On My Soap Box

Okay, I rarely hop on my soap box, but I’m really tired of a few things…in the words of the Joker from Batman,” And here…we…go…”

So, first of all I’d like to say I’m a proud gun owner.  My guns are like family members, fuck with me and meet their business end.  I go to the gun range frequently and shoot for fun and to teach myself muscle memory so if need be I can defend myself.  Let’s face it ladies, I’m 5 ft 4 in and if a man wanted to hurt me, he could…easily.  So I carry my weapon when I’m alone or if it’s at night.  I do not have a concealed license yet, I haven’t been able to get to the class due to work or it’s been a finance issue (those classes aren’t cheap!).  Anyways, I was in Petco with my husband.  We were both carrying our guns and we really didn’t think anything of it.  This lady behind us asked,” Are you carrying just to carry?”  we were a bit surprised and he answered,” Yeah, I guess.”  She then proceeded to lecture us on proper gun use and how to carry a gun the right way and how we shouldn’t have them exposed.  Okay, I’ve had several people rip on me for this so here’s how I see things.  You have a right to your own opinions and I don’t fault anyone for how they think, so if you disagree that’s awesome and more power to you.  Do what makes you feel comfortable.

I carry my gun because I was attacked years ago and I had a very abusive ex-boyfriend.  I was afraid for YEARS to go anywhere and developed social anxiety.  That changed when I got a gun.  I’m no longer a victim or afraid of people around me, I can be aware without being so nervous I can’t function.  I carry my gun on my hip in plain sight so if I need to get to it I can do so very quickly.  One of the points this lady made was that someone could come up behind me and take my gun.  Newsflash bitch, I never let anyone get behind me that I don’t know/trust and if they do I know they’re there.  I keep an elbow near my gun so I can touch it when I feel the need or need some assurance that it’s still there.  There is also a safety lock on my holster that I have to click off with my fingers in order to draw this weapon that cannot easily be accessed from behind me.  So the assailant would first have to get behind me without me noticing, then put their hand on my gun without touching my arm, then click off the safety without me hearing it, get a grip on the weapon without me hitting them in the face, and finally draw the weapon and push me aside.  Does this sound easy?  I’ve actually had my friends over, I told them my gun was unloaded, magazine ejected and chamber cleared and had them check it.  Then during the evening, I had them try and take my gun from me without me noticing.  They were all unsuccessful.

So then this stupid woman continues telling us how much better than us she is because she tok a class and knows more about our guns (yes, OUR guns) than us.  Never have I wanted to deck a total stranger in my life so badly before.  I told her finally,” What are you more afraid of, the gun you see or the gun you don’t?” she says then,” Well I carry a glock in my purse.”  I said,” Lady, how much time does it take you to drop your shit and pull it out?  I can guarantee a lot less time than it takes me to pull mine off my hip.”  That ended the conversation.

So I go to the mall with a friend, and I don’t like going there in the first place anymore unless the husband’s with me and even then I’m no fan.  I can’t carry my gun there and I don’t usually go places I can’t carry.  Just a personal thing, I feel naked without it.  So anyway, I’m at the mall and we’re shopping and I’m actually having a good time and not worrying too much.  I see a store with military-style clothes/bags and *gasp* guns on the wall.  I’m immediately intrigued.   We go in and even though they’re airsoft guns, I’m still interested.  So I’m browsing through the cargo pants (I have a soft spot for them because of my job) and I spot a gun that looks just like my 1911 on the wall, so naturally I want to see it.  I’m looking at it and the guy strikes up a conversation with me, I told him I had the same gun but it shot real bullets and he said he did too.  I’m thinking I’m about to have a good conversation about this, I was completely wrong.  God, I hate it when I’m wrong about that.  A major unwritten rule about owning guns that’s just understood (or should be in my opinion) is ” Never diss on someone else’s gun, even if you think it’s a piece of shit”.

So this loser apparently didn’t know that rule, he asks what kind I have.  I said a Sig Sauer and he snorted and said he had a Colt.  I told him brands were a personal pref and that I liked my gun.  He then proceeded to tell me that Sigs are pieces of shit and that Colts and Smith and Wessons are the only well made guns.  I wanted to knock the shit out of him and told him so.  I’m not very intimidating at 5ft3in or so, but when I get mad people usually run.  I told him if I had it with me I’d pull it out an pistol whip him with it and see how big of a piece of shit it was, and that when he’s staring down the barrel of a gun did he take the time to insult the owner on their choice of firearm or did he simply shit his pants and that I was betting on the latter.  I hate dealing with stupid people.

This is the first of many soap box posts…

More than that

I realized I have this overwhelming need to tell people that Ric was more than just someone whose name no longer appears on my chat list or on the video games we played together.

I remember us chatting on webcam one afternoon playing World of Warcraft and his mother bringing him dinner so he could stay online with me, he took a bite and told her in his sweet lil sarcastic voice,” Mom, it’s not spicy enough!” she smiled knowingly as she took his plate into the kitchen.  She waved at me to look and she just stood there for a few seconds before bringing it back, unseasoned.  He took another bite and told her,” Now that’s more like it!” I said I’d never heard him complain about his disease but he took it out on small mundane things that could be fixed.  I guess that was his way of coping.

