Yesterday I began to clean my room. I hadn’t touched it since September- something that didn’t occur to me until I was deep into it- and it was then that I really realized why that was.

It’s not that I’ve been lazy, though I suppose I do tend to get that way during the cold winter months when I can’t go out. I’ve heard someone say that your room is a reflection of your inner self. If you’re organized and functional, then your room is tidy and comfortable. And if your feelings are chaotic, your room is not as organized as it should be.

My room… is a bunch of things I buried to attempt to cope with the pain. And I suppose, on some level, it was working. Sure, it looked like that place in the Labyrinth when Jennifer Connolly wakes up from her daydream and finds a worm in her peach, but it kept me from having to deal with all the shit underneath, when the creepy old lady takes her down & starts showing her things that reminded her what the daydream was distracting her from.

My room is not clean. I made progress, but I had to stop because I fucking fell apart and couldn’t goddamn stop crying. It’s like… there’s this fucking gaping, sucking wound in my heart from where my children were ripped out. But all the dirty laundry and boxes of bullshit were covering it nicely. Now there’s airflow, and the wind that rushes in is sharp, gelid, and unrelenting.

All I can feel now is what I’ve been forcing myself not to feel for the past six months. But all at once, and fuck me because I always do this. But what else am I supposed to do? Nobody wants to hear me talk about my problems, all I do is bum people out, and nobody likes a Debbie Downer, hell, even my therapist gave up on me and just ghosted me. And the one fucking friend I thought I had that promised she’d never leave me and I actually almost bought it… well, I guess she’s going through her “I’m a bitch now, cause that makes me cool” phase, so naturally, fuck me.

Note to self: endorphins are worse than fucking crack cocaine. Puppy love makes people act like the biggest fucking assholes, worse than anyone I’ve ever known who abused substances. One more reason that I will never, ever enter another romantic relationship as long as I live, and if I ever act like I’m headed in that direction, tie me up and smack me around and don’t let me go until I’ve remembered what shitty things “love” has made me do in the past. What shitty, disgusting, inhuman bullshit people have put me through because of it.

Never again. Infatuation is like a fucking brain slug that just sucks away all your logic and reasoning and lets you act like a fucking dumbass, hoping it’ll get you laid so it can reproduce.

Actual love is not butterflies in your stomach and shitty love songs. Real, true love can be painful. It requires sacrifice and patience and strength. But I… I’ve been patient too long. I’ve sacrificed everything but my life. And I’ve been strong for so long that the very fabric of my being is coming undone from the strain. Nothing holds forever. Not without reinforcement. And I have been alone all this time, hanging here on the edge of a cliff with just the tips of my bloody fingers, and now the blood is making me lose my grip. Soon, I will fall to my death. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m even still holding on for. Nobody wants me around, and I can’t save my daughter because her shittybuttholefuckdad always wins. Even when we are apart with no communication, they still find new ways to fuck me over and add more torment to my shitty life.

Did I mention they got me locked up at Christmas time? I was asleep in my bed, I hadn’t done anything, and the next thing I knew, cops were dragging me out of my home, beating me and disrobing me in the street. And they would’ve done it again, too, if I hadn’t accidentally stumbled upon the information I did.

I was on the court’s website again, double, triple, quadruple checking the when and the where on the hearing I had on Friday about the whatever thing they arrested me for. Something about an email? It’s most likely bullshit. Anyway. While I was there, I turned up another thing that I was supposed to have appeared at just hours before I checked. And this is especially suspicious, because this was not the first time I was on that website looking for info about the hearing. The last time I looked, which was like… I don’t know, a month ago? The only thing that turned up was the one I already knew about. But there it was, just two days before that, suddenly some other bullshit that I had missed by mere hours.

Clenching my asshole into a fist, I rushed off to the courthouse as fast as the fuck I could to try to fix it if I could, and they said there was already a goddamn warrant out for my arrest because I missed it. But how the fuck was I gonna know I was supposed to be there? I didn’t get any mail saying I needed to be there! No one served me papers! And no one could seem to tell me what it was even about, anyway. They let me come back the next afternoon, but there they just told me they were waiving the warrant because I came back when I said I would. @_@

And now I have to go back again in like April. For whatever I supposedly did. And then, the hearing on Friday was basically the same bullshit, because the public defender claimed my phone number didn’t work, which, A- was bullshit, and B- I’d already called him the day they told me to call and all he had to say was “see you at court.” So.

