I have lost count. Of blogs, of days, of months. I lost years in my lifetime. I ended up in places with no idea of how I got there, or when. Slept on park benches more than once.  I, I, I, I believe that I am allowed to be narcissistic here.  Here I can bare my soul better than in a confessional.

I fell apart when I was 19 or 20. It started before my ex stole our baby; I have said, back then there was no computer age. Nor was there anything called BiPolar. Maybe he saw it in me- and maybe it really was for the best that he took our child but I was a good mother and would have been maybe even wonderful given a few advantages.

I held down a good job or three for awhile, but I partied whenever I could until I dropped and then I would crash. I would call in sick until I ended up quitting before I got fired. I started drinking- all dressed up in the lounges of hotels like the Marriott and the Hyatt. That's where I supplemented my income as a hooker. "Working Girl." No pimp, I took my chances.  Like I said, as I was tutored to be as a child. Often I would help myself to a wad of money after a  man fell asleep; most were from out of town with lots of cash in those days. Then I fell off  the planet again for awhile. I didn't do many drugs at that time- that came later after I really lost every modicom of decency.

Tonight I watched a Lifetime Movie. "Bringing Ashley Home." Ashley could have been me, but I was not so severely into filth and drugs and not the street either, as she was. I never shot up any drugs but I did most everyting else. But that is no claim to fame for me; When I was a child people would ask me what I wanted to be when I grew up.  I always said a wife and mommy with six children. Well, I bore one. Before I fell off the planet.  In the 70's abortion clinics were everywhere and almost a given.- Free clinics for this were easily found. The fact that I went there has haunted me all my life and I have never told a soul in my shame.  I did not tell even a counselor of 5 years... I am a murderess. It is a great burden to take with me to my grave. Even the kindliest of priests would have a hard time with that bit of news, I'm sure.

We will be at war with Muslims soon; I really do not think that I am crying wolf. I will do my best to help and maybe I will die fighting. May the good Lord forgive me in His benevolent mercy for my sins and allow me some atonement.

So low today, all day, that I'm drowning in it. I can't explain why, nothing special happened. What triggered it to start this time? I am SO very tired of this! Why bother. Nobody cares...I don't even care anymore. Maybe the meds will let me sleep tonight.

All day, every day lately. "Gotta take the dog out" (kill myself). Play solitaire on the computer (Kill myself.) Get out. Check out. Phrases over and over in my head like that. "Go get the gun." (Kill yourself.)

Christmas is finally gone. I did not phone anyone. Noone in my family phoned me. My daughter was at Joes Crab Shack with her dad before Christmas and he decided to give me a call. He sounded upbeat, said she was munching a bunch of crab. He wanted to pass her the phone but she said no. Told him to tell me that she would call over Christmas. No call. Not even a card. She's punishing me. I e-mailed her and told her that I got the hint, she won't be hearing from me, but that I would be pleased if she decided to call. (kill myself)

The new boyfriend wants to get together for New Years Eve. He has sent me another 2 dozen roses. He bought me some perfume and a purse for Christmas and I didn't like either. Well, the perfume isn't bad, but it's cheap and I don't wear cheap. I told him what I wear yet he gave me something else. Maybe he has another woman and that's what SHE wears? (You're so godamned suspicious-go kill yourself.) He said that he thought the purse looked classy. Beige patent leather with buckles????? This guy has no clue. I was going to just say thanks and keep it until I realizes that he would expect to see me with it. It's huge, big enough to be called a carry on bag. So I told him that it was just a little too big for my taste and so we will go together and exchange it. I gave him a figurine of a dancing couple, not expensive, but nice.

He said that he loves me and that he wants to see me 4 or 5 days a week. Every bone in my body said "WHOA!" I once again explained that I feel fragile (broken-Roy's dead- go kill yourself-join him). That I have a mental illness. That I would understand if he changes his mind about me. (Please do.) I'm not strong enough for this. I pop a xanax every single time before we meet. I'm afraid that I'll have a panic attack in public. Almost did anyway. I went to the ladies room and kept throwing cold water on my face until I started to calm down and then another woman came in and it started again. I took another Xanax and came out about 10 minutes later. He said nothing but I could feel the questions. I hate how I am. Why can't I be just like normal people? Get over it! How many times have I heard that? How do you just "get over it?" If someone could show me how, I'd sure like to see that.

