“You can’t depend on other people to make you happy. You have to find it in yourself.”

Bullshit. Humans are social creatures, it’s been scientifically proven. Isolation makes people go crazy. Literally no one can do that. I mean, maybe some people are programmed that way, but most normal human beings go batshit without human interaction. After awhile they just create imaginary friends just to survive, or they just die because they can’t deal.

Like, watch the show Alone sometime. It’s a reality show where they send people off to survive alone in the wilderness for like a year or some shit. And they give them a video camera to keep a visual log of their experiences, but other than that, they only get human interaction if they call for help or if big brother sees them not handling their shit.

And all they have to do is survive for a year, and they win money.

People go in there with some of the best equipment and survivalist know-how, but a lot of them break and give up just because the isolation is too much for them to handle.

They can be in perfect health and perfectly capable of feeding, nourishing, and doctoring themselves, but a lot of them still just can’t take the isolation for that long.

And I’m pretty sure they all have to be mentally evaluated before they can even be chosen, so it’s not like some of them are just mentally ill, they’re all just normal-ass every day people with survivalist hobbies.

There’s a reason that in movies they always show people found in total isolation as being unhinged and doing weird shit, like hanging out with skeletons and treating them like they’re alive.

It’s basic human instinct. We are social creatures. It shouldn’t be expected of anyone to not lose their shit when they have no friends and the people they’re forced to exist near want nothing to do with them, or are always gone.

And then you’re gonna say “well, get out and meet people,” but it’s not always that easy, and there’s a reason they don’t really have friends. They have difficulty making them in the first place, much less keeping them around because they’re just not like everyone else, and “normal” people find them weird or alienating, and half the time even when they find people cut from the same cloth, they still manage to bother them and chase them away without meaning to.

It’s really just that most normal people are selfish and keep pushing this “love yourself, make yourself happy” narrative that doesn’t fucking work for everyone.

What needs to happen is those people need to learn empathy and break the abandonment cycle that keeps driving the “weirdos” off the edge. Just because someone doesn’t serve your life the way you want them to doesn’t mean that they don’t still deserve to be loved and valued and not treated like an option.

My therapist keeps blowing me off.

My room is the worst it’s ever been.

Nothing gets done because no one helps; they only pressure me about not doing it fast enough.

Everyone is a piece of shit. No one likes me. No one could ever love me. And no one is coming to save me.

So I’m dead. Just waiting for the flat line.

I don’t feel like getting out of bed anymore. I haven’t seen Ivy in ages. And I don’t have the strength to fight for her anymore because I barely have the strength to open my eyes and move my body most of the time, and I keep fucking pushing myself past my limits trying to stay out of everyone’s way like always, instead of doing the things I have been advised to do in order to prolong my stupid, meaningless life.

So fuck it.

Better to just do as much as I can as fast as I can and check out early than actually take my time and do a good job that no one will even appreciate.

Life is just another shit job that doesn’t pay you enough, has no benefits, and can fire you at any time just to replace you with some poor carbon copy of you that they can treat even worse for less pay.

What’s the point of going above and beyond when management doesn’t care either way and the customers treat you like shit no matter what you do because they see you as inferior?

And, people always tell you “don’t be afraid to reach out if you need help!” But you don’t, because you’re afraid of burdening others. So it takes a lot for you to actually reach out when you do need help. And when you do, they just lop off your hand and give it back to you in a ziplock baggie with “help” written in sharpie.

I’m so fucking sick of being alive in this shitty world where everyone only cares about themselves. I’m so exhausted.

I need physical help. I need an emotional support system. I need a human fucking touch. I cannot take the isolation. It is literally killing me.

I am so tired of being hurt by everyone I ever allow myself to get close to. I am so tired of never being enough no matter what I do or how hard I try. I am so sick of offering kindness and patience to people who don’t give a shit about me and would sooner push me into traffic to serve themselves than even apologize for hurting my feelings.

I am so tired of being hated before a sufficient attempt has even been made to really know me, or understand me. I am so tired of having to suffer alone in silence because any time I try to express my feelings, I’m either “whining,” “going psycho,” or “being a victim.” I am so sick of being invalidated for the same shit everyone else gets to do.

I am sick of hypocrisy, pettiness, and cruelty. I am sick of lies, of having my intelligence insulted, and being gaslit. I am sick to death of being hated and tormented because of who I am. I am fucking sick and goddamn tired of who I am being chastised and told to change.