I am completely fucking flummoxed and also quite annoyed and frustrated that my life seems to be mimicking Kafka, as I seem to have charges against me that no one can seem to define. Couldn’t I be the other one, where the guy turns into a cockroach and everyone hates him? Oh wait, that’s already happened. Well shit.

Give up on trying to be understood. Give up on any hopes of ever being accepted by any one person, much less group of people.

Give up. Let go. Assume that everyone will learn to hate you and eventually leave you. Avoid forming relationships that go beyond acquaintances and just work. Just make yourself useful and forget what it felt like to be happy. Accept that you’ll never feel that way again and learn to feel validated by your own hard work.

If that doesn’t work, try to find comfort in the knowledge that one day you won’t have to be alive anymore. The practical upshot of this is that you will no longer fear death, at least, and having one less fear will make your burden slightly lighter.

I am so far removed from the life I thought I knew… the life I used to have. So much so that I have forgotten aspects of my own personality… little pieces of myself that used to be so commonplace, but are now just a distant memory.

I feel like a ghost.

I look like Sunny. I sound like Sunny. But I don’t have Sunny’s memories anymore. My brain keeps going over them with a magnet, trying desperately to erase them for my own protection, regardless of what I want.

I feel myself slipping away day by day, and I realize that I am just a nobody here. I don’t belong. I have no childhood friends or high school buddies. The only family I have in the area are in this house… this house that I am basically haunting, that they make me feel like I’m haunting by being annoyed by my presence, blaming unexplained phenomena on me, and trying to drive me out…

Shit.

I’m a ghost.

I’m a ghost that forgot to die.

If I die now, nothing will change for me. But a lot of other people will breathe a sigh of relief that I will have finally stopped haunting them. Where, then, will I go? If they didn’t care for my haunting them in the flesh, I imagine that haunting them in spirit will be met with the same displeasure.

I wish that I could erase my having existed, but I cannot. I can, however, cease the continuation of my existence so that future generations can be spared from it.

It is regrettable. I used to have a purpose. Now I serve none, so my existence is meaningless. Why prolong an existence that is unbearable not only to itself, but to those around it…?