I told him that someone at school was being really ugly to me and he immediately threw his hands up and said,” Well, time to pull out the sniper rifle again,” referencing his amazing quick-scoping abilities in Black Ops where he always completely owned the lobby.

The worst feeling in the world was not having met him in person, face to face, before he died.  We talked about it all the time, he told me he’d better not see me before I graduated college.  If I hadn’t transferred to this new college I’d have graduated and been able to go see him.  I wasn’t even able to get to the funeral, which broke my heart.  There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could have hugged him just once.

I wonder if he knew how much I loved him, that he was the light in my world in a great time of darkness.  This past week has been harder than usual, I’m not sure why either.  Maybe it’s getting closer to his one year angelversary, maybe it’s because of finals and I’m stressed out…who knows? who cares? All I know is this fucking hurts.

I haven’t been able to play World of Warcraft since he died, everytime I login it feels like someone’s stabbing me in the chest with an icepick.  It hurts to breathe and I start to cry again, sometimes it only lasts a few minutes but it’s been known to last hours or days on and off.

For the first few months after he died I’d wake up every morning and login to MSN like I always did and wait for him.  When I realized he wasn’t coming back it was devastating, it was like he died over and over again every single day.  I would sit at my desk and stare at the messenger for what seemed like forever.  I barely remember my 23rd birthday, my mom tried to help it and make me feel better; but it was the worst birthday ever.

My mom and husband tried to throw me a party at my favorite hangout at the time, they invited all my friends and none of them bothered showing up or calling to say they wouldn’t be able to make it.  When I realized they weren’t coming I sat in the car and refused to get out until mom and my husband brought me home, I didn’t bother with dinner or cake I just took a quick shower and went to bed.  It was another four days that I didn’t get out of bed besides bathroom and now school.  I was antisocial for the second time in my life and didn’t talk to anyone in my classes, I tried to not be noticed by my instructors either.  I did my best not to cry in class but failed miserably.  I was still not eating well and sleep was my only solace besides my husband’s arms, I got really sick and my therapist got worried.

The first time I went to see him after Ric died I couldn’t even get through the sentence to tell him Ric was dead before I was crying so hard I was shaking and on the verge of a panic attack.  I curled up into a little ball on his couch and spent the hour crying with him trying to convince me that living was a good idea and things wouldn’t always be this bad.  I was seeing him twice a week for the first few months just to keep sane and to have someone besides my husband to just vent to.  My husband was worried enough and I needed to get back to normal and study and try to figure out how to live without Ric.

I got a tattoo in his honor, which was ironic because Ric never really liked my tattoos or piercings.  The tattoos were at least understandable to him however.  I got a Pikachu and Charmander on my right arm, we would always play Pokemon together on our Nintendo DS when we were kids.

It’s been a year…

So I can’t sleep, it’s been exactly one year since Ric died.  I keep reliving what I was doing that day.  I can remember everything I did the day he died.  We were talking about Dungeons and Dragons and I was telling him I had to go to work and I would call him later.

It was so hard to go to work today and smile for my clients.  I was on the verge of tears all day long, almost cried all the way to work.  I had no idea how hard this would be, I knew in the back of my mind that he was on borrowed time.  But nothing softened the blow.

I keep his picture on my keychain, in my phone, and framed in my house.  I think the closer I keep him the safer I feel.  I’ve spent the night on the couch, watching our favorite animes, and snuggling his pikachu, and crying.

Memories aren’t enough sometimes

Broken

My heart is absolutely broken. Everything I do reminds me of Ric and the time we spent together. It’s been like this since the day I got that text message. Some days I’m okay and I feel him looking over my shoulder and he’s so close to me it’s like I can hear him talking to me. Some days I’m so busy the pain doesn’t have time to register. Then there are days/nights like this. When I can’t imagine going through this torture for another minute, let alone living with the fact he’s gone. It’s still so hard to see/type/read/say those two words.

“He’s dead”

It’s not fair. He was an intimate part of my world and I needed him. He’s gone and people I don’t need at all are still here, same problems, same headaches, but now he’s not here to help me through it. Not here to listen or laugh at the sheer stupidity of others.

It sneaks up on me. Ill hear a song, see a commercial, or the worst is when I say,” omg I have to tell Ric when I get home”

I don’t want to get out of bed. For once in my life I want to sedate myself so I don’t have to feel this. This coming from a person who refused drugs at a hospital after a car crash that left me with several broken bones. I’ve never minded pain, it’s a way to let myself know I’m alive and something’s wrong that I need to fix. Ric was always my pain reliever.

He’s gone…and I’m devastated. It’s like I know he’s gonna die all over again in a few days. I’m dreading the 29th. I tried planning what I was going to do that day, I thought it’d make it easier. I came up with nothing. I’m withdrawing again, bracing for impact and trying not to completely fall apart and scatter the pieces in front of people.

There’s so much I could say about our friendship…no that’s not a good enough word…there is no word to describe what he meant to me. The words cheapen it. I hate it.