I want to be loved and accepted for who I am, just like everyone else. I’m tired of being treated like I don’t deserve it. I’m tired of hurting. I’m tired of trying. I’m tired of my stupid fucking bullshit life and how it never gets any better, only constantly fucking worse.

I just want to be done. I want it to be over. Please, god, just let it be over. I can’t take it anymore.

The world is ugly and I am a fool. A stupid, thick-headed dunce who, in spite of being shown time and again that people are shit and nothing good ever happens to her, still can’t help being a naive little optimist, always believing that surely people can’t be as cruel as they are and that maybe it’s okay to have hope. And every single time, I get my heart handed to me in a doggie bag before being pushed out the window into a dumpster.

I broke the first two rules of Sunny: 1. Trust No One, and 2. Never let anyone close enough to hurt me. But hell, I also broke #3, which is: Always remember that love is a fucking lie.

I trusted someone. I let them close enough to hurt me because I fell in love with them before I realized what I was doing. And then they ruined me just like everyone else, but in one of the most disgusting and vile ways imaginable, even bringing my son into it. My dead son.

On my birthday, they gave me a bag containing several various gifts. At the bottom of the bag were the desecrated guts of a cassette tape, which I’ve been studying how to repair, and I’m fairly certain that they knew this fact. Inside the bag was also a bag of tea which read, “Relax. Rewind. Then hit play again.”

Clearly a sign that I was supposed to repair the tape and listen to it. Before doing that, I looked at what else was there and found a bag of D&D dice. Since I knew they play D&D, it seemed to imply that I’d soon be playing with them. So I dug deeper. There were a bunch of seed packets randomly, so I decided to Google the address on the back.

This pulled up a Zillow listing for a lovely little house, so I figured the seed packets were a ruse and they knew I’d Google the address and find the house. So I plugged it into the GPS and drove to the so-called address which ended up being just a… random place.

Dejected, I went home to repair the tape and find the message. But along the way, the person was messaging me to let me know that all the rainbow things and the yellow, and the giraffe on the bag were all about my son. So I went to his grave in the middle of the night and searched it to find nothing.

I came back home and cried while we continued to fix the tape. Got it playing, and to my dismay, it was one of the mixtapes I’d made them. They destroyed it. That plus all the dead ends was already a clear sign of hatred. But I continued to hope like the stupid idiot that I am.

I listened to the entire fucked up tape only to find confirmation in the form of a recorded voice interrupting a song with the words “I hate you.” And I was still so fucking stupid.

Another thing I found on the tape that I hadn’t put there myself was a fragment of the song “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” So I allowed myself to hope that maybe the hate ruse was a distraction to throw me off, and the rainbow thing was referring again to my son.

So I waited all week with a broken heart and a broken body for today to come. The five-year-anniversary of his death. While I waited, I tried one last thing. I took the house image from the Zillow listing and reverse image searched it. That found me the address of the actual house, so I went to it and knocked on the door. Some rando answered, and my heart sank. So I just told him some asshole was using a picture of his house in a fake Zillow listing, and he thanked me and I left.

Today finally came, and I went to visit Faron’s grave where I found a bouquet of roses in beautiful brown paper wrapping, which screamed my name, really, but I knew they left it for him. So I picked it up just to look at it and make sure there wasn’t anything I was missing. There was nothing.

So I was supposed to go meet them at the park afterwards, and my last shred of hope was that. I found them sitting on a blanket in the shade of a tree, so for a moment, I let myself hope once again. But they didn’t seem to want me there. Her dad immediately asked her if she wanted to go home with me, and she said no and then ran off to play. So, feeling like a fucking dumbass and hurt that my daughter didn’t want to be with me on this extremely difficult day, I said goodbye and ran back to the car as fast as I could without causing a scene.

I felt so foolish. I was fucking foolish, I was dumb as fuck. I spent the rest of the day trying to see if there was anything I could do to convince Ivy to come say goodbye to me, but she just wanted nothing to do with me, and the reality set in. She doesn’t want me anymore. She used to want to be with me always and would fight her dad about having to go home, but now… I don’t know what kinds of things they’ve been putting in her head, but she has suddenly changed from wanting to be with me always and live with me to completely wanting absolutely nothing to do with me whatsoever.

She didn’t even want to stay on the phone with me. She called for whatever reason and didn’t have much to say and then begged me to let her end the call, so I said go for it, and she did.

And that’s all. She’s all I had. They fucked with me to make me think there was going to be a home and inclusion and sent me on a wild goose chase all over town just to fuck with me and get me to waste gas which we can’t really afford. And they claim I was just “reading into things,” but that’s such bullshit.