It's almost January so I looked at the calendar and noticed that I see my new counselor. I got out her appointment paper and noticed that she works for a drug addiction center! I take what my doctors give me (almost all the time). I got myself into trouble for NOT taking my medicine. I am now paranoid about seeing her because yes- I need the Xanax or I will not be able to function and then they may as well throw away the key. And all the other stuff. It took a long time to find the right doses that I could live with. I need the muscle relaxer or I will not be able to swim. I tried not taking that too and the next morning I had to literally crawl to the bathroom and it was agony. A couple of feet at a time, hoping I will not wet myself.

And I am so afraid of going into the hospital. Those people are so overtly weird. Please, I CANNOT belong there! But I have to admit that I am scared because I may be getting closer to really doing it. Suicide. But I'm not going because I can't take my dog. Stupid, but as good a reason as any that I have for living. It would be nice if I had someone to depend upon. I wish I trusted. Don't think I know how....

I have an aquaintence with some people down the road who told me that their 15 year old granddaughter has been cutting herself, was admitted, and is now on Seroquel. They said that she took it and then stayed up although she was sleepy. That's a REAL bad idea. If you fight this drug, you regret it, get more agitated than before.

Then they are telling me about how a father she has never met wants to see her and have her stay with his new family. They told me about telling the girl how badly he treated her mother years ago, really horrible stuff. I tried to give some advice. I thought that they should not say anything to her at all that was negative just because she probably can't handle that load right now, if ever. WHY can't people listen? They said that she needs to know these things. Why? Her mother won't let her go to him anyway. The last thing she needs is to hear horrible stuff about ANYTHING right now. Don't they think that she is feeling bad enough yet? Do they WANT her to kill herself? Or hurt herself? People make me so damned angry with their unfeeling stupidity. You might say "They mean well, though." But DO they, really? I wonder if they ever look around and think that maybe they are the cause of this poor girl's torment? Probably not.

But you just can't tell people anything. I gave it a shot. Then I had to leave. I can't handle that kind of drama myself; it makes me so much worse. All day my stomach has been churning. Hell, these days I even grind my false teeth. That should be funny, but it's not.

Damn the holidays! I'm always so broke. And the carols are getting repetetive, over and over in my head, esp. when I'm trying to sleep. It's either that or the traffic. Oh, boy! It's country here...cows out in back. Why does my mind insist on racing? I'm so tired.

I haven't written anything lately. I found a counselor; let's hope she works out....new boyfriend taking up alot of my attention. Lots of roses, he says that I'll be getting lots of surprise gifts this week. We got into the "I love you's" already. Too late to take it back and now I'm seeing a side of him that I don't like. At first I thought that it was great that he cares for his mother; but whenever I mention her he gets irritable and makes comments that just sound like he HATES her or something! I can't for the life of me remember one of them right now but it's strange. She seemed like a very likeable, classy lady when they came here for dinner. I gave them a few batches of cookies. Holidays, right? Then I asked if they like lamb. It's still expensive, but on sale and I love it. I phrased it just so..."Do you and your mom like lamb?" Next thing I know, he's saying that I asked if his mom likes it but not about him; and NO! Once was quite enough and never again! As though I had already made it for them once. Like I said, weird. THEN he says that I'm trying to seduce him with food but that food just isn't that important because he only likes certain things anyway. I pointed out that I only gave them food gifts because it's the holidays and then I made a point of telling him that I certainly won't be making any more for them. I know that I'm a damn good cook so it's his loss. All I can afford to give as a token of holiday spirit is food. Oh, well. My holiday spirit has gone sledding downhill; I feel more depressed than ever.

It worries me that maybe he's trying to become a control freak; super sweet one minute and a bastard the next. So it's Sunday and I told him that I won't see him until Friday and then I am spending Christmas alone. I just want to be alone. It's a sad time of year. I remember holidays when my daughter was a toddler and now I think of all the years that we missed and that I can't seem to connect with her. I'm depressed and anxiety-ridden, and she's REAL moody. Not a great rapport situation. I have given her all the material stuff I had that was worth anything and now I would love to give her some of myself, some of her Mama, but she is very distant towards me. I told her that it's understandable that she may have issues about her missing mother all these years and even tho none of it was my fault I feel sure that on some level she blames me for ruining her life.

