The truth of what REALLY happened on that cruise. (Warning: STRONG language. I mean, strong.)

This post was originally written in late February of 2013.  I have not altered the original post in any way, shape or form; this is exactly how I was feeling at the time.  I will only say that these are the words of a scared, frightened, stressed-out woman that had no idea of what was going to happen.

The only reason that you are reading this right now is because the legal case has been dropped, or settled.  You will now understand what stress and horror I have been living under for the last three months.  I was ordered not to discuss this, for fear it would jeopardize the case - but now it's over.  And now I'm going to scream it to the skies.

Grab some popcorn.  You're about to take a ride on the crazy train.

By the way?  The case was judged as nolle prosequi - which means that "the plaintiff has dropped the charges".  Well, well.  Maybe because you're a lying douche that never had a leg to stand on, huh?

~~

It's been more than a couple of weeks since our aborted vacation; you know, the cruise to Jamaica that we were supposed to go on.  I've been putting off explaining what happened, partially because of shame (though why, I do not know!) and partially because I was afraid that a legal case would be jeopardized because I discussed it on Facebook.  More details about that are below.

The short story is that Greg was arrested, on-board the ship, by the Broward County, Florida Police Department AND by the United States Border Patrol.  He was arrested for, and I quote, "battery and tampering with a victim/witness".  Apparently there was a warrant out for his arrest that was dated from September of 2011.  In that warrant, it was stated that "Mr. Osman has violent tendencies". 

Wha-wha-wha-WHAT???  Fucking WHAT??????

Now, if you guess that it has to do with the crazy-assed bitch of an ex-girlfriend that he literally escaped from in Florida... you would win the new car and a year's supply of Rice-a-Roni.

This fucking cunt - and yes, I say the word cunt, I do not use this term EVER, but that's exactly what she is, so that's what I'm going to say - actually put out a warrant on Greg for supposedly abusing her.  Uhhuh.  That's why he had visible bruises on his body when he fled to my house in June of 2011.  Sure, bitch.  He abused you.  Get... fucking... REAL.

Greg was a victim of domestic violence in that relationship.  When he arrived in Baltimore, he and I actually went to the House of Ruth to try and get him to be seen by a counselor.  That's how much "he abused her".  She broke his glasses - and I do mean shattered them.  But HE "abused her".  Right, got it.  He walked around here for months like a whipped dog because he was so fucking afraid that someone would hurt him - but "he abused her".  Right. 

And she actually dared to use the judicial system to put out a warrant for his arrest. 

The result was that Greg was arrested, in view of over 3,000 people, on the Liberty of the Seas on Monday, January 28, 2013.  Needless to say, I was absolutely hysterical.  We had no idea that there was a warrant out on him, because if we had known - we would have freaking taken care of it!  Also, think about this - if we had known there was a warrant out for his arrest, what makes these idiots think that we'd even come back to Florida to begin with?????  Do they think we're that fucking stupid?

He was unceremoniously hauled off of the ship in handcuffs.  I'm throwing clothes into suitcases, sobbing hysterically, not understanding anything of what's going on, what I need to do next, anything. 

Do you believe that they actually asked me if I wanted to stay on the cruise?  Say the fuck... what?  What makes these idiots think I'd just take off to Jamaica by myself while Greg's in handcuffs over false domestic violence charges?  Do they really think I'm going to just leave him in the Broward County Jail while I hightail it off to the fucking islands?  GET.... FUCKING....REAL.

So I get off of the ship, with those same 3,000 people watching me.  The ship is late taking off, you see, and we're the sole reason for that.  So, yeah, I was totally humiliated.  No doubt about it.

No thanks to the Broward County Police Department, I found a hotel to stay in.  Of course, it's 130 dollars a night, but I was so hysterical that I didn't care.  I'm in a city that I know nothing about (Fort Lauderdale), I'm stranded, my fiance's in jail and I don't even know what the fuck is happening.  So, let's see... we lost our cruise vacation for sure.  That's 800 dollars.  Plus the hotel, so that's another 130. 

Want to keep tabs with me?  It gets better.

