The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

I need someone to talk to. I've always hated how people state those kind of phrases but tonight it's true for me. I can't believe all the anxiety I'm dealing with at the moment. I just want to hide. I don't know how to deal with all of this. I'm terrified of going to the damn doctor's office. I don't know what to do.

I've been having monster mood swings for about a week now. Brett lost my script for my Zoloft and my other medication. It was a three month script. I don't know if my psychiatrist will be willing to call me in more. I've been off of it for a day short from two weeks now.



This is nuts. I feel like I can't think clearly. Brett's the only one getting my "bad side" because it is his fault. He lost my script. Ugh!



I went from 200 mg to absolutely nothing.



Zilch!



I feel like I'm fucked on it.



At least I know for absolute sure the mood swings are not a pregnancy or something. I took a test just to rule it out.



I hate that I can't stop taking things personally. I can't stop getting pissed about his habits brought on by his ADHD.



... I swear, I was NEVER meant to hook up with any individual with ADHD.



When talking to him and I can tell he's zoning... I just want to walk up to him and slap him as hard as I can.



I must be a good girl.



*sighs*



I'll be doing more puzzles, gardening, cleaning, baking, etc.



Doctor, doctor, please give me my medication! *begs*

I made it through today with no incident. I haven't even fallen from my legs giving out or any other cause. It's nice. Hopefully yesterday will be the only time that type of thing happens.



Our one neighbor offered us a couch today for free. I turned it down. I said no.



If you have met me in real life, you would know it is almost impossible for me to say no to people even if I don't need something.



I'm proud of myself for saying that simple phrase... "No, thank you for offering but we don't have a need for another couch."



It felt good not feeling guilty about it.



My uncle, mom and stepdad were out today. It's nice for them to come out here finally. They can't risk my mom coming over the hill to the house when the ground is sopping wet like it's been for a couple of months, minus a handful of days.



My stepdad told me I can cut back the apple bushes, showed me where the grape parlor is, where there are so many flowers at where my Aunt Betty planted them, approved where Aurora and I want to plant our garden... and helped clean up the trees we cut down so we could burn them tonight.



I'm content out here. I'm at peace more than I've been in the longest time.



I have my moments. I have my struggles. But I have the strength to pull through them. I can go talk a walk in the woods and see how strong a sapling is and how resourceful the animals are.



I love it here.



I can't help but never want to leave here.



I have so many ideas for this house. We have to build Aurora's room before the start of summer. We're also going to get the old gorgeous cast-iron claw bathtub hooked up.



I'm excited about it. How could I not relax when that thing gets hooked up? It gorgeous. I can paint it if I want. I can so see lit candles on shelves while drinking an alcoholic drink, listening to Celtic music in a nice hot lavender bubble bath. Oh yeah. I'll be relaxed.



This house will eventually come to me. I'm thinking of it as our every first home. It's going to be mine and Aurora's.



We have so much going for us. I have so much going for me. Yeah, I'll face challenges but that's life. What's the point of all this if I don't have to "fight" to get it and keep it? I don't mean tooth and nail on fighting to keep it... just the normal challenges. Bills, stress, etc. Those things everyone has to deal with.



Heh, I got online to play my Metro. I need to get on over there before my population riots.



=)

I really need to harass the neurologist's office to get in. My mother thinks I may have a had minor, minor stroke today. I'm scared shitless because of it. I would think she's trying to just scare me to get in if she wasn't so serious and concern about it. That's not like my mother when she's told me things before.



I've been supposed to see this doctor or another neurologist for over a year now. Every time I get a little bit of the run around, I freak and don't call back for a while... usually months.



I know I need to get in there. It's not normal for my body to feel like it's trapped in concrete in the morning. My legs and hands being so cold. My limbs to give out on me to the point I fall all the time.



I need to swallow my fears and get in there.



If it's something serious, it's already done. I might as well know about it. Right?



And hopefully, it's something small and can be sidetracked with a regiment of whatever. Or maybe it'll be caught in time to stop it from getting worse.



What happened is I was talking with Brett. I was upset because of him not helping me with Aurora as much as I need and her shoving a roll of toilet paper and my two necklaces in the toilet while I went to open the door... She was trying to go potty on the toilet. I was gone for about 30-50 seconds.