Plus, everyone seemed to be ganging up on me this week. The person who set up the dead end scavenger hunt went from being warm and sweet with me to suddenly having a psychotic meltdown on me and telling me they hated me. And then Matt kinda did the same thing. He went all cold-shoulder and “maybe we should split” and refused to be there for me when I was spiraling and had no one else to be with me and keep me from spiraling down into the suicide pit.

Then my family joined in and started fucking hassling me about my cats and how they’re such an inconvenience and so on and so forth. And then at the end of the week, Ivy pulls away from me too. It all seems so fucking convenient, like a secret meeting was held where they decided to make me feel like I am alone in the world and everyone hates me. Which is backed up by the fact that scavenger cunt told me very specifically that “everyone hates me” just before everyone else randomly joined in.

There’s some serious gaslight gatekeep girlboss shit going on here. But no one would even believe me because the person that I loved most in the world has done a fantastic job of convincing everyone that I’m just unstable and cray-cray and delusional and whatever the fuck. But if you really zoom out and examine this shit in its entirety, it’s pretty fucking obvious that I’m being fucked with.

I want to ask my therapist what she thinks, but it won’t matter. What will it really change to have a psychological professional validate me? I mean… it’s evidence that can help me get Ivy back, but she doesn’t want me. So… I’m not going to wait around until therapy day. I need to get out of here forever.

I have to leave this life behind because it’s over. It’s run its course. I did everything I could with it, and it amounted to nothing but a bunch of pain and trauma and heartbreak and suffering. I can’t take anymore pain. No more betrayal. No more being used up and thrown out.

I have to leave this place and all these people behind and go somewhere far, far away where no one can touch me or speak to me or hurt me ever again. Just me and myself and maybe the kittens. Maybe.

My poor heart is so mangled and pulverized. It’s surprising it still beats. I just wish it wouldn’t beat for people who don’t even notice when I’m not around. But that’s the story of my life in a nutshell. Sunny: The Waste of Everyone’s Time. The Thorn in everyone’s side. Good for a laugh and not much else.

If they only knew how much more deeply I hate myself… so much more deeply than they possibly could. I’ve been conditioned to hate myself for 34 years. They can only have hated me for as long as they’ve known me.

They say that time is an illusion, or at the very least, that the idea that it is linear is an illusion. I’ve often wondered why we perceive it that way, if that’s the case. But sometimes I have prophetic dreams, and I think to myself, maybe I was just remembering something I’d already experienced; tomorrow’s memories out of order.

But other times, it isn’t a dream at all. Like when I felt a strange shift in the fall of 2015- some ominous force that I could feel in the sunset… and then the two weeks of sudden depression leading up to Faron’s diagnosis in fall of 2016, and the angry funk I woke up in for seemingly no reason on the day of.

The other day, for no reason at all, I recalled a memory that I’d forgotten about until that moment. And I know it was real because I remember writing about it in my journal. It’s pages are buried in a box in storage, but they will back me up on this one.

I don’t remember the year- I want to say it was 2014 or 2015. But there was a lunar eclipse, and we were laying in bed together, watching it and we fell asleep. I had set an alarm to go off in case that happened, and I’d made the sound “All I Have to Do is Dream” by the Everly Brothers.

The song had never made me feel sad at that time. If you’ve heard it, you know it’s just very pretty and dreamy. I enjoyed singing along with it. But that night, for some reason, when I woke to it, I felt this horrible gut-punch pang of absolute despair. And I sobbed quietly, not wanting to wake you, but I wrapped my arms around you as tightly as I could and never wanted to let go.

I once heard someone say, quite accurately, that when you’re happy, you enjoy the music, but when you’re depressed, you understand the lyrics.

Out of nowhere this year, I was reminded of the few happy memories I have of my childhood, and the music that accompanied those. It was all old 50’s—70’s music that my grandma played when I was little and living with her. And so I started compiling a playlist of as many songs as I could remember, and I found out that I really like The Everly Brothers, and never even realized it. Their voices are like milk and honey, and everything they sing feels like a cozy little dream.

But that song… for as pretty and dreamy as it sounds, the words sting like an arrow through the heart. It’s all about only being able to be with the one you love in your dreams, and dreaming your entire life away just to be with them.

“I need you so that I could die, I love you so, and that is why whenever I want you, all I have to do is dream.”

And I feel that pain on such a personal level because that’s the only time I get with you now is in dreams. And maybe that night as I slept, my consciousness was here. And maybe when I woke, although I didn’t actively remember, the residual emotion lingered and a part of my being that did remember heard the song and felt the pain that I was yet to experience.