Anyhow, then the boyfriend says that we will be spending New Year's Eve together for sure. A statement, not a request and I immediately feel those warning signs again. So I asked him to please think long and hard about whether he really wants to keep on seeing me because I AM, in fact, disabled emotionally and mentally and it makes me unreliable and it's hard to make plans because of it. Right away he's back-peddling again and saying Oh, yes! I LOVE you!.I always want to be with you.....etc. I got angry with him once. (Rare. I don't DO angry out loud very well) I told him that I have lived alone long enough to not feel the need to answer to anyone as to my whereabouts or anything else, for that matter. I was prepared to dump him right then and maybe I should have. But I can be bought, it seems. I like the flowers. The dinners out. Now he's buying me a ring. I don't know if he means an engagement ring or not...I told him once that I'd have to wear an engagement ring a good long time before I would ever take the vows.

We have not had sex yet. I am cautious, and he seems to be enjoying the chase, so let him. But I want to avoid getting into a situation that puts me on the spot about it. (Like New Year's EVE, for instance.) Or having him alone here without other people. Either his mom or maybe I'll just ask Carol to drop by if I can't get around it. What's wrong with this picture?!! I know, and yet I persist. It's all a FARCE, that's what it is. I just don't really know him and I don't really trust him. Especially when he sounds like he doesn't like his own mom. I have pulled away time and time again, saying that it takes time to get to know someone, and he always insists that he knows all that he needs to and that I should just ask him whatever questions I want. I WANT to ask him how many inmates he raped (maybe) when he was a prison guard. If he has any dreaded diseases. I know I don't since I got tested after that last rape.

My old counselor wanted me to find the guy and prosecute him, but I wouldn't. It was a date rape. WHY would I want to put myself through that? I asked him into my home and I was 54 at the time. The counselor said "For your own vindication." Another meaningless gesture in my history of rape; I don't want to talk about it. Nobody wants to hear it from someone my age, either. I just chalk it up to being stupid yet again.

Another disturbing question from the new boyfriend. "Do women ever LIKE a rape?" Whaaaaat?????? Where did THAT come from? What is he thinking? Why does he ask such a thing? He says "I just wondered." That's no answer but I can't get him to say more without it turning into an argument and so I let that go, too.

I am SO very tired. More every day than ever before. I have been working out; swimming. It's been warm. I got too much sun. But I'm just dragging at every other moment. Swimming usually helps me; Take out my emotions on the water-but it's not working this time. Every little thing and all the big things worry me so much. I am never at peace, despite medication. It gets so bad that I want to scream sometimes, but it would be a silent, stifled scream because I feel emotionally retarded and unable to cope with people. Enough. For now. And one day maybe I'll say "enough" and just decide to check out of this crappy fleabag of a hotel that is my life.

In my twenties, I got wild after my daughter and her dad disappeared. I didn't care about anything, including myself. I drank to excess, did drugs, slept around, had an abortion...all around maintaining a job. Even back then, I was good at knowing just how much I had to do to get by. It horrifies me now to think about how many times I drove on automatic pilot. Thank God I didn't hurt anyone. I even woke up on a park bench once.....

My sister always influenced me. All we heard growing up was " If it wasn't for the money, you wouldn't be here." She had an obsession with going to live with our "REAL parents, and she brainwashed me into thinking it would be Utopia. She called the caseworker finally and told about my sexual abuse. We had another foster family who locked us in at night and gave us a bucket for a toilet until morning. Apparently we were a flight risk. Must have been two years' worth of time there. They revoked the foster license of our old home; all that was allowed for them was daycare so long as "dad" wasn't there. Anyway, we eventually got to our parents' home. BIG letdown. They had a "garden" apartment which meant you looked out the window and saw people's feet. Ironic that I didn't develop a shoe fetish! We found out that they had paid money, big money, throughout the years so that we wouldn't be adopted out. $90 per child X 3 back in the late 60's meant big bucks. So they had very little themselves. I'm once again so very tired. This remembering takes so much out of me. My real father was an electrician for the Santa Fe Railroad. Mom was just still strange. Seems that we have one in every generation. My mother, me, and my brother's kid has Paranoid Schizophrenia. Yet I'm told it's not heredity. B.S.

One more thing: My sister, who prided herself for being "normal" started pulling out her eyelashes. I saw this and started doing the same. When I saw that it was being noticed despite eyeliner, I got some false eyelashes. But I continued this habit for a long time and so did she. She would never admit it now. We were totally destined to be weird people.

