life thing, because through your death, I have learned and will continue to learn. A lot.

I’m so lucky our last words were that of love. I still hear them.

ME: K girl, it’s 11:30, I’m tired, tomorrow is Christmas, I’ll talk to you then. Goodnight, I love you!

YOU: K Girl, Love you too! Night!

SIcknSin

Always.

Tomorrow

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 Mel..it 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.

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.

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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