I am sorry for being in a deep depression.
Truly, I am. I don’t like being depressed anymore than anyone else likes dealing with the side effects of me being depressed.
I know I have projects I promised to complete, tasks I said I would get done, and that cats are my only friends.
I really do intend to finish everything I started. It’s just so hard to find the motivation when every time you start to get back up, something else comes along and stomps you back down.
I’ve lost so much over the past five years, without much time to process and grieve, and unlike most normal people, I don’t have a healthy support system. The people I have left in my life either never talk to me, or only have negative things to say and treat me shamefully rather than uplift and encourage me.
I understand that it can be difficult to know how to help someone who is going through a lot, but one of the best and easiest ways you can help is to watch what comes out of your mouth.
If you just catch yourself when you’re about to say something that puts them down or shames them, and reroute it into something positive or encouraging, it can really make a difference.
Like, rather than pointing out how I’m failing at life, maybe tell me that you’re proud of me for having the strength to get out of bed and take my meds every day, when all I really want to do is just sleep forever and forget my life.
Instead of shaming me over something I haven’t completed, maybe thank me for something I did do, or maybe ask if there’s anything you could do to make it easier for me to complete the task.
You don’t have to help make a mess to offer to help clean it.
I’ve spent a lot of my life cleaning up messes that weren’t mine, both figuratively and literally. I’ve always been the strong one who holds everyone else together. I’ve always been the ambassador who mediates when two or more people aren’t getting along, but don’t know how to communicate.
The things that I do for the people I love tend to be taken for granted, or go completely unnoticed and unappreciated. Even in my darkest hours, when I can’t think of a single reason to live, I’ll always drop whatever I’m doing to help someone who needs me, whether it’s to mediate, offer advice, or just be a good listener with a soft shoulder.
I am never unkind to anyone purposely. I hold my tongue 99% of the time, because I was taught that if you can’t say something nice, just don’t say anything.
It takes a lot to finally get me to speak out because I take all those thoughts and channel them into my art or into my journal. The few times I ever snap and let the floodgates loose is when it’s gone on for a long, long time and someone finally does something really stupid on a day that I happen to be struggling already. Like, really struggling. Struggling with reasons to live kind of struggling. Worse than my usual, everyday struggle.
And then that immediately gets twisted into “I go psycho on people every time they try to talk to me.” But that’s not true. They just don’t see the 99 other times I could’ve given them a piece of my mind but chose silence, instead.
You have to remember that your experience isn’t always the whole story. In fact, that’s never the case. Your side of the experience is like watching a movie. A lot happens off camera that we don’t see, like every time the characters take a shit, or when they’re sleeping, or in the shower unless it’s super relevant to the plot.
But if you’re too busy talking shit about the characters when you do see them, you miss important parts of the dialogue and other aspects of the movie that give you the context clues to figure out what is implied to have happened off-camera.
And it’s the same in real life. Holding your tongue and just observing can really help you understand what someone else is experiencing, which is why I continue to hold my tongue. I don’t know everything about what the people in my life are going through, but I can pick up on subtle clues that tell me they’re having their own struggles, and I shouldn’t add to that anymore than I can help.
And that’s why I am apologizing for my depression, even though that isn’t something I should have to apologize for, as it affects me more than anyone and it’s not like I go out of my way to be depressed.
I’m doing the best I can with what I have. But my insurance company is being difficult on letting me get the ketamine treatments, and I haven’t been able to go actually have my therapy appointments in person to process trauma, so I’m kind of in stasis until I can get anything else.
Add seasonal affective disorder to the mix and the fact that the cold makes me just want to hibernate and nothing else, plus the fact that I am in constant excruciating pain that OTC pain killers barely affect… and you get someone who can barely function.
And yet I’m still getting out of bed, still taking my meds, still going to therapy (over zoom, at least), and at least trying to be productive, even if it’s not in the ways people want.
But it is productive to channel my pain into something beautiful, rather than just let it fester. Maybe I’m not cleaning my room or scooping the cat box daily, but I’m writing about my pain and getting it off my chest.
I’m making art that I can share with others who might find some sort of solace in it, knowing they’re not alone…
And I can always sell prints and other things, which I have been actually working very diligently on.
So I’m not being utterly useless, I’m just doing my best, even if my best at this moment isn’t the same as my best when I’m flourishing.
An orchid isn’t just dead and worthless when it loses its flowers. It’s just saving its energy so that it can bloom again later. And if you give it the care it needs instead of just trashing it, you will eventually see it blossom again and again.
But if you throw it away when it’s ugly, you will never see it become beautiful again. It will just die all alone in a landfill. Or in its bedroom that looks like a landfill. And no one will even notice its body until it starts to smell because no one is even concerned about it. 😕
Orchids require very specific care and are highly sensitive to certain conditions. They don’t mean to be that way… they’re plants, they have no intentions. That’s just the way they were created. They cannot help what they need to survive. And there are no substitutes.
Orchids just require love and dedication in order to flourish and prosper outside of their natural habitat. And they reward your love and care by blossoming again when the conditions are ripe.
When I blossom, I spread joy and beauty wherever I go. I volunteer, I help out around the house, I complete my chores and take on more, gladly. Sometimes I even get a part time job.
But once you’ve been trashed by everyone and you’re rotting in a landfill, you will just die unless someone comes along and rescues you… takes you back home and nurses you back to health… gives you all the love and care that you’ve been deprived of for so long…
But who walks through junkyards looking for flower less orchids?

Waking up at 6AM, randomly depressed by the sudden realization that I will never get to have sex ever again…

Like, I knew that, but… I guess it just took a long time to really process that and have it sink in.

It makes me so sad.

It hurts even more to realize that, aside from the shitty rape last winter, which I do not want to remember, I haven’t had sex in… at least two 1/2… close to 3 years.