I hope I let him know every day how much I loved him. I hope he died knowing he was the best person I ever knew. I hope I made his life happier. I miss that smile. I miss that laugh. I miss the occasional curse word that flew from his mouth when we lost Arathi basin.

I’d do anything to have him back.

Accomplished

Today I ran in the Play Dirty Adventure Run, I’m using this as a precursor to the Tough Mudder, Warrior Dash and finally the Spartan Race and possibly Spartan Trifecta.  So, I’ve been training every day and I mean training hard.  Like been doing the Spartan WOD (Workout of the Day, for those who are like me and didn’t know what that meant until a few weeks ago).  Let me say first of all that I had a great time doing this run, it was fun, had plenty of obstacles that were difficult but not so hard we couldn’t get through them.  I was tested but not pushed to my limits, a bit disappointed in that area to be honest.

This being said, I jogged most of it because I was with my friends and this race was not about finishing with a good record or being the first across the line, this was about mental preparation for the obstacles as this was my first obstacle race and also having fun as my four year weeding anniversary was on the 16th.  I didn’t push myself to run a lot or to try and meet a goal, in all honesty I just wanted to finish.

There was a sprinkler system setup on our way to the first obstacle to give us a taste for the wetter side of the race.  The obstacles included a mud pit right off the bat where there were a series of trenches with waist-deep mud and water in between each one.  I’m short so I swam through part of that as I could barely touch the bottom, this was a difficult obstacle to finish as it’s so slick when getting out (it took me three tries as other people kept pushing mud on top of my hands/feet/body/EVERYWHERE!!).  Next, a few hundred yards on jogging and onto an up-and-over triangular-shaped hurdle.  I cleared those two easily and could have probably jumped them completely if it hadn’t been for the mud and slippery ground.  Then, we slogged through a wet rainforest  where we busted our tails and slarshed through ankle-deep and, in some places knee-deep, muck. After another few hundred yards there was a mud crawl, we got on our bellies and military-style crawled through more mud and beneath a lattice of ropes.  The hay-jump was challenging, we had to jump up and over bales of hay stacked on top of one another (I was afraid of the fire ants on the other side, but luckily I was fast enough to escape unscathed), it was about a five foot jump straight up and over the hay.  The next obstacle was harder, I remind you I’ve never done an obstacle course so I’m a “virgin” so to speak.  The next obstacle was a lattice rope climb, I didn’t hesitate even though my mind told me to stop running.  I climbed up and over carefully, one of the ropes had come undone, and nailed the obstacle.  Another hay-bale jump, mud-slosh and mud-pit crawl later and we were at another lattice climb.  This one was tall and I’m terrified of heights, I tried not to hesitate and just get over the obstacle but there were a few people in my way so I had to wait.  I wish I hadn’t have waited, the more I looked up the scarier it got.

So I’m looking up at I don’t know how many feet and watching the people roll over the top and visualizing how I was going to tackle this monster.  I started climbing and to to the top and froze, I had looked down to try and keep moving.  Bad move, my hands started shaking and I felt like I couldn’t breathe.  It sounds so corny and I’m sure my friend would laugh their ass off at me if they read this, but they’d been rehearsing a speech about mental preparedness and how to control your arousal level when working out or under stress.  The steps came into my head as I looked down, it was only a few seconds but it felt like hours.  I played the words over in my head:

“Set a goal” did that, I want over this damned thing.

“Visualize yourself achieving that goal down to the details” Okay, I pictured myself throwing a leg over that pole and rolling over it.  Focused on how the rope felt beneath my fingers and feet and how my muscles would tighten after I rolled.

“Self-talk, tell yourself you can do this” Great, I can do this and I’m gonna fucking kill it.  Even if I fall and break something, I’m gonna dominate this obstacle.

“Force yourself to calm down and breathe, yawning helps”  I yawned and pulled myself over that pole.  

I rolled over that damned thing and climbed down the lattice feeling like I’d won the lottery, mentally I thanked my friend even though they’ll probly never read this.  Their words still ringing in my ears,” Don’t tell yourself you can only do X amount of things, once you hit that number or that obstacle do another one.  Don’t let your mind restrain your limits because you don’t know exactly what your body can do until you make it.” Thank you, this got me through something that would have induced a full-blown panic attack otherwise.

The next few obstacles were a breeze, another hay-bale jump, mud pit trench, mud-crawl under lattice ropes, and a good slosh through another mud-bog.  The crawl through the tubes I was thinking would trigger my claustrophobia; but again, using those steps I dove straight in, head-first, and conquered my fear.  I even made it over the 7-8 ft wall you have to jump!  At the end of the race I was muddy, bloody from thorns/briars/scratches/brambles/gravel and God knows what else, my feet squished in my shoes, but I was so excited I think I could have ran it again.  I slid down the slip-n-slide at the end to the finish line and stood up to get my medal and T-shirt.  We took some pictures in the parking lot and showered off.

I went into this race about two weeks into my training for the Spartan Race doing their workouts every day religiously.  This race doesn’t really require any preparation unless you don’t regularly exercise, IF you want to run the whole thing.  I feel like I accomplished something and am on my way to conquering some fears of mine.  I had a blast and can’t wait for the next one!