It's about noon and I'm still wound up like last night. I should be off this computer, out there getting some exercise. I loved to swim, but I have dropped out of that for awhile. I might go for a bike ride later. But I feel so ...drained- pale, absolutely no adrenilan rushes here. Took a long shower thinking it might get me moving, but it did not.  Carol called to see what I'm doing. My phone rings so seldom that it always scares me. I don't like phones.

I keep remembering how big my foster father was. Saying sweet, soft things while he's on top of me, hurting me time and time again. He waits until the house is relatively empty. Others had to know...no one helps me. I cried the first few times but he covered my mouth and I couldn't breath...again, I learned not to cry. You wouldn't know it now. Once I started crying as an adult I could have cried myself a river. (Song like that) If I try to leave I will be beaten. Badly. More pain either way. Bad breath in my face, he has yellow, rotting teeth. Always, we are beaten where it won't be seen. He loved to beat me on my back (kidneys) and buttocks. I think that it turned him on, probably did, because he would make me take the sex afterwards anyway.

Last night, I opened this particular can of worms and now I am taking an extra pill to numb the pain of remembering. I can't let go of this subject somehow. BECAUSE NOT EVEN MY OLD COUNSELOR CARED! I saw him for years. He seemed to dismiss my childhood; all he wanted to talk about was Roy and why my present marriage was all wrong. He said he thought , felt, that I blamed him for breaking us up. And I did. He saw us both seperately and kept telling me that my ex was rotten...we compared notes and it seems that he said the same sort of thing to my ex about me. He played us like he was God who should decide for us. No wonder I don't trust people- they almost ALWAYS let me down like he did. He was big on God. Kept at me to go to church...I wouldn't go. I don't think I believe. Mother nature is as close as I will come to God. Let HIM find me for a change. But I don't believe that He cares.

Enough for now.

I'm having a real bad night with racing thoughts. Mostly about this blog and what I want to write in it. I'm having flashbacks of my childhood, remembering how it was to live on the edge all the time, reading body language which was the only warning of another beating or abuse. Remembering how very fat the grown women were; they couldn't sit with their knees together and it was embarrasing to be seen in public with them. The foster father was not fat- he smoked, had emphysema and he always smelled like Luden's black licorice cough drops. That smell will follow me to my grave.

At his bedside (twin beds) giving him a manicure. Smelly fingers, thick, yellow nails...coughing, "That's enough, come and lay down by me now." Hand moving towards my pants. Fingers in my crotch. I lie very, very still -feeling like something is wrong but I'm not sure why -this is supposed to be our "special secret" because everyone else just won't understand....and afterwards he gives me more of the buffalo head nickles from the ones he saves and I use them for penny candy. Turning me into a prostitute before I am even close to having my first period. In the car one day, my hair feels good and pretty- he's driving and he pays me a compliment about it and I realize that he can hardly drive because he keeps looking at me with something like surprise and for the first time I feel sort of grown up and I like it. I  seem to have a certain mysterious quality that somehow feels very powerful but I don't know how to use it. I never did really learn how to use that power. Oh, yes, I can be stupid. And very naive despite everything.

Fingers tearing my t-shirt off of me where there was a hole in it. I am beginning to grow breasts and it's a great joke; they are all laughing and having fun and I suddenly feel ashamed of my body and I want to run. Foster mom saying " Let her go." Once in awhile she steps in and stops an episode. But she kicked the dog and it had to be put down. It was really always my dog, as the baby chicks were mine, and whatever other critter...I always just naturally attracted them. The chicks grew up into chickens and were suddenly gone; they didn't tell me that we ate them. Amazing littls acts of kindness every once in awhile. Made you believe they cared. Anyway, the dog was a big shedder and that was why she didn't like the poor thing. It would try to hide from her. We all were trying to hide. Us children.

A couple of black girls, -new foster children arrive. It's the first time I ever saw a black person. They don't stay but for maybe a week, ten days....I'm upstairs and I can hear the grown ups talking about the nigger girls. So that's what I think they are supposed to be called. A trip into the city to the county dentist. I'm amazed at how many niggers are down there and I say so, trying to make a show of my intelligence much too loudly and I get whacked right there in the street for saying it and I don't know what I did wrong. Yet another root canal; student dentists very keen on watching the procedure, 6 of them at least, very bright lights...agony. Pain and more pain. When I can, I am screaming, an animal. I am terrified, frenzied. I try to bite one of them. I'm surprised when nobody whacks me for it.

Maybe the meds are kicking in. Tired.

