So it’s kind of a funny story. I really kinda like this guy from the psych ward. We’ll call him James. Let’s start at the beginning…
High school never ends. Even in the psych ward cafeteria there’s anxiety about who to sit with for lunch. My first few meals I sat alone. I was used to being alone. At that point I had been on restrictions at my sober living that kept me isolated from the community for about 5 weeks already. I was used to feeling like an outcast. <That sounds really emo but they don’t call me “Emo Emily” because I’m rational and have perspective>
Then one day after some chit chat in group about mutual acquaintances, James sat with me at lunch. It wasn’t a big deal and I wasn’t over the moon about him quite yet but I thought he was funny, cute, and smart so it was kinda nice to have his company.
After that I don’t really know what happened but we became tight. In the psych ward time moves slow so people move fast. We spend about 15 hrs or so everyday trapped in a bubble with gates and alarms. If you so choose you can get pretty close to the other crazies. That’s what happened with me and James. I was genuine with him and not afraid of my weirdness or flaws. And, if I do say so myself, I’m funny as fuck and so is he.
I didn’t really know what to think of him and our weird little friendship at first. I felt so insecure about my appearance and personality that I didn’t think anyone could like me for more than just the “fat friend”. So I assumed it was just platonic between me and James. “Maybe if I was thinner…”
One afternoon I was laying in bed and he came upon me, snuck in my room for a long enough second to steal a kiss and for me to flash him. He tasted like taffy.
Next day i wrapped my lips around James’ cock long enough to realize he’s huge and my deepthroating reputation was on the line. Didn’t finish but it was still kinda hot.
Thee rest of the story is we were hot and heavy intermittently- as much as the psych ward would allow.
Then I left. I didn’t think he would call me. He said he doesn’t do that. I was afraid to tell him I wanted him to call me.
It was beautiful for awhile until I became ugly. My depression has consumed me and made it hard to use the phone in general. But I’m posting this and then calling him. Because he’s worth it. And I deserve it too.
Hello, my imaginary internet friends and following. I’m back. Just had another stint in the mental hospital: a place where everybody knows my name.
I was self harming and disassociating due to a recent uncovered sexual trauma. That is real stuff. Most of the time I like to make light of my issues, avoid them, or just use self deprecating humor and prose. Not this time. Sexual abuse and the consequences of it are real.
I was abused this last year from men who thought I had it coming. Even I thought I had it coming for putting myself in those situations. There were times during this period of abuse I wasn’t sure if I was going to live to tell the tale. Well. Here I am. And it wasn’t my fault. No one deserves abuse no matter what the circumstances are.
I’m not proud writing this, but it needs to be said. This is my story:
I was 23 years old and got caught up in Seeking Arrangements: a sugar daddy website. I had about 30 days of sobriety then; I was coming off a brief alcohol binge. In a new sober living and being micromanaged to an extent that felt like I was losing my power of choice in any area of my life and some of my dignity. They were treating me like a case that needed to be handled, not a young woman that is more complex than a black and white insurance policy to my father that I will not act out.
Take away my perceived power and I will find ways to get it back. In this case, my money was being doled out to me $20 a day- no exceptions. What is an upper middle class white girl to do? I grew up getting what I wanted and being able to manipulate my father into doing my bidding with almost anything. I always say “I get what I want”.
As you folks know, I also suffer from mental illness and personality disorders. I’m impulsive which comes with the territory of being a textbook borderline case. I was also newly sober. I’d like to think this played a part in my choices that came next.
Sex meant nothing to me at the time. I meant nothing to me at the time. Letting men pay me to play with me didn’t sound like a bad idea.
I got caught up in the world of sugar daddies and sugar babies. I learned the lingo and procedures. I did what I had to do to get that money. And I got a lot of it. And it was mine; no one knew about it and I could spend it without my treatment team saying “boo”
I thought I was empowering myself, but in truth I was degrading myself to new levels I never had before.
Men would degrade me and hurt me and torture me and scare me. And they still expected me to orgasm somehow. Or to at least fake it. I would count to 10 in my head over and over again until it was over. I detached but didn’t escape from the physical and sexual trauma.