 

Ric-Ric

I wanted to start a completely new post just for Ric-Ric, he deserves it and so much more that I couldn’t give him while he was here and now that he’s gone I can never repay him.

I remember the good times we shared, it’s all I have left of him now.

Like when we transitioned from Tibia (our first MMO where we met) to WoW.  He was so against playing WoW, he’d bitch every time I told him I wanted to play.  But he’d log on reluctantly and quest with me after much bitching and pestering (<–pestering on my part).  Then the little shite became better at WoW than me!  He’d PVP for hours straight and always had the best gear from the hardest raids and was the best geared of all our friends, on ALL of his characters.

My husband played with us for awhile, Ric played a priest, I was a druid, my husband was a paladin.  Ric would cast fear on our mobs and mind flay them to death, we got so mad when he’d aggro more (although it was usually our fault) and we’d badger and rib each other over Ventrilo until we were laughing so hard our sides hurt.  We did dungeons together and Ric was always patient when it came to explaining the fights that he obviously knew better than we did.  No matter what we were doing we were always giggling or joking at that “cheeky little bastard” as the guild fondly called him.

Ric and I spoke everyday about everything.  His mom was usually in the background, Ric never complained about having Progeria.  He knew his time here was limited and wasn’t discouraged by it, but he did complain about small things, like on this day.  His mom had cooked supper for him and brought it to his desk so we could talk while he ate, he took a bite and told his mom boldly,” Mom, this chicken isn’t spicy enough!” she smiled and picked up his plate, she waved for me to watch her go into the kitchen (which was right behind his desk) as she stood there, doing nothing at all to the plate.  She brought it back to him and kissed his forehead, he took another bite and proclaimed,” Now that’s more like it!” His mom and I had a good laugh.

I guess he never complained about having Progeria because there was nothing he could do about it, but he could control his everyday life and he complained often but never too seriously.

We spoke about his time being limited once, he told me he didn’t want me to cry or be upset because he knew he couldn’t stay with me.  He told me to remember that he’d always love me and that I was the best “big sis” (as he called me “Nii-chan”) anyone could ask for.  I told him I’d miss him and that it wasn’t fair that he had to have something so terrible, he calmly told me it was a part of life and that I shouldn’t worry so much.  Knowing I didn’t have much time with him was the worst, wondering every day I didn’t get to talk to him if he was okay.  It hurt, some days I wondered if it was better off me not talking to him so it wouldn’t hurt so bad when he died.  Then I realized something that hurt the most, living without him was going to be so much worse.  My heart breaks every time I think about him never coming back, me not getting the time with him I wanted.  I wanted to do so much with him, take him so many places, hug him…just once.  As I type this, tears streak my face knowing that I’ll never log onto my computer the same way again.

Some days, I forget.  Those are the worst, I’ll have a particularly good day or something funny will happen and I’ll think,’ OMG, I have to tell Ric-Ric when I get home,’ the days that I log onto my computer and wait for him are the most devastating.  I’ll start crying and not remember why until I see that he hasn’t logged on in almost a year.  It doesn’t feel like a year.  Jesus, it hurts so bad I can barely breathe.

I remember him bitching at his brother, James for taking up his bandwidth when he’d come home from college for awhile to stay and visit with the family.  Ric worked so hard in school, even though he knew he wouldn’t live to see college.  I wonder what he’d have become, the kid was smart enough to have become a doctor….he knew almost seven different languages and was in all honors classes.

I had a major conflict about where he went after he died, heaven, hell, limbo…so bad that it consumed me for months.

Then he came to me in a dream, we went to a Christmas parade (as the dream was around Christmas).  He ran into my arms and hugged me, I picked him up and held him.  It was so real I could feel his tiny body in my arms against my chest.  He sat on my shoulders as we watched the parade with his parents, brother, and my husband.  It was magical, we ate dinner and were walking around.  Then people started dispersing, he turned to me and took my hands in his and said,” I have to go now, Nii-chan, you have to wake up,” that was when I realized I was dreaming.  I begged him to stay, told him I couldn’t live without him and I was so lost.  He told me,” You’re not lost, sis, I’m always with you and I’m in heaven.  Don’t worry about me anymore.”  I cried as he hugged me for the last time, I whispered ‘I love you’ into his shoulder.  He squeezed me tighter and whispered back,” I love you too, you won’t see me again for awhile though.”  Then I woke up, my pillow soaked in tears.

That day I made up my mind to start living again, really living.  Not the existing I’d been getting by with, I miss him and the memories could fill up thousands of pages and still never end.  I only hope I’m making him proud.

Love you lil bro ❤

A little peek

So, I failed my first ever class at college this semester, not only one either.  I failed two classes!  I’ve been taking these bullshit prerequisites and I know that some of you will argue and tell me that they’re needed/necessary or whatever you want.  This blog isn’t about the relevance yet, it’ll get there be patient as the title says lol.