I call my mother in absolute hysterics, who in turn calls my brother in absolute hysterics.  He calls me, not in hysterics but visibly rattled.  He dispenses advice - call a lawyer, stat.  Good idea, I think, so I start looking up lawyers.  I'm overwhelmed by the choices.  Call a few, no one answers, it's 9:00pm.  I pull up the website of the jail - I see Greg's booking picture.  He's got visible tears in his eyes.  I totally fucking lose my shit and sob, curled up, on the hotel floor.  What the fuck.  What... the... fuck.

I toss and turn all night.  Can't sleep.  Dry-eyed.  Can't eat anything - I throw up what little I can get down.  I take my blood sugar levels - it's 214.  Only 36 more points and I get to go to the hospital.  Yay.  Great vacation so far.

Dawn arrives.  I wait until the latest hour I think I can before I start calling lawyers again.  I reach one's legal secretary - I spill out my story.  I end up crying again, I can't help it.  She puts me through to the lawyer himself.  I repeat my story.  He agrees to take the case - it's 1,000 dollars for a retainer.  I call my mother, begging for help.  She agrees and pays the retainer for me.  He promises to get over to the courthouse, in the meantime, can I come down there?  I'm on my way.

Now we're up to 1,930 dollars.  Keep counting, boys and girls.

I take a cab to the office because I have no idea of where the fuck I am, and even if I did it wouldn't matter, because I still don't have my driver's license.  So that's another 20 bucks.  I get dropped off right in front of the courthouse - nice, everything's laid out nice and convenient.  Lawyers here, courthouse there, jail across the street.  Big business, I see.  I'm totally disgusted.

I enter the lawyer's office.  Small, plain, white walls, Latina secretary.  Greg's been granted bond.  2500 dollars.  Charges are felonies.  Wonderful.  I start panicking again.  The secretary tells me not to worry, hands me a card, and tells me to go down the street to the bail bond office.  I go over there, thanking Christ that I have a fair amount of cash on me - it was for the ship staff, to give them tips.  I guess they won't be getting it now. 

I enter the bail bond office.  Explained the situation.  I sit down and sign mountains of paperwork - agreeing that they could come after me for the full 2500 if he doesn't show for court, etc.  Names of family, relatives, acquaintances.  I once again feel the humiliation and the despair of the situation we're in.  I get handed papers, told to wait at the jail for his release, and bring him back to the bond office when he's out.  "It may be a couple of hours," they warn.  Great, what else do I have to do?  I fork over 250 dollars, the 10 percent required to get him out. 

So far we're up to 2200 dollars.  Not done yet.

I walk up to the Broward County Jail.  Huge, multifloor concrete building.  Forbidding looking men and women walking through a security line.  I stand there for 15 minutes, not knowing what to do - no one is paying any attention to me.  I get barked at.  "You!  Purse in locker, walk through!"  I take the key, walk through security, nothing goes off.  I try a feeble smile at the officer behind the desk - nothing.  To him, I'm a common criminal just like everyone else that's in here - supposedly.  It doesn't matter that I'm in law enforcement, working for a place a lot higher than the state of Florida.  Here, I'm a criminal. 

I sit down.  Some inane talk show is on.  It's 10:30am.  I wait and watch.  Someone comes in, kisses his girlfriend, walks behind a partition, walks out escorted by a guard and in cuffs.  Returning from a weekend out, probably.  Lots of soft muttered Spanish, guards coming in and out, bringing lunches.  The hours pass.  12:30, 1:30.  The girl from the bail bonds office comes in, ostensibly to deliver paperwork.  She tells me not to worry, that he'll be out today; they're most likely going through processing, it takes time.  I ignore her - they've got their money, I want to be left alone - and keep waiting.  2:00, 2:30.  The time ticks away.  I zone out, wishing that I was anywhere, anywhere but here.

Suddenly... he comes out of the sallyport.  I lose it.  I totally lose it.  I ran over to him and squeezed him as hard as I could, sobbing like a child, not caring what happens.  I know we stood there at least 10 minutes, if not longer.  To their credit, he didn't look the worse for wear....

Not that that's much credit.