I was sort of yelling at him to vent some of my anger. I got a incredibly sharp pain in my temple and behind my left eye. I can't remember anything after me saying "I can't keep fucking doing all this" but Brett said I talked a couple of sentences after that. He said my eyes rolled in the back of my head and I fell back on the floor. He had to throw cold water in my face to get me conscious. When coming to I felt so weak. I still have a migraine.



Their office was already closed.



My momma is a registered nurse with her BSN. She knows what she's talking about.



I'm not making a huge deal out of this. If I had a stroke, there's nothing the emergency room can do about it. I can't take the anxiety of sitting in the waiting room and then the tests through the evening or night. This happened about 5 o'clock today. I wanted to write here so I can take this in with me on the symptoms.



I'm scared to death of going to the neurologist. I've already been warned he's going to more than likely give me a nerve pill and stick needles deep in my body to see how it reacts. My mom's had it done. I'll admit I'm scared crapless.



But yeah, I'll be calling insanely on Monday to get in touch with the neurologist's office. I love how he doesn't play around with my mother or her conditions. He seems nice but to the point. I hope he'll take me since my mom's the one who is pressing for me to get in to see him. My primary care doesn't think someone of my age needs to see a neurologist even though the MRI he had done on my back showed a "gap" in my back.

Last night was horrible. It's like in my head there is fire and water. The fire being the destructive habits, thoughts, memories, etc. The water being more positive thinking, the better habits, the healing, etc.



They're in a war and I'm in the middle being tugged back and forth. Burned and soothed.



The affects of the water do not last too long but they get longer with each time I experience it.



The affects of the fire are tremendous. When it hits, it hits hard and I can't pick myself back up or empower the strength of water immediately after.



It's a constant battle.



I'm not expecting a miracle in the process of looking into MDMA or even if I would get involved in the clinical studies. I expect my worse nightmares coming to the surface.



However, the one thing different is I'm hoping I'll be able to love myself. It figure out for once in my life that it was not my fault and believe it with everything I am.



I can't ever change my past. I've accepted that long before now.



But I can try to live with it. To heal from it. Hell, to HEAL period.



At least every time I think I'm going crazy or doubting the past... I do have my scars. I can look at one or another or another and remember most of the incident that led to them.



Whether it's therapy, my own self-help, a regiment of medication and therapy, or the MDMA, I have to do something to help myself. I need to get better. I need to heal.

I always promised myself if there was a way to forget my sexual abuse, I would. If I could risk everything to heal from it, I would. It's affected my life in every single aspect of it.



There's been a clinical study on MDMA which is a active ingredient of ecstasy and another going on currently. Ecstasy is one of the few drugs I've actually WANTED to try sometime in my lifetime to just feel comfortable in my skin and sexuality... even if for only one damn night of my life.



I'm thinking of getting involved in the study if they would have me. I would even pay out of pocket for airplane tickets for this experience. Out of 20 patients, 17 of them no longer met the text book criteria for post traumatic stress disorder after a few years after the therapy.



I want this. I would risk losing memories of everything, everyone, and myself just to have a chance to feel comfortable having sex, kissing someone I love... hell, GETTING CLOSE TO MY DAUGHTER!



Screw everyone! My daughter deserves a mother who can be there for her consciously and not absent in most daily activities.



I'm so scared to give her a bath for fuck sake when I'm her mother because I'm scared I'll be like the girl who abused me! I can't have healthy relationships with anyone. Not even myself.



I'll risk losing my memories of my dad, Courtney, my grandma, everyone... the birth of my daughter, her first words and steps... just to be able to sleep one night without any nightmares or night terrors.



I want to be able to go outside without feeling like the next person I see could rape me without anyone intervening. My mom said her and my dad thought something was happening and never helped me. Never asked questions! I'm so pissed even now about it. I can't control the anger. I can't ask for help. I can't even turn to friends. I can't rely on myself.



I blame myself for asking for help. The abuse continuing for so fucking long. I remember so much and yet not all of the years of abuse. That's right, YEARS. How can I expect myself to feel safe when I judge everything I say or write. I'm breaking down as I write this journal and I feel it should be here. It's me. It's my life.



It's ruled my life since December 17, 1994. I was raped by the boy down the street from my grandmother's house. That's what I first remember. I remember the blood on my legs and my ripped carebear underwear my mom and dad had gotten me. I remember my grandmother leaving me tied up in the dark for hours. HOURS. No wonder I can hardly sleep in the fucking dark and tremble at the sound of thunder. She saw me. She left me for hours and when she cleaned me up she called me a whore. A slut. Not worth a damn.