So, if you’d have asked me last year what I wanted out of my life and what I wanted to do in college there would have been no hesitation in my answer,’ a nurse or higher’ is what I’d have told you.  Now, I feel like I’m losing myself because I no longer know what I want. Hell, I don’t even recognize myself anymore.  The only time I really recognize myself is when I’m at work or training, I get to see a part of me that’s truly happy because with Zumba I don’t have to think about life.  My problems are forgotten because I’m desperately trying not to forget the routines or make that retarded face while I’m doing them, I’m not thinking about the friend who hasn’t even bothered getting in touch with me if you can even call them a friend in this complicated clusterfuck of a whatever-we-have-now is (some of you know who this is so I’m leaving out names as usual).  I’m either counting to four or eight depending on the song, thinking about my next step, my next move, letting the music flow through me and concentrating on posture and posing so I show my students exactly how to do this as perfectly as I can manage so they won’t get hurt and they’ll get the best workout I can possibly give them.  I push myself until I think I can’t take anymore and then I push past it and harder when I see those smiles in my mock version of an ‘audience’ because I don’t consider my students an audience, more cohorts or protégées in something wonderful and beautiful.  There are a few people who’ve told me I should dance competitively, but I say if you’d put competition in my field it’d take away what was important and the very essence of why I do it and then there’d be nothing left for me to compete *with*.

When I’m not at work, which is rare nowadays, I feel like I’m just putting on that facade for the public and going through the motions because it’s what’s expected of me.  I’m training my ass off for races and, other than Zumba, that’s the only time I feel complete.  I’m wondering where the passion for medicine went, perhaps it’s just dormant because I’m taking classes that have nothing to do with medicine and I miss it so to cope I’m just dismissing the need as being trivial.  I’m just afraid that I’ve lost it and once I get into my major I’ll fail out because I’m not motivated.  Then what’ll happen? Will I turn into one of those college students who doesn’t have direction? One that doesn’t know what the hell to do with a major because they already have it all figured out? The thought scares me…

This month has a negative undertone with it that I can’t shake no matter how hard I’ve tried.  Everyday I think to myself,’ On this day last year I had no idea what kind of hell and pain I was in for,’ it’s like I re-live the text that told me Ric-Ric was dead every day.  I want to break, I want to cry and scream and collapse into a heap of pitiful broken pieces and just shatter.  I can’t though, I have people that depend on me and things to do.  Those of you who know me know I don’t complain, I don’t show pain, I hate my emotions when they get away from me, you see the smile because you deserve it!  You don’t deserve my problems or my burdens, but if I don’t get it out somewhere I’m gonna end up sick again and in and out of the doctors’ offices and be threatened with the hospital again because I’m pushing way too hard.  I knew eventually it would catch up with me, well here it is on my heels.  Good thing semester’s over with and I can focus on healing myself.  I want to hide in something, anything, that will make Ric-Ric come back.  Everyday is a struggle not to just indulge and give-in.  He wouldn’t want that though, and it’s the only thing that keeps my head above water.

I’m at a very awkward point in my life where there are only three things that make any sense whatsoever: my husband who’s always supported me and been there and without whom I’d be lost or dead; work, yeah as crazy as it sounds, I need my jobs, they keep me focused on something else and healthy to boot; friends, the few I have and trust and who are there for me, there are only a handful of people who know the real me, if you’re one of them pat yourself on the back.

I wasn’t always like this…well, I think I’m doing much better considering.  Here’s a little look into some parts of my life I don’t/can’t talk about:

I had a rough high school period in my life, yeah, I wasn’t always confident and collected or even strong enough to fake it.  I hated high school and had some *real* problems, these kids today make me sick (that’s a blog for another day, don’t get me on my soap box or I might not get off of it anytime this week).  I was antisocial because I was sheltered horribly as a child, partly because I grew up in a very rough area, my dad was a cop and I went to a magnet Christian school.  I appreciate the background I got educationally because my family busted their asses to keep me in that hellhole.  I never let them know how depressed I was or that I was bullied so badly that suicide crossed my mind at least once a month just to escape the torture and this was elementary, ha! high school was going to be so much worse.  If you’re reading this and you went to school with me and you’re thinking to yourself,” Did I make her feel this way?” YES, yes you did.  Keep reading, it gets better.

So, I was bullied, had a rough time, big deal right? Everyone has a few problems as a child (geez my therapist would be proud of this blog, maybe I’ll bring it to him HAHA, there’s feelings and emotions in here; things I usually avoid like the fucking plague!) well, I tried to find solace in church but there was none to be had; because I went to a Christian school of course there was a church on campus.  Every Wednesday I went to chapel and sat next to people who picked on me relentlessly (who I wouldn’t dare have fought back against for fear my parents would KILL me, I was raised to be a pussy.  This is NOT the case today, it’s more like,” Come at me, bro,” nowadays) and listen to people tell us the same Bible stories year after year.  I tried becoming active in church, well that was too social and it would have required me to go places and do things and my parents basically shut that shit down QUICK!  So I stayed locked up in my room and read and basically went crazy until high school.

CULTURE SHOCK! I was a little girl who went to a magnet school who was stepping into a public school after a move.  So I had three best friends, I called one of them MJ, one B and the other I’ll call A for the sake of anonymity without them I have no idea what kind of mental state I’d be in today.  I might be in a padded room somewhere rocking back and forth waiting on my next cocktail of sedatives.