We leave the jail and go back to the bail bond office for an appearance.  The guy hands him a bunch of papers to fill out.  Same thing I had to.  Then, a picture.  We finalize everything and go back to the lawyer's office. 

I sit down with the lawyer and ask him straight out what the worst is that can happen.  I get told 2 to 3 years of probation, no more than that - but it's such an insult when he did nothing!!!!!!  He said he'd try to get the charges down to misdemeanors, or thrown out altogether.  I nod numbly.  Asked him if we could go home.  He said yes.  Thank you, Christ - thank you.  He said that we didn't have to appear at the arraignment, he would get a waiver signed so that he could stay in Maryland until the trial, if there was one.  Thank you again, Christ - I will never doubt you exist after this.

How much is the final fee?  2500 dollars more.  1000 extra if the case goes to trial.  Fine, I say.  Let's do this.

Total cost so far:  4,700 dollars.  Plus 1,000 if there's a trial.

We end up being forced to stay in Florida one more night - it's now 5:25pm.  Too late to get a flight out.  That's another 130 dollars.  35 dollars extra to change the plane reservation to the next day - fine, let's do it.

Now the cost is 4,865 dollars.  With trial - 5,865 dollars.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was our lovely Jamaican vacation.  We returned home on Wednesday, January 30th, with a nearly six thousand dollar bill for a legal case that should never have happened, and the possibility of a felony being on my fiance's record - all because of one scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch.  The same scorned, abusive, crazy motherfucking bitch that sent him countless messages over his cell phone, over Facebook, threatening him if he didn't come back, trying to sweet talk him back, then talking "dirty" (trying to use sex as a weapon, I guess, this thing knew no bounds), then threatening ME through Facebook, using her ex-husband to message him, etc.  We had to pay for a block on his number so that she couldn't contact him anymore - we had it instituted in July of 2011.  I had to change my phone number outright because she was calling it day and night threatening me.  When that didn't work, she tried to use my Facebook account to tell me to "watch my back".  I have blocked everyone on Facebook with the same name, whether they're her or not.  I have been living in a state of semi-fear since the day he moved here, because from what I understand, this crazy bitch has a gun.  And Fort Lauderdale is 2 hours away by plane and a mere 100 dollar fare.  How do I know what this stupid turkey-neck slut is going to do?

I have been trying my best to hold it together, for Greg's sake and for everyone else's.  But it's been absolute hell having no one to talk to - because I've had to keep this quiet.  I have had nightmares since January 28th.  I have eaten very little and slept even less.  My dreams are of sinking ships, jail visits, and death.  I can no longer think about taking a vacation anywhere that is further than 50 miles from home.  I jump at the sound of sirens; I feel sick when I see a police officer walking toward me. I jump when the phone rings because I think it's the lawyer or the bail bond office calling me to tell me that I've lost the bail bond because he didn't appear for court (and this has already happened once).  I am probably going to have to go back to therapy because I can't process.  This has been nothing short of traumatic for me.  I can't even tell you how many tears I've cried since that day.  I don't know.  It seems endless.

The only reason why you are reading this now is because it's finally over.  The case has been put to rest.  (Though right now, I don't know what that outcome will be.  It'll be revealed after this sentence - I'm prewriting this so I will never have to think about it again, ever.)

Now that you know the entire story, those of you who have disagreed with me about opposing the Violence Against Women Act (VAWA) now know why I oppose it; it is what happened to us that makes me believe this is not a good idea for anyone.  Those of you who know and have met Greg personally can attest to the fact that he is genuinely the sweetest, gentlest man alive - he wouldn't harm a soul.  I will never believe that he abused that woman - ever - not from what I know and not from what I've seen.  I have lived with him for the past 2 years, and I know - if he were abusive, I would know by now!

And that part about "violent tendencies".  Shit.  I have more fucking violent tendencies than he does, and anyone who knows us can also attest to that!!!

So... now what?  I don't know, honestly.  I don't blame Greg for any of this.  He was a victim of this woman.  He was abused shamefully, and it just seems that it's punishment on top of more punishment.  How can I be mad at him? 