And it sucks even more, thinking about the rape and feeling fucking guilty over it, like I somehow betrayed YKW by being raped, feeling filthy and slutty, when I had no way out, and why the fuck when he’s been up and down the block and all over town?

He should feel like the dirty guilty slut, and I should feel like the fucking rape victim who also had an attempted throat-slitting not long after.

Like. What the fuck.

What is my life?

The attack felt deserved somehow. Like, I struggled, but once I was pinned, I just decided to let it happen. Because I felt guilty about being raped. And I thought, somewhere in my fucked up brain, that I was getting my just desserts for “letting it happen.”

But I didn’t.

I didn’t let it happen.

I made my boundaries clear before I went to meet him. He just completely dumped the information. He “forgot.”

And I did not know that. So when the sudden piercingly frigid wind storm blew in, we couldn’t stay at the park, and I thought someone else would be at his house, but I didn’t find out until I got there that no one else was home.

And I don’t know.

I guess I should have called an Uber right then and there, but I was still under the impression that he was going to be respectful of my boundaries. And maybe it was my fault for being so fucking naive.

I thought we were going to play video games or something. And when I found out that was not what he had in mind, I froze up, like a deer in the headlights, and I couldn’t think or react.

He had mentioned being some kind of schizophrenic or something, and I had no way of knowing how he would react to me being assertive, and my gut dropped out as I realized I didn’t bring my fucking knife.

I had grabbed it, fully intending to bring it, but I got distracted when YKW randomly showed up with a “candle night” present and sent my emotions and everything I thought I knew into complete chaos mode…

I set the knife down and forgot to pick it back up before I left.

I should’ve just stayed home after that. Because the rest of the night, even though I was meeting up with some random guy, all I could think about was “woah, he… got me a Christmas-ish present. And wow, he knows me so well, the gift was so perfect! How sweet, now I have to do something super sweet in return!”

So the whole time I’m chatting with this dude, thinking (stupidly, like the hairbrained little dipshit I am) that I was just making a cool new friend, in the back of my mind, I’m dreaming up good Christmas presents and getting all excited about that…

Nothing sinister even crossed my mind until it was already in motion. And I couldn’t stop it. And no one was even around for me to cry out for help.

So I just dissociated my way through it, and when I finally escaped, I was ready to just end it all, but I didn’t.

I didn’t.

But I felt so gross and so guilty and so stupid and…

Ashamed.

Embarrassed.

Pathetic.

I… never did get checked.

I have an appointment on the 11th now to go do that. Because it took me an entire year to process what the fuck actually happened to me and how much it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin and grow a new one.

I’m scared about the testing.

And I wish everything hadn’t fucked up so goddamn badly.

I wish I was still YKW’s one and only. But I can never be that again. And I cannot stomach the thought of having that type of physical intimacy with anyone else, ever again.

So I’m… just. Basically a nun or some shit. -_-

I just want to wake up from this nightmare and find that I’ve just been squeezing him tightly in my sleep while I dreamt about all these shitty things. I want the warmth of him clutching my hand and whispering sweet words of comfort into my ear…

It’s okay, Sunny. I’m right here.

This is my final message to anyone and everyone who wants to take the creepy voyeuristic pseudo-vigilante route to “looking out for me.”

You aren’t helping me. You’re just being creepy and selfish and ruining my ability to trust anyone or have any sort of safe space to share my feelings and thoughts.

If you really wanted to help me, you’d be honest and direct with me, and you’d be physically fucking here for me. No amount of sock-puppeting and words of encouragement can make up for the isolation and lack of human closeness and physical connection that I really need in order to build trust and heal.

If you want to know what’s going on in my life and how I’m doing, you need to visit me and ask. No more finding out through other people, no more stalking my social media and personal shit on my phone that isn’t public. That’s an extreme fucking breach of privacy, and I don’t appreciate it, especially if you’re going to build a wall between us and not let me into your fucking life.

After this entry, I’m never letting another thought or feeling leave my head. No more free access. I am fucking fed up and done with living my life on the reflective side of a two-way mirror. It’s a fucking shitty way to live, and I hope you can take the two seconds to really absorb that and imagine if it were you in my shoes.