I wish that I could break the barriers of time just to steal back some of those precious moments I had with you. Maybe wake up in bed again, sobbing alone while you slept, if only just to put my arms around you once more and never let go.

You will never understand the depths of my love and dedication for you. I know this because you have made it clear time and again that you can’t care about me. Not even a little. And that hurts more than you can even attempt to fathom, because I would still die for you. And you would let me without a second thought.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot today and I thought I should get it off my chest before I forget the importance of it.

You made a claim that I “guilted” you out of sex because you always got it when you wanted it. That made me so fucking angry because it’s only half true, and that’s the half about always getting it when you wanted it. You took advantage of me and made sex all about satisfying yourself and it left me so frustrated. But I didn’t go off and fuck someone else because I was loyal to you and I have continued to be loyal to you in spite of you becoming the village bicycle and doing everything you possibly can to spite me for things I didn’t even do wrong.

You were always the one who would be like “uhhhhhng, you never get it when you want it, so we shouldn’t.”

It’s almost like your biggest turn on was me not being into it. Because there were so many countless, countless nights where I was hot as an Arizona sidewalk and as wet as a Seattle swimming pool, and those were the nights when you ignored my advances or claimed you were too tired or whatever the fuck the excuse was.

You wouldn’t fuck me when I was begging you for it, but you demanded it when I was in the darkest part of my life and sex was the furthest thing from my mind, and when I didn’t satisfy you, you abandoned me so you could freely fuck the entire world if you chose to.

I satisfied you as much and as often as I was able during our relationship while constantly getting spurned by you and getting sexually repressed to the point of near madness. But I didn’t let it consume me because life and love and family are so much more important than fucking.

And I think that anyone who is deranged enough to do to me what conveniently only you and I both know that you did to me (and to Ivy by proxy) is an abomination and inhuman scum.

So I stand by what I said back in December. You have a fucking addiction and you need help. You destroyed our entire family over your precious little cock, and you go around telling everyone that I was “abusive” and bleh bleh bleh, while only really taking the shit you did to me and retelling it like it was the other way around. And the few true things you’ve told anyone about me have been heavily skewed and biased and you conveniently left out all the parts where you used reactionary abuse to get a rise out of me.

You think you’re fucking clever because you can push all of the appropriate buttons to back me into a corner like a scared animal and only pull out the camera once I’ve finally bared my teeth at you. But that’s not clever at all! That just makes you a literal bully.

And you keep a ledger of every little thing I ever did “wrong,” whether it was my fault or not. But I forgave you for all the nasty fucked up shit you did to me and didn’t even think of it again to the point where, when asked for some examples of your behavior, I had to think very hard. Because I don’t keep a ledger next to my bedside table.

I keep all the mistakes you made in a box labeled “forgiven” at the briny bottom of my memory sea, and I don’t fire up the submarine unless it’s for very important reasons. Like writing this blog and pointing out how fucked up it is that you held my hand through almost seven years of some of the worst hardships and trials only to throw it all in the trash so you could sport fuck.

Meanwhile, I could have easily done the same at any point that I felt sexually repressed and like I was only being used as a fuck doll. But I never did, because I loved you and I valued our family and I would never, ever do anything to destroy that, especially over something as fucking stupid as having an orgasm.

So I hope that all the fucking orgasms you’ve had were worth destroying our family and my life. But could you at least just for once in your life actually just own up to it instead of tangling yourself in lie after lie just to make me the villain of your story? Because you’re not even the fucking hero of yours. You’re just the helpless little damsel in distress who cowers in “fear” of the gentle little rabbit who comes over with empty hands to try to talk about things peacefully and leaves with bruises on her face.

When I talk about you to others, I don’t just talk about the fucked up shit you’ve done. I talk about all the things I loved about you and how much I miss you. But the sand is rapidly running out in this hourglass, and I am beginning to lose that fondness for you. Don’t misunderstand me; I have been very disgusted by and disappointed in you for quite some time, but my heart has continued to love you and attempt to be loyal and patient and wait for you. Recently, however, I have begun to fear the idea of ever ending back up with you because it took almost seven years to fully feel like I was safe with you and could give you that trust that you lusted after.

And once you had it, you pulverized it into a fine powder and cast it to the four winds. So it can never be found and put back together. We would have to build it all over again from the ground up. And if I’m not willing to do that with someone new who will most likely treat me way better than you ever did, then… it’s possible I might not have it in me to do it with you. Especially when you’ve spent the last two years showing me exactly how much hatred you have in your heart and making me the butt end of your every joke.