And yet, I still suffer from this.  The utter humiliation of three thousand people watching me as I scurry off a cruise ship, the amount of money that we've had to spend to defend ourselves from someone who has little to no respect for the court system, the nightmares and fear that I feel. 

Where is my justice? 

I was told that it wasn't even worth trying to sue this woman for the money that we've had to put out defending these bogus charges.  Because (if Greg is telling it right, and I believe that he is) she has nothing anyway - she's a leech on the body society, she collects disability (of course!), she doesn't work, she's a fucking drug addict.  She'd be at home on Jerry Springer - pure trash. 

All that I can say is that Greg must've had one hell of a lapse in judgment at one time to be involved with a thing like this.  (And, yes - the word thing applies here.)

I can feel the tears again - it never stops.  It never ends.  Again... where is the justice? 

Don't cross me. I have minions. (A bit rambly, and certainly may qualify as venty, too.)

I didn't feel much like doing the Saturday 9 this week, but then my entire mood has been just weird and... I guess a little "off", I suppose.  I still have my times where things just don't sit well with me, and this was one of them.  I've actually been upset over the smallest shit today, and that's bothered me immensely.  For example:  Greg and I made a grocery order online (something we usually do, though neither of us like it) on Friday night, and we'd ordered a pound of white button mushrooms.  Simple enough, right?

So, the order came, and I swear to fucking God, there was a bag with ONE.  MUSHROOM.  IN.  IT.  One.  A tiny little solitary white button mushroom.  We checked the receipt... and they actually charged us 28 cents for this one sad fucking little mushroom.  It's enough to make anyone laugh their asses off, me included - usually.

No.  I fucking lost it because Safeway had the nerve to actually bag up ONE mushroom.  And charge me for it.  I was literally upset for hours over this - like I said, the stupidest shit on the planet.  Why did I do that?

Bless Greg for putting up with me.  I don't know how he does it, I swear.  And I honestly don't know why I felt like that, but.... it's stupid little shit like this that's made me feel tired and rundown and sad all day.  Depressed, actually.  I don't know whether it's because all of what I'm going through at work is dragging me down, or financial worries, or what.  I have no clue.  All that I know is that I'm so tired of being strong for everyone else's sake.  And I know I have to let go of that stupidity, because I've carried the weight for so freaking long that it's broken my shoulders.  Isn't that how I got depression in the first place?

I find that I still have so many issues concerning independence and needing help and allowing others to assist me.  I have no idea of what I'm going to do when I get too old to do things on my own - I'm so freaking proud and stubborn, and I know it.  Sigh....

As usual, when I'm feeling like this, I have a yearning to go backward in time... to see how people from my past are doing.  Whether they "miss" me or not, I guess.  Whether they think about me.  Which is silly, actually, because I'm pretty sure that they couldn't give a rat's ass.  But, still... it's a compulsion that I have a hard time breaking, and when I'm in moods like this, it's magnified a hundred times over, usually with bad results.  Tonight's journey wasn't actually so bad.  I'm feeling less and less hurt as time rolls on, which I guess is a good thing - though I cry when I find out new information, sometimes.  Like... tonight, I found out that one of my favorite cats that I'd loved so much in the trash shack in Georgia is dead.  I don't know when it happened - but it happened before March of 2010, because that's the date on the picture and it says "the late ".... sigh.  I loved that boy like he was my very own - he was the sweetest one of the bunch that I tried to take care of.  He comforted me when my Pearl died in that hellhole.... and now I know he's gone.  And THAT hurts.  He wasn't even eight years old yet, I know that for a fact, because I moved into that horror house in March of 2002 and he was literally weeks old then.  

Of course he didn't make it to 8 years old.  Would you, if you were forced to live amongst filth and decay?

I feel so fucking guilty that I couldn't save him - any of them.  That's what happens when you live with a hoarder.  That's what happens when you try to have a normal life with a person who isn't normal.  I mean, let's face it - I'm a slob, I'm Oscar in the fucking Odd Couple - but I'm not a hoarder.  I know when to throw shit away.  I know better than to have 22 cats and 4 fucking dogs and not be able to take care of any of them.  I know when something needs fixing in my house and I don't use a slop bucket to fill up my toilet tanks when I need to take a shit.