I am worth a damn. I deserve a chance at a happy life. So fuck all of you. If I do this, it's going to be for me! ME! ME! ME! Tiffany fucking Rose! Not you, not Jess, not Daniel, not anyone else. Screw my motehr wanting things to remain silent. Fuck it. I'm tired of trying to deal with my past with no fucking help. No one can get this. Not even me.



Can someone on here tell me what it feels like to have bleach and a little bit of water in your vagina? I know. God, I know. I have the scars inside me to prove I know. Hell, I know what it feels like to have Noxzema used as lubercation. I need help with this. I can't get rid of the nightmares.



There's more than I even know under the surface. I can't bring everything up. I want a chance to live without this fear without the anxiety. Without the nightmares. I want a chance to live.



I want to be me. To feel comfortable with me. Myself. Is that too much to ask? Seriously.



I can't keep hiding myself in food, alcohol when it gets too bad to handle, and fat upon fat on my body just because I think it makes me safe. Who is going to rape a fat chick? Who? Hell who is going to rape a fat ass slut? Not many people I fucking know around here.



I can't deal with this. I'm going to look into this. I have to. I promised myself since I was about 11 years old and I started cutting, burning, anything to make the thoughts and memories to go away for just a second. Just a second. A moment in time. I want that second now and can't selfharm. I have a daughter. I can't do that. I can't look at her if I do it.



She deserves more than this wreck of a mother she's been stuck with. I can't do this.



I would give so much for Courtney to be able to stand by my side through this decision and if I do it. I would want her there. Just to hear her voice tell me it's okay just to talk it out.



Brett supports my decision. My mom, I can't say. I don't know.



I have to do what will make me better. What I feel is best. This is best for me. I'm sure of it. Even if I forget everything... it means no more memories of being in that basement or living with my other abuser for years.



I honestly believe my childhood stuffed clown tells my abuser everything including my thoughts. Even now that I'm 24 years old. His name is Mr. Bubbles. I loved him so much. My dad got him for me. Yet I believe he talks. He hears my thoughts. He reports them. That's how she knows what to say and if I ever liked something or not. That's how. That's how. It tells. He tells. He hears.



God, I can't live like this. I can't. I have to either get into prolonged exposure therapy that I don't think I could make it through or the MDMA. Something to have a chance to get past this.



Yeah I made it past the abuse but what about now? What about the memories that dictate my life?? I can't sleep without waking up to make sure I'm somewhat safe. I can't sleep without nightmares. I have so many flashbacks its insane. I don't even think I've had sex even once while being fully aware of it. Not with anyone. Not once. That's not right.



And I shouldn't cause myself to bleed when I get the nerve to masturbate. I shouldn't. I feel I deserve it though. Nothing but the worse for me. I hate this. I hate this part of me.



I hate I punish myself for being abused. It wasn't my fault but no matter how many times I say it there's no change. It was my fault. I asked for help. I asked. I went to him and then I went to her. They just got worse and worse and worse. I stopped it. I took control but I can't take control of my life.



When I see the girl even now, she reminds me of it. Reminds me of the abuse. How can I do this? How?



Lord, help me. Give me something to go on. Please. I've been trying so hard to get better. I don't even know if its a facade or reality anymore. Shouldn't I be able to tell that? Shouldn't I? I should know if something is real or not... right? I can't tell. I sleep and I have nightmares, I wake up and have flashbacks. Fears and terror I have no clue where they come from. Nothing to go on. Nothing. How can I heal from something in the past when I don't remember it all? How?



I feel torn apart. Every nightmare is just like being raped again. Tortured again. I don't talk or say much just because it'll get worse. I'll get punished again. It'll happen again and this time will I be able to finally fight her and win?



I have to get help. I have to. Damn it, no choice. I have to fucking get better. I have to! I can't keep doing this. My own guilt and shame is killing me. I can't even sleep now because I'm a nervous wreck with no one to talk to even if I wanted to. I have no one I trust that much anymore. I want to talk to Jared but at what cost? Losing respect? Losing a friendship hell causing him to think less of me?



I can see why so many abuse victims, survivors whatever, turn to drugs and shit to deal with these feelings. I want so badly to hurt and I won't. I guess I've gotten better in that way. I'm not a total lost cause. I want to get better.



I'm waking Brett up. I can't be alone anymore.