I don’t trust too easily, this is why: I had my first serious boyfriend my sophmore year (about a year after I caught the first one cheating on me…yes caught…the wording was correct), this boyfriend and I had been dating for about a year.  We were close friends with B and we would hang out every day, life was finally good.  He got me a promise ring with a real diamond in it on our one year anniversary, I was ecstatic! I went to his house to watch a movie one night and I won’t go into details but he attacked me. Apparently his brother was having sex with the girl he was dating at the time and my boyfriend was tired of my being a 15 year old virgin.  He was 17, he didn’t rape me physically, but mentally it made me afraid of men.  I told B a few days later after she hounded me about why I was so quiet, her response? She beat the shit out of me, then told the entire high school I lead him on and then wouldn’t put out.

I vowed no one would ever do that again, I threw myself into every fighting class I could get into.  I hit a heavy bag daily until my knuckles bled or I busted them or I couldn’t move my arms, I drew into myself and withdrew from other friends/family and started in some very self-destructive behaviors to cope (no drugs but I’m not that comfortable here yet), I sparred with my dad on a regular basis, ran everyday until my sides burned and I felt I couldn’t take another step, I lifted weights until I couldn’t raise my arms and then ran some more.  I lashed out and rebelled against my parents, my grades dropped and I waited to die.  Literally.

It was years later when I got another boyfriend, I was really in love this time, truly.  He cared, treated me like a queen and never laid a hand on me.  He understood and didn’t pressure me for sex not even ONCE.  We vowed we’d get married, then his dad took his phone and since neither of us could drive we broke up due to distance and lack of communication.

That was it, I’d had enough.  I wrote off dating, I wrote off love, dedicated myself to art and expressing myself however I could and working out to give me a break in the monotony.

The next time I dated I was an adult (post-high school), we’ll call him C since I’m going in order of the alphabet apparently, well C was great at first.  My parents and I got into it and long story short I ended up moving in with him.  He had the house to himself for undisclosed reasons and things looked up for awhile.  Then he started getting controlling, started dictating where I went, who I was with, what I could wear, and his dinner better be cooked when he got home and his house was to be spotless.  I remember the first time he hit me, he was drunk and I’d been out having dinner with my best friend (who was female by the way, I wasn’t allowed to see my male friends) and when I came home he started in on me and I blew him off.  He grabbed my wrist, when I turned he knocked me into the wall, busting my lip and my nose.  I remember the shock on his face, the apologies, the remorse.  I believed him and two years, four hospital visits, countless sexual assaults, and two restraining orders later my husband and his friend gave me refuge.

I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I was terrified of him finding me for the longest time. Then I got a therapist, most of the things that happened were either repressed or I forgot them when I flipped a car at 120mph.  I was pretty broken after that wreck, for those of you who don’t know that’s why my body’s a lil jacked up today.  I hit my head in that wreck and lost my internal GPS due to what my friend and I think was a TBI (traumatic brain injury) I’m so lucky I pulled through after that one.

I’ve said all this because things happen for a reason and if someone can read this and think,’ Wow, she made it,’ then I’ve done good and all the hell I’ve endured was worth it.

I will say that now I’m not nearly as broken, I got over my fear of my ex ever finding and hurting me when I bought a gun, which I never leave home without and practice at the range with at least once a week.  Now I own several guns and some might say they provide a “false sense of security” well come say that when you’re staring down the business end of my .40 or my .45 and tell me how big of a badass you are and how easy it is to hit something that’s shooting at you.  The person attacking me might take my weapon but they’ll have to beat me to death with it because the fucker will be empty.  Provided they can stand, let alone take my gun or even get near me, after two shots center mass.  I’m in no way looking for trouble but I feel it’s better to be prepared than be a victim.  I’ve been a victim all my life and it stopped the day I got over my fear of the unknown world of guns.

So, today I’m a little rough around the edges, I curse, I drink, I don’t always know what to say, I don’t trust easily, I laugh often, I kiss my husband deeply and hold him close because since Ric died he’s all I have and the only person I can truly count on that’s proved it over and over again.

It’s been hell since Ric died, I miss him more every day and it makes life seem so much harder when things don’t go according to plan.  He was always there, through it all, he’d talk to me and distract me and make everything okay.

Cheating

So I’ve been working too frickin’ much, according to my friends all I do is work and study, well tough.  I’ve had to work more in the last three weeks than I’ve ever worked in my life, I’m not complaining too badly though because, hey! money is money.  So, I’m still managing to study and do my homework and keep my GPA up at a reasonable level while holding down and DOMINATING three part time jobs.  I know, beast mode right?

So it goes without saying that I have little to no tolerance for people who are lazy and just don’t do what they’re supposed to.  I got slammed this week with a Biology lab final, two lab reports, two experiment sheets, a Statistics collab learning and new concept, not to mention studying for my regular quizzes and doing my regular homework, then I have work on top of this and where I’m working it’s pretty fierce.  I do my best to choreograph the hottest new routines and use the best songs possible so I can give my students a good workout, then I have a Psychology exam today that I have to make up from when I was absent when I had LASIK and another exam on top of that one to take today.  Last night I checked the website and my school email to see that the exam I was supposed to take today was changed to a take-home exam.  