One could see this as a grey area of sexual abuse if they wanted to. Saying I asked for it or had it coming. NO ONE, absolutely NO ONE, is asking for sexual abuse and traumas.
That’s my story. It’s ugly and can be perceived as shaming, but I am a survivor and have a story to tell. You can think it was my fault or whatever and today I have the strength to say “fuck you” to the haters.
But I didn’t leave unscathed. This trauma is the reason I started self harming. I also started having fugue states and not knowing reality from my dreams and nightmares.
That’s why I sought help from the mental hospital. I wanted to be physically safe and tweak my meds.
There ya go. Not my most poignant prose but it’s my story.
My baseline for my mood has been so much better this last week. I got my first job and feel like there might be hope for me to function outside of institutions. What a novel concept for the girl who has thousands of dollars spent on professionals for her each week to keep her from killing herself.
There’s a “rule” in AA that you shouldn’t mess around with newcomers or people with little clean time when you have more time sober. I don’t necessarily think this is an arbitrary “rule”, newcomers are sensitive and vulnerable, but I resent that modern AA has made up rules along the way that are not in the Big Book and judges people that do not follow them. Besides, I’m pretty much a newcomer myself. I judge people as people and do see their time sober stamped on their head.
However, my dick picker has been off as of late. I pick the WORST guys. Yesterday I was at an AA meeting and sat relatively close to a semi-cute guy. I decided the only way to make the meeting anything less than worthless in my eyes was to pick up this guy and have him validate me. So of course that’s what I did.
I ignored the stale stench of weed on him and focused on his comments about my out of this world eyes and beauty. He didn’t even want to fuck me, but that’s all I know with men: how to fuck them. I don’t know how to carry on a conversation that isn’t innuendo without feeling self conscious and tongue tied and I don’t know how to feel validated if it isn’t through a man’s orgasm.
There’s no reason to continue the story; he’s just like the rest of them. I make him just like the rest of them. I ruin potential relationships by jumping the gun or, rather, jumping on the dick.
However, before I sign off, I did promise a tip on how to get free pizza. He called Pieology in Westwood and told them he just got a pie and accidentally dropped it outside right away. He asked if he could get a new one. They said yes. I don’t know why. I guess stoners always get their pizza. What a guy…
I think about Darwin sometimes. Evolution and survival of the fittest. Put me in a time machine to the caveman era and I would rot in my cave alone or be kicked out of the clan. Depression, anxiety, bipolar, would feed me to the figurative and literal wolves.
Without the aid of the 21st century “life support”: meds, therapy, sober livings, intensive outpatients, and more meds: people like me…we would rot in our caves of closed blinds, isolation, Netflix, razor blades, pills, alcohol, and food that gets eaten or not.
The title is tongue and cheek. This blog will mostly be me being an asshole, but there are going to be some serious posts about my struggles with sobriety and my mental health issues.
I have been trying to get sober for five years with a legion of chronic, painful, shaming relapses along the way. Right now I have 107 days sober from alcohol and drugs. Sheer willpower or “white knuckling it” as they say in AA. Another saying that implies that AA and the program they present is the only way to get and stay sober. Something that I don’t appreciate at this point in my life. I am disillusioned and cynical about most of the major themes in the AA program. I’ll get to that later.
I live in a sober living surrounded by other kids in their 20’s that are sent here by their rich mommies and daddies. I’m just trying to get the basic information out there in this post. I could rant, bitch, victimize myself, and be a downright asshole about sober living life for paragraphs upon paragraphs. More so than AA.
I believe that I need to stay sober, but I think that sober livings and AA are not the only way to do it. A topic to get to on another day. When I’ve had more coffee and I am particularly peeved by the insolent, incompetent bitches that work here at my sober living and power trip because their lives are smaller than mine.
My current mental health diagnoses is bipolar 2. The bitch of living.
Okay, this post is dragging on forever and ever. They took me off my Vyvanse because they thought I was starving myself. (I also have a gnarly eating disorder)
So, goodbye the ghost of the internet that I imagine is reading my post.