October 16th, 2001

(no subject)

Sometimes I just want to be able to grab the universe by it's 'nads and scream "WHAT THE FUCK DID I DO, ANYWAY?" in its face.

I would just like a period of time of a few years where my life couldn't have been summed up as "lets find all the ways we can to violate and frustrate Amy just to see if she'll snap."

You know, I like to believe I am a survivor. That I keep insisting on living. I like to believe that I am capable of telling the universe "bring it on you ass hole."

I managed not to end it all over losing a mother to depression and gaining a paranoid schisophrenic who regularly beat me and told me what a worthless lazy peice of sh** I was and how she looked forward to the world destroying me in this or that way.

Any I've managed to cope with constant money troubles and insecurities and psychotic exs of spouses and a hundred million other things.

But I feel like I spend an unreasonably amount of time crying and having all of my reserves eaten away.

I just want some way to pay the tab and go home. Some way to get a break for a few years where nothing remarkable, tragic or impossible to deal with happens. To have enough money to not cause panic attacks and just normal mundane things that are easy to deal with.

Hell, I give most anything to have a couple of months sufficiently free of panic that I could manage to get my ulcer to heal rather than just barely tread water without making me throw up constantly again.

I just want to know what the fuck I did to deserve to get to work off all this shit and when it might be done. I must have been a real monster in a previous life or something.
I'm so out of reserves that all I do is get up and stare at a screen or a wall something like two thirds of the time, without doing anything, really, and incapable of finding another ounce of "push through it" having already every nook and anything that might have fallen between the cushions.

I want so desperately to have a place to hide. We ended up recently on the subject of 24x7 D/s play and the thing I wanted more than anything in the world is for it to start immediately and not end until the shit storm is over. A place to hide where someone else tells me exactly what to do and how to do it and who will give me some sort of reward no matter how brutal because it would be a hell of a lot better than the constant shit I'm failing at dragging myself to every day.

Just a place where I could relax and know that I'm taken care of and pleasing for something as little and stupid as wearing my hair down.

I can't remember a time when my back didn't hurt. I can't remember a time when I didn't spend most of the day digesting my stomach in panic. I'm ready for this to be fucking over.

I'm tired of forcing optimism. Of making myself drive other people or help with motivating them. I just want to sleep till it's over and then have someone wake me by carrying me up to bed from the car or something.


Talked to D some and she asked if I didn't feel like I'd made progress in the last year. But the thing is that whatever little progress I may have made has been outpaced by the storm.

I feel like I must be the storm and I don't have the faintest idea how to stop it or even control it.

If this were an ocean I'd have drown long ago because it doesn't matter if you learn the dog paddle when there's a thousand more miles to go and the only way out is the knowing the breast stroke yesterday.

Here's to wishing something would let up, that the curse could be lifted, whatever. I'm happy for the good things, damnit. I'd just like it if the shit didn't make me pay for the good three fold.