A special hello to Invisible girl who was kind enough to answer me back. It was especially nice to hear from someone who knows what Eastenders are all about. (Good telly series, that was!) Invisible girl, I wonder if you or your folks still say "blimey!" Roy did. He also phrased things typically. For instance, I walk in and he says " Well I went to the store then, didn't I?" That's not a question, it's a statement for those of you who might read this and not understand. I would have no idea where he'd been,; he just told me, didn't 'e? He actually did make some sounds that were right out of "My Fair Lady." Dear God, how I miss him! He had the most contagious laugh....and he laughed alot. I almost never met a person who didn't love him.

 They say that one true love is a blessing and so it is. I have no lofty high expectations of ever getting another. Still, I am poor now. Oh, we were up, down, and all around financially. Anyway, another husband in my old age might be nice. Roy is WAY too tough of an act to follow; I have no delusions. The fellow I'm seeing now  (Yes, we are back in touch. I didn't ask if he read this and he didn't offer.) is both generous and kind (I think) But he scares me. He's 65, so I can understand that time is a-wasting, but he seems in so MUCH of a hurry! I'm leery of that. He said that he wasn't sure if I really wanted a man in my life; good question. I don't really know if it is fair to anyone else to be with me if all I want is not to be alone anymore and because I would like some security.

I saw my GP today, and she said that I have to get another counselor since I got Baker-Acted. At least she pointed me towards some. They are few and far between around here which is why I'm on this site. My last one dropped me after I caught him in a lie and I told him to F--K OFF! He said some very choice, hurtful things to me when he told me he wouldn't be my counselor anymore. He started shouting "Do you want to know what I REALLY think of you?" Then he pulled back and wouldn't. Obviously it wasn't going to be anything flattering. Twice now my  ex and I had the same counselor. I don't care how impartial they say they can be, it's a conflict of interest. Also, I have to go for more tests; problem thyroid. Maybe that's helping me get fat, too. Yesterday, I ate 2 cans of chunky soup and one piece of bread....the holidays won't help anyway.

Once again, I am SO tired! I have a dinner date on Monday....today is Thursday. I hate crowds, I just don't do well around lots of people. I mean, any more than one....that's why we skipped the weekend.

Invisible girl, you hang in there. I will look for your new posts. With a name like yours I think you really need to know that somebody is listening.

Yesterday I bought gift cards for all those I am buying for this year. My family has no idea how hard it is to keep myself afloat. As I said before, many times I have to stay home because just going out briefly means gas money...oh, well. I always want to give personal gifts but with the price of postage I'd just as soon they have that money for themselves. The tree is up; there's a very soothing station on TV with yule logs and traditional tunes. Bing is crooning right now. "Silver Bells." I'm feeling pretty good for a change. I cannot skip the children or my sister's birthday, my daughter also, but I let the rest know that I would not be sending gifts this year. My brother got all condescending towards me and said that I should not worry about the exchange of gifts; a gift is a gift, he said, and should be accepted graciously. He also said that it was obvious who had more money anyway. He can be a sanctimonious bastard.

I watched a movie based in Liverpool in the 40's and 50's. Just the time that my Roy would have been growing up no more than 2 hours away ...the homes were just as I remember them, tall and narrow with lots of stairs. They build upwards there as land is limited and the homes are what we refer to as "townhomes" over here, or at least similar. Roy was born in 1938 and he loved to sing. It was obvious from this movie that that was the pastime all the time back then. Actually, it also was when we lived in England and went to the pub. The night was not complete until a sing-along was thrown out there. It's in their hearts and souls over there to just sing and sing some more. Roy was such a happy, gentle soul. I can't write this without crying, I still miss him so. Now I know why really elderly folks seem to die so closely together. One wants to follow his or her love to the very end of time...the rest of us still here these days just plod on, wondering what the hell for. I have a placard that reads "We plan- God laughs." Ain't it the truth.

England was so quaint when we were there. We walked everywhere and held hands. Dogs were taken on "Walkies" and children were given "Sweeties." (Candy) Dogs went in the pubs too and got a saucer of ale alongside their masters. I think the Muslim influx over there has changed things there much as it has here.

My Roy must have had gypsy blood in his veins. Every 2 years or so we would move. Not just move. Change countries. Or we would go from Montana to North Carolina at the drop of a hat. He did contract work and so we could just go where the next job led. With my background I hardly needed to live like this. Roots somewhere would have suited me better. But I adored Roy and he got what he wanted. I would melt. All I can say is that life with Roy was hardly boring!

