Used-Tuesday, September 26, 2006-1:30PM
I’ve said it once if I’ve said it a hundred times, I have the strength to tell people to go to hell if they have no business on earth with decent people like “myself.” I have the ability to, as you say, “open a can of whoop ass” and protect myself BUT when it comes to sex I am not able to be as assertive. Hell, I’m downright passive and almost frozen stiff when someone is inappropriate sexually. It has been two years since being sexually assaulted in my own home. When I lived at the old place I was date raped which is part of the reason things soured so quickly where I was…I mean you know the crackheads, the drunks, the crime level and the terminal mental illness combined could break even Mother Theresa’s spirit but toss in cat size roaches and then a sexual assault and you’d test the faith of the most respected of saints.
That was just lovely, going to the Center for Hope, having the exam done with those damn pictures. Shit I thought that was only on CSI that they did stuff like that. At least they didn’t make me write anything down. She took the report and I signed it. I don’t know how long I was there but gracious it seemed like three years. I’ve been back there several times, one floor below where it happened. I’m not certain why I go back there except that on a certain level I feel nothing and remember nothing until a few days later when it hits me like a ton of bricks. I swear I’ll never return to that building but that information doesn’t filter down to us all so we find ourselves there repeatedly just to come back to our safe home to crumble inside. That happens only a few days later, like some sort of delayed reaction or something.
You know, I never should have slept with Blossom. I almost hate her now. I know she comes over here for the sole purpose of getting laid. As gross as it sounds it seems like I can smell her all over this damn house. Of course I can’t but it feels like I can. When she sits beside me I think I can smell her. When she hugs me I think I can smell her and man does it turn my stomach. I use to call her Slave Girl in my journal but I think the tables have turned seeing as how I’m doing her damn laundry, cleaner her damn house, her damn cat liter box, supporting her emotionally AND servicing her. This is bullshit. So, who’s the Slave Girl now? My goodness! The day she fuckin hit me with her car I’d rearranged her furniture for her, cleaned her house, made sure she had fresh sheets on her bed, cleaned her litter box, gave her a back and ear massage with oils and put her stupid ass to bed. What the fuck!!!! Do you know I all but left a fuckin mint on her pillow? What is this, hell where is Austin cause we really need her right now. We need some backbone with this girl. I think we might have given it all to her so she could use it and leave us spineless and in servitude. Man, the woman comes here for the sole purpose of getting her laundry done and getting done. What the fuck????? And I’m doing it, that’s what makes me so damn angry. I’m doing it.
In our last session I said she hadn’t been around as much. She hadn’t been because all her clothes were clean and evidently she wasn’t in the mood for any so I didn’t hear from her for a few days at a time. If I say something in opposition to what she wants I get the fuckin tears going. Right now I am pissed beyond belief. She’s sitting up in therapy right now trying to fuckin heal but I’ll tell you one thing she’s gotta realize that she’s a fuckin user and that no amount of therapy can change immoral to moral.
Her Dad has less than 3 weeks to live. She said she wanted to get calling cards to call him. I told her I get mine from the dollar store. One buck for 35 min is a steal so she got 7 of them. I hear her complain about not having the time to call her dying father but that time is eaten up by taking so-called friends to the store at $20 to $40 per trip. She does this two or three times a week to the same person. I told her that’s not a friend that’s a client. You can’t tell me you charge a friend that kind of money to run them to the store. You don’t take that kind of money from a friend then let them pay for dinner at very nice restaurants instead of going Dutch treat. I told her, he’s a client, not a friend so please stop saying that. I told her it was just wrong to do that to that man. Her response was, he can afford it. Ah, well, guess what? He can go to hell too because you’ve already told me he molested his daughter and that’s why his wife divorced his ass. So, uh, you’re hanging with a fuckin pedophile!
Where is my head Dr. B? I want it back. I seem to be able to say no to a hell of a lot of stuff but when it comes to relationships that include sex my inner strength is no where to be found. This is stupid and it’s not helping me move forward at all. So clearly I have some decisions to make.
When she was with Monkey Boy Crackhead King of Bastards she would come over here and I’d give her pep talks and she’d go right back to him. I was wasting my breath and enabling her. She got a little bit of strength from me and a few other friends, just enough strength to walk back to him and have bled out of her. I told her that I would no longer respond to her with support when it came to him because I was enabling her. So here is what I’ve decided to do on the journal. When I write stuff like this I’m disabling the comment section because I know for certain that I’d get a flood of uplifting and supportive yet enabling comments. I mean heck, it’s clear what I should do. I just haven’t done it. I have no idea where my strength goes when she appears but it goes somewhere. I want it back!
Me or someone like me
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