Oh, Christ, I don't even want to go into this right now.  I WILL start crying and I'll go into a downward spiral for the rest of the weekend.  That I DON'T need.  I'm not ready to confront all of that.  Not yet.  Not now.

Tonight, though, I'm grateful that I've removed certain people from my life.  I'm grateful that I have the knowledge that I will never go back to those times, nor do I want to.  I see tons of people on my Facebook "friend suggestions", people that I knew, people that my friends know... but I don't add anybody.  I don't want to, honestly.  I have all of the "friends" on there that I need or want, and if someone wants to get in touch with me, they know how to find me.  If they don't make an effort... they don't really want to know what's going on in my life, then, do they?

Those kinds of "friends", I don't need.

I find that I am enjoying simplicity.  I have my job.  I have Greg in my life, and we live pretty quietly, simply - we don't need or want a lot of things.  I have friends that I can turn to in the rare event that I need advice.  I have a home to live in, food to eat, clothes on my back.  We occasionally go out for a movie, bowling, walks;  nothing complicated.  The anger that I have held inside of me for so long is beginning to dissipate.  I no longer seek out drama, or even welcome it in others.

Maybe I'm starting to grow old at last - but I'm at the point now where I just want a quiet life and my ways are my ways.  I've never dealt well with change as a rule, anyhow.

The sun is setting on the first half of my life.  I'm okay with that, finally.  I'll be 40 in less than 3 months now, 90 short days - and I'm okay with that as well.  I've seen enough "action" (which really translates to pain, when you think about it) for a lifetime.  Now I just want my life settled, quiet, happy.  I think I'm well on the way to that.  Things didn't turn out the way that I'd expected, maybe - but it's all right.  Everything for a reason, yes?

I am considerably "calmer" now than when I started writing this post, all in the space of 20 short minutes.  I guess that writing it all out does tend to help with my confuzzled state of mind, heh.  Still... I dislike it when I lapse into old patterns of thinking.  I need to watch that, still, I think.

One day at a time.  (La, dah-dah-dah.  Score if you know to what I refer, heh.  :p )

Until then.

Well, situation normal. It's all fucked up. :p

This past week has been absolutely horrendous. In the course of just 7 days, I've been feeling like utter crap, I've gained 3 pounds (putting me nearly back to the start of the year - when is this shit ever going to get better, damn it?), I've been harassed at work (I hesitate to say sexual harassment, but in truth that's exactly what it falls under) and now face the possibility of making a formal complaint, my mortgage went up by 40 dollars a month, I've lost my state tax refund because of the escrow shortage, and my cat's been puking up hairballs all over the house. I don't know if she's sick - she doesn't seem to be - but I'm a little concerned.

Fuck. Could this week have been any worse?

What absolutely amazes me is that for the most part, I've held it together and not crumbled to pieces. I keep reminding myself that things could be, and have been, a lot worse. Still, I didn't appreciate everything raining down on my head all at once, you know?

I was supposed to clean this weekend, but after all of this bullshit, I've pretty much boiled it down to "fuck this, I'll do what I like", heh. I am so tired, and it just seems that every bit of human contact that I've had recently has been nothing but a source of irritation. Though maybe it's nothing except paranoia, I just get this overwhelming sense that everything is either going wrong or is about to.

I look around and I see all of these things that I either want to do or, worse, need to be done... and I can't seem to find any enthusiasm or will to do any of it. It's like, what's the point?

Even my therapy recently hasn't much helped this sense of impending doom.

Maybe I'm just going through a bad patch right now, I don't know, but I wish it would stop.

Okay, bitching over. :p /complaint

Tired (and somewhat depressive) rambling.

Can't sleep at the moment, so I figured I'd make a post and wait for these pain pills to kick in. Thank Christ for Excedrin PM, that's all I can say. This weekend hasn't been the best for me on either a physical or mental level, unfortunately. I ended up sleeping for most of the day today because I just... I don't know, the lethargy was overpowering and I didn't feel like battling it, to be honest.

