Today I was reading a post about rape and there was a comment about marital rape in the 80’s. That made me think about something I’ve probably never considered before. I’m pretty sure my father raped my mother on his birthday. The timing fits. It fits exactly. I’ve never thought about it before though. Fuck.
I also read this post. It’s about ways to commit rape you probably don’t think of as rape.
I spent a while today talking to a woman who is dealing with some pretty extreme domestic violence.
I wonder often if Noah is a boogieman or a monster. Has he hurt people? Yes. Not like that. Perspective.
I’m worried about Noah flipping out if I push him too far. That’s not what other people deal with.
A friend said to me today that we marry the person we think we deserve. Maybe. I’ve spent most of my marriage wondering how I talked someone so far up the ladder into marrying me. Sucker.
I got to talk to my Pam today. She says someone should write a story about her. Ok. I’ll make it happen. Not in the next month.
Noah is working really hard lately. He is… showing up for stuff he’s never shown up for before. He’s trying so hard. He’s always been a good husband. These days I feel like a towering pile of shit who does not deserve him.
We are trying to figure out how to get the pain-during-sex to stop. We have a few approaches we are trying. They depend upon him having more self control than ever and me having more initiative to say no than ever. Wish us luck.
I feel terrified of not writing down something about our dark side. I’m terrified of presenting this false Leave It To Beaver front.
But mostly things are good. So good I don’t think I belong here. I should be killed off so my understudy can step in. She will be more deserving and worthy.
I could point at dozens of women who are more deserving than me. They aren’t violent pieces of shit. They aren’t monsters who have to struggle every fucking day to control themselves.
They just… don’t have this ravening monster inside them.
I am unworthy of what I have.
Sometimes folks ask me why I don’t like myself.
I don’t see much to like. I’m a fucking selfish asshole.
I’m sorta terrified what my med-doctor will suggest when I see her on the 16th. I’m on my own till then.
Whyyyyyyyyy can’t I have a sleeping pill?!
Nope. Anti-psychotics for you, motherfucker.
I’m too dysregulated.
Sigh. Can we please not treat my dysregulation like it is an extreme crisis? Can we act like, “Alright. Let’s see how to turn the nozzles down a notch or two” instead of “OMG IT ISN’T OK TO FEEL LIKE THAT IT HAS TO STOP LET’S GIVE YOU THE STRONGEST DRUGS THAT EXIST.”
Ya know… I haven’t found this approach to work at all.
Maybe I’m depressed because shitty things happen and being well adjusted to them would be fucked up.
I would like to made a radical suggestion at my next appointment. I played ball and tried four drugs I didn’t want to try because I have to prove I “trust” the med-doc. Ok, how about if you try trusting me a little. What I want is a sleeping pill. Not a silver bullet. I want something to help me catch up on sleep because I’ve been functioning with a level of sleep that qualifies as torture for years because I am physically unable to sleep. Can we fucking address this symptom and see what happens? I’m cool with trying the appetite stimulant faux-pot thing to see if that would solve part of my need for pot.
Can we start there for a few months? Please? For the love of Crisco.
My body does not tolerate extreme medications like antipsychotics and ssri’s without going fucking ballistic.
HAVE I PROVEN IT TO YOUR SATISFACTION YET?!
Or do I have to suffer more for your amusement? This is why I’m all for the UN’s proposed rights for the survivors and users of the psychiatric system. GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER USA. BRAZIL IS MORE HUMANE. WTF.
Stupid congress. Go fuck yourselves.
I should stop typing. But I’m very lonely without Twitter. If I’m not on Twitter or Facebook it is like my friends… fade away.
That’s not entirely true. I love you IM buddies. You are a balm to my soul.