Now that he is gone, boring is just what I need. When I remarried after he died (that was 3 out of 3) it lasted 5 years. I thought we were O.K. But the wife is the last to know. Less than a week after the divorce I was replaced with a Vietnamese imported bride. He HAD to have that little bit of business going on while we were still together. Still, it didn't break my heart. Let's face it, he GOT me broken. Psychotherapist did his best to break us up all along... I'm surprised we lasted that long. Tired again, so more later. Not one comment from anyone about my blog out in cyberland. Doesn't anybody read these things???

The guy I was dating hasn't called. I should never have told him about this blog; how can I blame him for running away? I am one sicko piece of work. I really liked him alot. Could maybe have loved him, if I'm still capable-I don't know anymore.  I seem O.K. to people most of the time. Panic attacks sometimes, sometimes I am so angry with my life and my inability to 'rise above it.' My sister prides herself on her strength...she doesn't seem to understand how a person can just suddenly...crack...well, it's never just suddenly, is it? Years of stuff builds up and something has to give. My sanity??? I know that my emotional state is not good, to say the least, but I have never hurt anyone else. Or myself, yet. I wish I could really talk to someone. I clam up. I say what I think they expect to hear. I'm really, really good at that.

I may be becoming dyslexic; I keep going over my writing and finding letters written backwards, like bcak for 'back.' I wonder if the meds can cause this. I can't concentrate. Once I loved to read. But now I have problems with even that. My vision is getting worse. I re-read the same sentence too many times. Get frustrated and give up. Funny that I can still write this, though. Go figure.

Worried about the dog. She started sneezing over and over and then she had trouble getting her breath. She seems alright now. I gave her a few grains of an antihistamine capsule that I opened up. She got it in bacon grease, the easiest way to give her meds. I never buy bacon except for the grease for her. I have a fierce sweet tooth since I gave up the cigs, though. Crave sugar big time, that's how I got fat. I'm working on that now. I felt hunger today for the first time in awhile. It felt good; I was anorexic after my husband killed himself. Shrank down to where a size 4 was way too big on me when I married the next one. Easy to find a husband when you're skinny. I just knew that I had to get married because I couldn't do my job anymore. I didn't know that I was having a nervous breakdown until later, about a year later when my doctor noticed that I was painfully thin and she sent me to counseling. Anyhow, the dog won't eat the bacon itself, though. Weird dog. She played for awhile after a half an hour or so. She played with her toys for a good hour, and she's napping now. Her breathing is good. I'm tired again. Enough. Too much damn work editing my own spelling.

Funny. Not. I have almost all the signs of dangerous depression listed in the newspaper; I have a plenty of pills. The paper listed giving away personal possessions as tho I'm not coming back; been there, done that. I gave my newly found daughter most of my expensive jewelry. It included a very heavy antique gold chain with an uncompromised 1903 gold coin in a beautiful surround. Has to be worth thousands. Plus lots of my other jewelry. I only kept what I wear almost every day. I just told her that I'd like to see her enjoy the stuff while I'm still here rather than when I'm dead. Withdrawing from family and friends. Yep. Already blogged that.

I called my latest ex-husband.  I told him about my thoughts about the dog, more about that in a minute. I thought that I could still talk to him but I was wrong. Can't trust him. He called 911 and told them I was suicidal. So anyway, I was cooking dinner-(see? Not so badly upset!) when the police phoned and told me that they had to come out. They said it's the law once the call has been made. I don't know if that's true. I asked them to keep a low profile, my neighbors don't need a show. They sent 3 squad cars. I was told that I'd have to speak with a counselor and should be home in a few hours. BIG FAT LIE!!! No sooner did we get to the hospital I was incarcerated. Involuntarily, supposed to be for three days' observation, but I was let out the next day. Lucky for me that I could call Carol down the street to get my dog. She picked me up, too. Seems like I might have a friend. Unusual for me. Anyhow, blood tests showed no unusual quantities of meds and the only thing they got me for was NOT taking them like I'm supposed to. Pissed me off, my insides churning. I have severe Diverteculosis due to my emotional state, I guess. I never see my daughter, she's in another state. So are my sister and my brother. (I finally found them both over the years.) I tried phoning my daughter a few times. Always get "leave a message." And I do. Just checking on how you are, honey, call me whenever you feel like talking. She never does. Out of the blue, she did. Seems we may get together for Christmas. But probably not, I don't feel up to it. 