Great…so it’s 1am in the morning and I’m pouring over my notes and busting my ass trying to finish this exam so I can have time to study for the fifty-million other things that I have going on.  Mind you, I’ve already gone to work and then gone to the gym to do my workout for the day because there are a few things in life I refuse to give up.  I’ll sleep when I’m dead.  I finally finish the take-home exam and I’m reviewing the notes while I’m doing my husband’s laundry and trying to get him and myself something to eat the next day and clean up a few things around the house because during finals week and the few weeks prior, my house doesn’t get cleaned. period. judge me if you want IDGAF (I don’t give a fuck, for you non-text savy peeps).

I then realize that the rat’s cage hasn’t been cleaned since God-knows-when so I clean that and the Bearded Dragon tanks all while listening to my textbook on audio (it’s a lifesaver I swear) and putting more laundry in because God help me if I wash the dark clothes with his white T-shirts or my reds with it (him going to work in a pink tee would be hilarious in hind sight though >:) ), I’m not that big of a bitch.

I finally get to sleep, then wake up extra early so I can review some more and finish up on the questions that I tripped over due to sleep deprivation and exhaustion (doctor’s trying to admit me to the hospital so I can take a break and has been for the past two or three weeks, I told them no lol) and then I get to class and someone comes up to me while I have in headphones and am obviously displaying that I don’t want to talk to them because I’m studying and taps me on the shoulder, I look up and they ask,” Hey, can I see your test? I didn’t have time to do mine last night.” Really bitch? This time I didn’t just sit there, in fact, I kind of exploded (I haven’t taken my Xanax in way too long, it usually prevents this kind of stuff but makes me sleepy.  So I’m running on a Uhaul truck of health foods and sudaphed to keep me wired so I can do this and not crash).  So for those of you who are like,’ No you’re always stressed and this must happen a lot,’ shut the hell up right now. no. seriously. shut. your. whore. mouth.

I didn’t think before this came bursting out of my mouth either,” No, it’s not my fault you’re a lazy bitch who doesn’t bother to show up for class  and wants to leech off others, and don’t *even* try to tell me that you don’t have time with your *one* part time job! I have three fuckin’ jobs and manage to hold down a house and keep my husband happy (in all senses of this, take it how you want) and still keep a good GPA while working my ass off.  I see those nails you had time to go get did and that new hairdo you got that I know had to have taken at least two hours to get done, so don’t give me your shittty half-assed excuses!”

This is the fourth time she’s done this type of thing though, so I don’t think I completely over-reacted.  Needless to say, she backed the fuck up.  She then, copied another person’s exam and called me a stingy bitch.  I gave in and finally took my Xanax before I snatched her face off.

On a funnier note, someone in the same class sent out a mass email saying how the take-home exam was bullshit and how the professor put a lot of typos in there and how incompetent he was and talking a lot of crap about a professor I happen to idolize.  This dumbfuck included the professor in the mass email. XD *facepalm* So he writes back that if the guy wanted an A he should have bought a textbook like everyone else and actually attended class.  Standing applause for you Professor. ❤

Day’s not over yet, there’s still hope of a nap.  Maybe after work I’ll just crash into my bed, I’m sure it thinks I’m cheating on it.

For Sparta!

So I’ve begun training for the Spartan Race that’s coming to a state nearby in October, this is day two and I’m already about to die.  For those of you who’ve never heard of this race, I hadn’t until like two weeks ago, it’s 8 miles of mud, blood, sweat, and tears.  There are around 30 obstacles and if you fail one the penalty is 50 burpees.  The obstacles include jumping over blazing logs, climbing ropes, dragon/low-bear crawling beneath razor wire, swimming across creeks, dragging cement blocks uphill, running with sandbags, scaling walls, and much more according to their website.

I’ve started training this week and I can’t complete the entire workout everyday so far, but I have to keep in mind that this workout is written for people who do this on a daily basis and they had to start somewhere too.  So my husband and I are in the gym almost every day, when we’re not in too much pain.

This race has a special meaning to me, not only do I want the satisfaction of doing something like this and the accomplishment under my belt; but the race takes place on October 19, which would be Ric’s birthday.  If I didn’t finish I know he’d call me a noob and tell me I didn’t try hard enough, so I’m training everyday to make him proud.

Bullshit

So I’m sitting in my lab class, wondering why I even bother showing up at all because it never fails.  We’re divided into groups of around 4 people to do our lab assignments and two of the girls in my group knew each other before the class started and were friends or something and they completely take over the lab assignments and leave me and the other girl out of them.  So we literally have no i-fucking-dea what’s going on.  I just said fuck it for this semester, I study by myself and call it a day.  But how rude is that shit?!  Even when I try to take some of the lab materials to do a part of the experiment I get it taken away from me like I’m a fucking child.  Some bitches…

This week just isn’t my week, I’m so frickin’ serious, is testing my patience and my resolve.  I woke up to something that I thought was dead and over with that started right back up and stopped just as suddenly.  I hate it when people bring things up from the past that you’ve argued with them about and chosen to ignore once a compromise is unattainable.