You would’ve fucking opted out by now. I guarantee. And believe me, I’ve tried. And you know it.

So if you really want me to “get better” and “heal” and all this shit, you need to actually make the effort and be present in my actual life. Take the masks off, remove the spies from your payroll, and actually attempt to be a normal human being.

If you can’t do that, you don’t deserve me, and kindly get bent. ✌🏻

Why is that asking too much??

Oh, right. Because you are afraid that if anyone else finds out what you did, it will completely shatter your careful, calculated illusion that you’ve built to make others believe that you’re the victim and that you’re such a good person.

I’m tired of being seen as the one who “needs help” and is “unstable.”

Why don’t you just tell them what you did? Tell everyone what you did. I have proof of everything, yet you continue to gaslight and even lie under oath in a court of law because you would rather throw me under the bus, yet again, rather than just let loose the bowing, bursting floodgates on your ever growing dam of lies and let the world see who you really are.

Anyone who thinks that they know the real you is a joke. Because I’m the one who has been here all these nine years, watching you do the things you specifically said you’d never do. I lived with you, up close and personally for seven years. You shared some of your darkest secrets with me. I have been intimate with you in ways that no one else has or ever could, because that’s how strong our love was.

You had my very fragile, oh-so-hard-to-earn trust, and you held it in your hands and smiled as you smothered it to death.

No one else knows you like I do. So any bullshit testimony that anyone else gives will not hold up to the truth.

I think it’s your turn to spend two and a half years suffering and begging and working your ass off and losing your shit because it’s just so much and you have no friends because they all sided with your ex, so you do what you can to make it through each day without ending your life.

You deserve to experience everything that you put me through.

So just tell the ugly truth and let the chips fall where they may. I strive to be honest and transparent and open, while also offering love and kindness and basically a 24/7-365 crisis line that anyone can call for any reason if they need any help.

You are the polar opposite of what I have just described. You left me when I needed you most, and blamed it all on me, but I know what was going on, I’m not an idiot. I was not to blame. I was this family’s rock. Still am. I’m the one who always has it together when no one else does. I’m the one who is there. I’m the strength and I held your hand and taught you how to be strong and you used that knowledge as a weapon to betray me.

The one time I couldn’t be the rock, it all fell apart. Who watches the Watchmen? Who anchors the rock? Fucking nobody.

I have had to drag my ass through all of your continuous shit for nearly three long years all by myself while you used me for all I was worth. Even after you left me, I became your straw man. Your scapegoat. People I don’t even know hate me just because of you and your lies and your bending the truth to fit that carefully calculated illusion suit you wear.

When Faron died, I talked about him to everyone who was willing to listen. To keep him alive. I kept him alive with my words. He touched people he had never met from beyond the grave through my words. Words have power, Robin Strife. And you abuse your power just like that judge. See this difference, just to start with:

I keep my son alive by using my power of speech to touch others.

You use your powers of speech to sully my name, spread gossip and hatred about me, lie at every opportunity, and slowly, you kill me with your words. Killing me softly with his song, killing me softly…

Would that you kill me softly with your words, but no, you torture. Even using an absence of words as a torture device. You do every possible thing you can to hide my body while appearing to be normal and mentally stable, and for some fucked up reason, people buy it.

The first thing your mother ever told me about you was that you were a good person who was never reckless. Boy, was she wrong. You’re the most reckless wreck I have ever known. You’re reckless with my heart, my emotions, you recklessly attack me without thinking it through and poke holes in your own stories. You just give yourself away.

What the fuck is wrong with literally everyone, to not see this as clearly as it is? You just got lucky, I guess. Found a group of enablers to keep telling you that you’re perfect and special, but you are just the same as anyone else. Except, in my opinion, worse.

Normal healthy people don’t weave a tangled web of lies out of flimsy aluminum foil just to destroy another human being.

That is all I’m going to say. You said our love would keep Faron alive. And then you left me. So what did you do with those word powers? You murdered him.

You’re a murderer. Without me to tell his wonderful stories, he can’t live on. And you’re murdering me very, very slowly. Very calculated, just like your lie suit.

It’s all in your hands.