I'm feeling very old and fat. I have full dentures now., I just had the bottoms yanked last year. Great for giving head if I ever have sex again, 'eh? I put on 30 lbs. since I quit smoking a year ago. I was surprised-that was really easy to do. I had been a smoker for nearly 40 years, too. It's exactly one year since I picked up a cigarette on Nov. 30, tomorrow. I'm proud of something, at least. I went cold turkey unless you credit the Wellbutrin.

I'm so used to being alone that I'd make a great house arrest candidate if the issue ever came up. Yet today I am restless, feeling like I could go mad if I don't get out of here. Oh, wait a minute! I'm ALREADY mad! BUT...every time I walk out the door to go someplace, it means money will be spent and I have none these days. Sometimes I charge things anyway. It takes me time to catch up.

I met a nice guy on a singles site but I've been pushing him away. (trust issues again) I may tell him to read this stuff and see how fast he runs......It was nice, he sent me roses, lots of them, and took me out to eat. I thought those days were way over at my age. Yes, I think he should read all this stuff. I bet nothing surprises him; he's a retired police officer, too. But unlike my neighbor- I actually like him. I tried to ease him into hearing about my mental state, but that didn't go well. Some people seem to just hear what they want to.

Well, I'm feeling better. It sure helps to write it out.

There's a new guy living alone next door. He just moved in yesterday. He kept coming over here when he was buying the place and waiting for the sellers. He stayed too long. Over three hours once. I finally had to ask him to leave. I just said that I was tired (true, I had gone and taken an extra Xanax) and I had to ask him to go now. While he was here, I gave him coffee, then a diet coke. Three times he said that he hadn't eaten yet. No way was I going there. I'm on disability and I have very little. He looks pretty well-to-do. A retiring cop. Brand new truck, brand new motorcycle. Maybe he thinks the lonely gal next door will be acommodating. Wrong. I noticed early in life that the cheapest sods were the ones with money. And the cheapest booze and food when they have guests.

Anyhow, he came over again to announce that he was all moved in. Why does he think I want to be friendly with him? I am polite, nothing more. Maybe he thinks I look good. I hate that and like it at the same time. My sister used to say that everything was always easier for me because I was the good-looking one. B.S. Nothing is easier. It is a curse most of the time. I have hated many a guy who only wanted one thing from me. I never learned to manipulate them. I can be stupid.

I have strong issues with trust. I don't trust anyone. Not a soul.  My psychotherapist said that he had to see me every week. I felt it when he was going to drop me long before he even decided to. I can be precient like that.  Anyway, I felt it coming. He was just plain tired of not getting any progress out of me. I can't blame him, I guess. I never trusted him either and he knew it. He kept wanting me to do stuff like taking a hike for Cancer, etc. How did he figure I would do that when I'm almost always paranoid around people and when I hate going out of my own front door for the mail? I'm tired again. Enough for today.

This is great! Dump my feelings without having to speak to anyone.

Our foster parents also had a grown son in the military. Over the course of a couple of years, it was determined that his daughter, a baby, was mentally retarded, had Cerebral Palsey, was partially deaf and partially blind, etc. Basically, she was a vegetable. The one and only thing she responded to was Petulia Clark's "Downtown." I learned to hate that song. Coincidentally, from the get-go when the son divorced his wife, the baby was left with us; her crib was in his sister's room all along. It was a subject of speculation in later years that this "nurse" had abused the child and caused all her problems. In fact, long after I was out of that household, I learned that she also had attacked her own mother and was spending time in a mental ward.

I was given the task of helping to look after his daughter for years. She wore diapers for as long as I lived there, and changing her was quite a chore. She would go into convulsions. We put her in ice baths. The screaming was horrible. She would bite her arms all the time and had to be restrained often. Walking didn't happen until she was 6 or so; they put these square-heeled shoes on her for balance. Those things would cut my hips when I carried her. We (I) played Jacks with the adult retarded woman in a wheelchair on the next block. She could get out of the chair and squat on the sidewalk to play. This was how I spent my childhood. People would say "You are SO good with them! You'll make an excellent nurse one day!"  I always said thank you but in my mind I said "NO way!" I already felt like I had enough.