There's a lot going on right now. I'm embroiled in a huge project at work where I more or less have to create a website for the department, and while I have the talent/ability/skill to do it, they're not giving me a lot of time to accomplish the job and I'm beginning to fall behind in not only this, but the other things they've asked me to do (not to mention my regular duties). I'm starting to feel overwhelmed and irritable. I don't even want to think about what might happen after school starts - what the fuck am I going to do then?

My notebook computer suffered a devastating fall on Friday afternoon, and the screen is useless, so I ended up having to spend 700 dollars on a new one - an expense that is very, VERY ill-timed. I was rather proud of myself for not completely losing control, but I'm sick inside about the whole thing. As usual, it just seems as if I can't win, no matter what I do.

Maybe I slept the entire day away as a form of escape. I don't know. I'm painfully aware that I'm still not very happy with my life, even though things have improved quite a bit.

When I went out on Friday night to get the new computer, I watched people walking around at the harbor with a sort of detached observation... and as usual, I felt out of place and alienated from what was going on around me. That, at least, hasn't changed. I find that as time goes on, though, it bothers me less and less.

Whenever I feel sad or lonely or even a quiet sense of desperation... all that I have to think of to snap me out of that mood is all of the failed relationships that have gone on before... or the last time that I tried to date someone. The last time that I tried to strike out in the romantic arena, I was violated. That's enough to make me feel more than glad to be alone. Sometimes I think that I'll feel that way for the rest of my life, but.... oddly, it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it once did.

I simply don't want to be hurt anymore. If being alone is the price I have to pay for safety, for security... I will gladly pay it and be content.

Ah, hell, this is turning a bit toward the despondent, and I didn't mean it to be, as I'm not really depressed so much as lethargic and achy. Whiny, if you want to be blunt about it. :p As always, I'll probably feel better tomorrow or in a couple of days. I'm just laying here and hoping for sleep at the moment.

It's strange, because I've been eating the best I ever have these past few weeks (i.e., a lot of vegetables and fruit, not much meat, sensible portions, the "right things"), I've actually begun to lose a significant amount of weight, and yet... I feel like I've been spun dry in my Bosch, knocked around in a boxing ring, run over by a truck. It makes no sense. Perhaps my mind is fighting the progress that my body's experiencing, a psychosomatic response to the possibility of shedding the wall that I've been hiding behind for most of my life now. I know damned well that my weight is a hiding mechanism - no therapist has to tell me that.

The possibility of losing that mechanism is, apparently, too much for my cracked brain to handle.

I'm not giving up, though.

Anyway, enough of this complaining. Hopefully the Excedrin will do its job soon and I can get some shuteye.

Later.

This has not been a stellar week so far.

I've been horrendously busy, and I'm already experiencing consequences for it. I haven't seen my therapist for nearly three weeks now - not good. My determination to eat better and get myself into better physical shape has already been blown to bits, mainly because I'm too busy to even eat properly. I come home, have a quick sandwich, and that's literally IT for the entire day. I'm still eating the wrong fucking things. I need to get it together, what the hell is the matter with me?

I just have no time for anything anymore. I get up, I'm out the door in half an hour, I travel to work, I work my ass off, I get back on the train and come home, I finally sit down and eat something, but then I have to pay bills or do laundry or other household chores, plus take care of my cat (not that she requires much, but you know what I mean)... and I have to squeeze all of that into 2 hours before I go to bed and start the entire cycle over again.

I'm frustrated. I have no sort of life, my entire life is work-based, and I'm so exhausted at the end of the day that I can barely hold my head up. I WANT to exercise and go bike-riding or lift weights, I want to cook healthy meals, but how the fuck can I carve out any time when I either work or travel to and from work over 15 hours a day? :(

I need some kind of a plan. I just don't know how to even get started, and I'm scared to ask for help because I don't want people to think that I'm just too fucking scatterbrained to even control what goes on in my own life, you know?

Meh. This is a personal problem that obviously needs to be worked on. I desperately need to see my therapist soon - I do not feel grounded at all right now.