I reach over to turn off what I think is my alarm on my cell phone, but is actually a text message from someone I most definitely do NOT want to talk with ever ever again.  For whatever reason, men and women apparently cannot be friends unless they’re fucking each other’s brains out behind the scenes.  Newsflash! Most of my friends are guys because they’re real and I don’t have to put up with any gossip, if I do something that pisses them off they just come out and fucking tell me so I can fix it and I give them the same respect.  Women are just too bitchy for my taste on most occasions, now if you’re one of the good women who’s not a lying bitch that spreads rumors and won’t let their friends know when they’ve upset you then please disregard that statement.

So I’m off-topic, sue me…back to the original subject: So this woman, “K” thinks that because me and her husband play Black Ops online together that of course we’re having sex.  I mean, I have sex with all the guys I play video games with…lmao.  Not to mention that my husband and the guy “J” are related!  How fucked up would that be if I were to…yeah let’s not think about that *shudders*.

So the first incident was when we met up for the first time at my husband’s cousin, “D”, D’s house.  We said hi and everything and K didn’t know who I was so she didn’t talk to me.  It was a brief meeting and we didn’t even know J would be at D’s house that day, we were actually there to pick something up that my husband had left at D’s house last time we went over.  So immediately the shit starts, I logon PSN and I hear her in the background asking if J was “playing with his whore” or something to the effect.  Seriously? why do I have such a negative affect on women?  This woman hasn’t even officially met me and she already hates me (sounds like my mother-in-law, but that’s a blog in and of itself).  I didn’t really know how to handle a situation like this, J’s being accused of something he’s clearly not doing.  Other women might cheat on their husbands but I sure as hell don’t!

Sigh…so we run into each other at D’s kids’ birthday party, the tension was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, spread it on bread and toasted that shit.  S is D’s wife and we get along well, so I tried to stick with her to avoid any conflict, I mean after all I was at a  child’s birthday party it’s definitely not about this petty drama.  K keeps trying to make things all about how people need to stop being cheaters and how adulterers should be ashamed of themselves.  I actually agree with her points, why be married if you’re gonna cheat?  I couldn’t imagine hurting my husband, or treating someone else the same way I treat him.  She also made a big deal about how many fights she’d been in and how if she caught J cheating she’d “beat that bitch’s ass” but then in the same breath she was busy telling us how Christian she was.  Oxymorons abound, I don’t have the time to list them all.

After the party was over, I spent the weekend shoved into the spines of my textbooks getting ready for exams.  Monday morning bright and early I was in the Student Center and about to go look over my notes before class started and I see K behind the desk.  My stomach did a backflip when she got up and started walking towards me, she asked me if I was going to eat and if she could join me.  Startled, I told her sure, I mean why not?  She bought my lunch, despite me telling her she didn’t have to.  Then we sat down to the most awkward thirty seconds of my life, I’d heard through D that she was telling everyone who’d listen that she was gonna kick my ass next time she saw me.

So before she had a chance to really say too much I figured I’d get it out of the way, I told her that I was not sleeping with J and that we were just friends.  We met on Black Ops and that’s all we did together and she had nothing to worry about.  Long story short, she sat there and listened to what I said; but didn’t believe a word of it.

So she sent me some very ugly text messages because J and I kept talking and playing Black Ops.  I tried to tell her that J and I were friends and we’d never even been alone together to have time to do anything.  I also told her that I hang out with D all the time and his wife S doesn’t get upset about it, that all of us were friends and my husband visits S when he can to help her move furniture or whatever she needs when D isn’t around.  K blows up and types in all caps that she isn’t S and she most definitely cares and that I’m breaking God’s law and I’m going to hell.  Gotta love those high and mighty Christians, they give the rest of us a bad name.

D brought something up that has continued to bother me, when we talk about serious subjects even though we’re really good friends he usually hurts my feelings or makes me feel like an absolute idiot.  He told me on this particular occasion that I was being stubborn and that’s why other women don’t like me, because I’m bull-headed (whatever that means, bulls don’t strike me as needing to be stubborn, they just do what they want…anyways).  He said,” Well, if it upsets K so much then why not just stop talking to J?”  That one hurt.  It never occurred to me to simply stop being friends with someone just because someone else had a problem with it.  In fact, if someone did that to me I’d find it pretty offensive and think less of their loyalty.

Things died down for awhile because J and K decided to separate, so I could be friends with J now and wouldn’t have to worry about what K thought.  My husband and I frequent the gun range and J decided to bring his son and come with us.  We had a good time at the range, even though they were out of .40 cal rounds :(, and went to eat at Waffle House afterwards.  K was mentioned and I did my best to change the subject without speaking badly of her in front of her son, I mean that’s just rude and nine kinds of fucked up.  I didn’t deny the fact that we didn’t get along but didn’t say too much more.

So this morning I wake up to a text message from K, saying if I ever badmouthed her in front of her kids again she’d “break my freaking legs if I didn’t keep her name out of my mouth”.  As if I like the taste of shit.  What a lovely thing to wake up to, I told her the truth.  That I’d said nothing bad about her in front of her son.  This is just more bullshit than I needed right before finals.

I’m pretty sure I’ll get bitched at for this post, but I’m at the point where my “Give-a-Damn” button is busted…I’m not sure I want it fixed.