The foster children were all treated as servants; We served dinner on trays, we did the housework, we gave manicures and backrubs. On and on, it never ended. We were always looking good in the public eye. They were careful of that. We had advantages; a good beginning in basic education in parochial schools, well dressed, well fed. Catholic charities. My brother, sister, and I always knew our natural parents. Our father visited about every two weeks but we were never left alone with him. Our mother was mentally ill- forever she had been on Thorazine and other drugs. She came when she was able, not often though. She picked at scabs on herself constantly, I remember that.

Initially, before the sexual abuse, there was plenty of physical abuse. I was given a beating with a board one day-it still had nails in it. The nurse patched that up, too because I couldn't sit down. Then there was the speech about how this had hurt them more than it had hurt me. At bedtime, "Dad" would do 'underwear checks on all us girls. ( I forgot to mention that there were more kids than just the 3 of us.) We were told it was because wearing underwear to bed was unhealthy because our bodies had to breathe.

More later. I'm tired. I wonder if anyone at all is reading this and gives a damn. Doesn't matter. Yes, it helps to write it out. I'm 55 by the way.

I'd like to address the foster families' issue. I was raped on a continuous basis since before I turned ten. I was with my first foster family from infancy until I turned 11. My natural siblings, both older, were with me,  1 brother, 1 sister. My brother was the first to leave us. I must have been around 8. He had surgury following a beating that left a huge water- sort of tumor on his head. Our foster parents had a natural- born, adult daughter who was the head nurse at a local hospital. I can't tell how many times she took care of 'doctoring' us children at home. It was all so very convenient for these people.

But she couldn't take care of that one. My brother had to go in for surgury, and a caseworker finally took some time to see and speak with him while he was in the hospital. Every other time we had seen a caseworker, social worker, whatever you care to call it, we had never been left alone with them. One of our foster parents was always there, so we could not speak freely even if we had known how. At any rate, my brother was just...gone. He had elected to stay in the boy's home rather than to come back. Now it was just my sister and I.

The day that my brother was hurt was just before Christmas. He was late getting home and so was locked out. It was bitter cold. I think that he was 12, I'm not sure. He had been sent out earlier for shoes and his choice did not please...at that time, he had wanted shoes like Elvis Presley wore. He got a beating earlier that day for his choice of "hoodlum shoes."  He cried after awhile at the front door, freezing as he was. When they let him in he was made to wear a dress, stand in the front window on a stool with a placard that said "Sissy" on it and he also wore a bow in his hair. They left him like that until he collaspsed and when he did, the beating that blew his head out of proportion began.

This is only one example of these so-called people who were supposed to care for us. Many times I have thought that if I wrote it all out noone would ever believe me anyway.

This is something of a catharsis; but there is so much more. I can't type fast enough nor organize my thoughts properly or in subsquential order. I will add more from time to time, but remembering it all is extremely unpleasant yet beneficial at the same time. I hurt. I cry. Not out loud. I hold it in; that was another lesson learnt early on. Until I burst and then I can't stop. Embarrassing in public.

 I wanted the whole world to leave me alone, and it did. I go for days on end with no phone calls, no conversations ( except for 10 minutes with a neighbor, Carol), no eye contact, nada. I take my dog out and I play with her. That's all. And I am so very relieved!

I was raised in foster families, often abused. I married way too young, gave my somewhat wealthy ex custody of our daughter...This was before computers...He refused to help me financially , I had no family, and I was very naive, didn't know that I had any rights and I thought I needed lots of money to hire a lawyer. Maybe I did back then. But he wore me down...my kid didn't know me anyway,- it was two , sometimes 3 jobs,- multitudes of strange babysitters and bus rides to and from. He had re-married;  his secretary. I gave in, caved in, and gave him custody. I went to get her on weekends, every week. One day, they were just...gone. For over 35 years I didn't know if she was dead or alive. I tried to find them. None of my letters ever came back, but I didn't find them.

I was divorced before I reached 18; he said I was no good in bed. What a guy! Think he could have taught me? Anyway, he had the money. I functioned, even had a career. Didn't re-marry until I turned 30. My soulmate. A cockney bloke from East London. We had 18 years together. He had cancer, but I never saw his suicide coming...I found him, and that was the end of my life, too. He was the only person who ever really knew me, and just like that, he was gone. There's lots more to this story but I have to go for now. Storm coming and I have to go to the bathroom and get the mail. Then I'll spend another afternoon and evening with out speaking to a soul on God's earth. Nights are bad; I get racing thoughts, disconnected, and suicide over and over in my head. Wait for the meds to let me slip into oblivion.