One positive thing today - I did join a meetup group for social anxiety. Seems kind of ironic that I'd join a social group for ... well, people with social problems, haha. But this could be what I need as far as breaking out of this loneliness and meeting new people. We'll see.

I just wish I could do better than this as far as getting healthy. I'm so sad today. :(

Sigh.

A rocky start to the new year.

I won't beat around the bush with this entry - there's no point to it. Basically, I got into a rather violent confrontation with my mother this evening. What about, right? She started in again about how my brother was having monetary problems and she was sending him money, lalala. Now, I don't care that he's having money problems - aren't we all - but what I DID care about is that she just starts talking about him again. I don't care, I don't give a fuck, I don't want to know. This is what she always does. Every time I talk to her, she mentions him, and she always makes excuses for him no matter what bone-headed thing he does. So I told her what I thought, that he'd made some pretty bad decisions and maybe that was why he was having money problems. Like, say, having 9 cats. Having 9 cats equals a big fucking money drain! "Oh, they've had those cats. They were doing well once, would you get rid of those cats if you fell onto hard times?" Yes, I would, because that's a money drain. "Oh, no, you wouldn't!"

Uhh.... DON'T tell me what I would do. You obviously don't know me.

Then I proceeded to tell her that I wouldn't be so damned foolish as to have 9 cats in the first place. So then the huge question pops up... "Are you jealous of your brother?"

I said no, but you know what? Yeah, I fucking am. I'm jealous that he's gotten all of your love and attention and happiness over the years. I'm jealous that I've suffered from goddamn emotional abuse all of my life while apparently he gets off scot-free. Yeah, I'm fucking jealous. Sue me. Then she said that she's helped me out plenty (she has, I never fucking said she didn't) and that "he's had it hard, and I don't appreciate you criticizing my parenting decisions".

Anyway, that question prompted a furious lecture, to which I laid out everything I was thinking and everything that I'd told my therapist, including how his bullshit girlfriend fucking abused me while she was busy going out marching for peace and love and all of that crap. It was not a pleasant end to the conversation at all. I ended up hanging up on her, something that I have NEVER done. I screamed into the phone that I was busy, that I DIDN'T want to have this conversation (which I had actually warned her earlier not to pursue, which she didn't listen), and that I'm sick of hearing about my brother and don't want to hear anymore. Click.

And then I couldn't stop crying. I just couldn't stop crying, even through a warm shower and huddling up on the sofa in a fetal position. Happy new year to me, indeed.

I'm awake several hours later. I'm sitting here now and while I still feel raw, while there are still tears coming out of my eyes, I won't take it back. For once in my life, I was honest about how I feel. For once in my life, I told it like it is. If that means that she's mad, too bad. Let WonderSon come up here and take care of her for a change - not that he will, trust me. In that, he's like my father, not giving a fuck what his actions wrought, even if it's emotional destruction.

The really ironic thing about the whole situation is that I'm the one that made good. I'm the one that works their ass off at an odious, emotionally-draining job and doesn't ask for a goddamn thing. He's chronically unemployed and living in fucking "paradise" - only his paradise has now soured because my sister-in-law is in a wheelchair and can no longer work so "he's depressed". Awwww. So sorry, but you know what? It's an excuse. He has a goddamn degree from a culinary school, he can go to work at a restaurant somewhere - fuck, he could OPEN a restaurant. The excuse I got from my mother? "He's too old to do that, he can't stand long hours on his feet anymore."

AND I CAN??? I can stand on MY feet for 8 hours a day serving angry, drug-addicted criminals screaming epithets at me, but he can't stand on his feet for a little while cooking food? EXCUSE!!!!!

Yeah, look, I'm sorry for my sister-in-law, being disabled is hard and especially the way she is, but you know what? You take what you're given in life, no matter how little that is, and you do the best with what you have! You get out there and you WORK IT. My sister-in-law is in a wheelchair and has no control over her limbs - so fine, yeah, she's got an excuse. My brother has NO EXCUSE. NONE.