You are a bully. A sex-addicted, sociopathic, narcissistic bully. And you are immature. Because the kids who bully other kids on the playground eventually grow out of it and grow up. But you’ve just found more adult ways of bullying and tweaked the formula.

I don’t feel safe in my own skin anymore because of you. And I’m not comfortable with the idea of my daughter living around you. So if you’re going to keep demonizing me and refusing to participate in having adult discussions about what you did to me with a professional present, then I would fail as a parent if I continued to leave her with you.

The only reason I’ve let it go on so long is because my replacement seems to be of much sounder mind and I trust him to protect Ivy from you. But it’s my job to protect her, not his. So I will not continue yo expect that of him.

I need to hear from you, and this needs to start moving. I don’t want to hate you, but you keep making it increasingly difficult to remember why the hell I even fell in love with you in the first place, or why I continued to, even after you hurt me in so many important ways.

Don’t be a gun. You don’t have to be a gun.

I’m never letting anyone close to me ever again. Why am I so fucking dumb?

Everyone I let close abandons me. Duh. And now here I am in a ptsd nightmare depression because I fucking broke my own rule.

My heart can’t handle being broken again, but I fucking let it.

Now I’m just hollow. I feel like 2020 all over again, and I can’t eat and I can’t stop fucking crying.

I want to end it all, but it’s more important to just work on getting my daughter away from the toxicity. I just don’t know how I’m going to get through this, because now I don’t even have a safe space to talk about it. I’m trapped.

I found a lot of my old notebooks. Important ones that had notes, recipes, patterns, and more. But in the midst of this all, I found things I had forgotten.

You told me you put so much effort into the relationship to try to make it work. But you didn’t do shit. You couldn’t even follow the guidelines that we made together and you lost your copy almost immediately. Ha.

I was always struggling to try to keep you happy, keep you interested, be what you wanted. And you just took advantage of me and ignored my needs. And I still let you gaslight me into believing that I was the problem. Because I’d already been conditioned that way my entire life. I was like a jar lid that everyone else already tried and you only got it open because they loosened it for you.

You got my full and complete trust, and you went out of your way to completely slaughter it in my face while making me believe that I deserved every single moment of it. What the entire fuck is wrong with you? 🤦🏻‍♀️

I’m the one who tried everything and gave it my all. I should have been the one to walk out on you, but I didn’t because I am loyal to my core and I truly believed that love would win. But that’s my problem.

I’m Goku and you’re Vegeta. You hate me because you are jealous of who I am naturally without trying. You’re an emo kid who wants to be the strongest, and you think training constantly will make you the strongest. But Goku isn’t the strongest because he trains so much. He’s strong because his heart is pure and he has suffered in ways that no one will understand.

He had to look into the eyes of his child as he sacrificed his life right in front of him. That’s heavy shit. And he got through it out of necessity. People like me, we aren’t strong and kind because we choose to be. We have learned to survive by repressing the details of our traumas simply to be able to carry on living. And we are kind because we understand that we can’t know the battles that others have faced, so we give them the benefit of the doubt and try to see the good in everyone.

But since we never got to have a childhood because we were forced to be strong and do grown up things at a young age to survive, we retain a certain childlike naïveté and tend to be stupidly forgiving and foolishly optimistic. We think everyone must have some small shred of goodness inside them somewhere.

And it’s always a shock when it turns out that some people literally just do not.

What was our home?
Paper, not stone
A lean-to, at most
And when you pulled
Your half away
Gravity won
Like it always does
Did I weigh a ton?
Would it be easier
To just delete
Our pages and the plans we made?

Erase me, so you don’t have to face me
Put me in the ground and mow the daisies
Ah, the memory
See how it goes when you—

Erase me
Erase me

So what will you do
With no me for you?
I know what we said
What if I left
A thing or two?
We know that you don’t seem
To think about what you need
‘Til you reach to find that you’ve—

Erased me—what the fuck is this? You’re crazy
Turned around, in two weeks’e time, replaced me
Ah, the memory
Everybody knows how it goes
You just erase me, do me like a bro and taze me
Fireworks, poof! It’s gone, amazing
New bio, you’ve gone solo
Drawing mustaches on our wedding photo

Erase me
Erase me
Erase me

(Erase me) This is not shouting, baby
(Erase me) Go and call the cops now, baby
Ah, the memory
Everybody knows ’bout the brand-new ho
Erase me, and you’ll never have to face me
Erase me, Option-Command-Escape me
And if you feel nothing, guess what I wanna be?
Nothing