And I'm blue fucking pissed at my mother because she assumes that I'm ungrateful for the help she's given me. Yeah? I'm ungrateful? So how come I just bought her a fucking television set yesterday for Christmas/New Year's? After I had lunch with her the other day? We went to fucking Best Buy and I bought her a television, a nice flat-screen TV. I offered her a larger size TV than the one she bought, as a matter of fact. "I have the money, don't worry about it." Does this sound like I'm ungrateful for the help she's given me? DOES IT? Does my brother, Saint Kelly, have the wherewithal to buy her a TV set for the asking? Huh? I don't hear any fucking answer from the peanut gallery, so I guess the answer is no!

I am not going to put up with any more abuse. If this means she's mad at me and doesn't talk to me for a few days, so be it. She knows there isn't anyone else up here to take care of her needs and get to her instantly, so she's going to have to make it up to me somehow. And even if she doesn't - so what? It's a weight off of my shoulders.

It's time to start living for myself. I am DONE with this fucking guilt-trip bullshit. FUCKING. DONE.

I'm a mean one, I'm Mr. Grinch. Apparently.

I've not felt too upbeat or positive the last couple of days. As usual, it comes from watching other people be cheery, happy, merry, looking forward to the holiday, blah blah. The only thing that I have to look forward to is a day alone in front of the television, and I know it.

Sometimes I just get so angry when I think of the things that other people are so lucky to have - family, friends, people to share occasions like this with.

I've been trying so hard to move on from my past and to deal, slowly, with the things that have been haunting and hurting me, and trying to be good about not projecting anger onto other people (especially those that haven't had a thing to do with what's happened to me). But, goddamnit, it's so hard today just not to cry and think, why me, what have I done to deserve this shit, does anyone even really give a fuck.

I know that this is just temporary, that this will pass, that I will eventually be all right. It's just so hard sometimes to go on, knowing that I have to rebuild what is essentially destroyed.

This is why I haven't wanted to deal too closely with the Christmas holiday, but now that it's merely a week away, it's getting shoved down my throat with the parties and the decorations and the constant holiday "specials" on television and the bullshit music, all of that. I'm sick of hearing about it. I wish that I could just go to sleep tonight and wake up 2 weeks later.

Anyway. Sorry for the downbeat post tonight. At least I'm not sitting in a hotel room in Ocean City and contemplating drowning myself in the surf. That's a step up, at least, isn't it?

Ugh, I just can't win!

Not too long ago, I was complaining that everything was going too slow, that I couldn't seem to get my life moving. Now it's going too fast. I'm starting to lose control of things again, but it's not because of depression. I have increased responsibilities at work, my classes this term are very difficult, I have to make time for therapy on the weekends... and my down-time is squeezed to almost nothing.

I'm starting to burn out.

I failed a biology quiz this weekend, and my web design class... well, I won't even go into that. The guy is a total idiot. Unfortunately, I can't drop it because my financial aid will be in danger, so I have to make the best of it. I will tell you now that I absolutely hate these two classes, both of them. I don't need the web design so much, but I DO need the biology, so I have to try the best I can to pass this shit so I don't have to take it again.

I shouldn't be panicking over failing one quiz. But I admit that I haven't been preparing for this stuff as much as I should. I just don't have the time to devote to this as I once did - but how do I quit now? I'm already nearly ten thousand in the hole for school loans, I'm going to quit now and not get anything out of it? It's not happening.

I'm just going to have to MAKE time, I don't have a choice.

It's funny, but when I was a lot sicker than this, I wasn't concerned over it. Now I'm "better", but panicking. Again....I just can't win.

I've been kind of frustrated these past few days. I don't really know what's going on with me, to be honest. It's not a depressive attack and I don't feel one coming on, but I also don't feel "myself", either. I think I'm scared over this school business. I know I'm not doing very well right now, and I really don't want to fail this shit. But, eh, maybe I need to. That's one of the core problems that I've always had, the fear of failure, because of the approval bullshit connected with that - again, external validation. When am I going to learn that it's OKAY not to be good at everything?

As long as I get a C in these courses, I've passed them. What is the big fuckin' deal?

Maybe it's something to discuss in therapy today, I don't know.

Other than this, though, I'm okay. Nothing of disastrous proportions has happened, heh.