the reason i'm posting here instead of putting it up on facebook is because i don't want anyone to know that we're moving. i have two friends that i'm going to tell and matt's telling some of his friends and his family. but most people, we are cutting ties with. it sounds fucked up, but it's what i NEED for my own fucking sanity. so please, don't mention me moving outside of this post!!!
so as most of you may know from facebook, i've had a pretty tough time this year. i dropped pretty much all of my friends out here. i just feel like i'm too old for them and their bullshit. most of my friends were guys that were younger than me. and on top of being immature, they were socially awkward. and they were fucking crybabies. they all acted like they were scared of me. they were so fucking sensitive. i was always calling them out on their bullshit, because they were always on some bullshit...and they would just get hella butthurt over it and act a fucking fool. none of them could ever tell me what they thought or felt about me, they all just talked about me behind my back. and since everyone around here knows everyone, every aspect of my life has been passed along to people i don't even fuck with anymore - like my ex's family. there are all these people who swear that they don't give a fuck about me, yet i am constantly being harassed on social media by the same people who can't say shit to my face - they suddenly find the balls to tell me how they really feel OVER FACEBOOK. you don't even know how sick to death i am of facebook. i really want to delete it for good once i move but there are people on there i don't even want to lose contact with (like, uh, ALL OF YOU)...i'm thinking of making a new profile with a different name and no profile picture and having it all private so i can have one and people won't know who i am...it's so fucked up that i'm thinking like this, that i have to hide. but at this point, it's all that i feel like i can do. i really can't deal with this shit anymore.
then a few months ago, an ex neighbor of ours who had a grudge against me (he started using drugs heavily and started acting fucking crazy, he was beating the shit out of his dog so i called the police to report animal abuse and they took the dog away) ended up dumping gasoline all over me. he had moved but he was still doing drugs with our neighbor apparently, so he was over at our apartments. he doused me in gasoline and was punching me, he knocked me over and dragged me by my leg into the neighbor's apartment and started kicking me...matt came running in with a METAL BAT and fucking clobbered the guy with it and dragged me out of there. i am so lucky that i was right there at home so i could immediately wash the gasoline off of me. i had no idea that shit would be so painful. i was sobbing and throwing up everywhere and i was so convinced i was going to die that i stopped trying to wash it off and i called up my parents to tell them good bye for the final time. i've been through a lot of fucked up shit in my life, but that was the scariest thing i've ever had happen to me. i have been so fucking emotional since this whole thing. my social anxiety has gotten worse over time, but after this whole thing, i can barely leave the house. i only go out if matt's with me. and unfortunately, matt works out of town now (which is why we are moving, by the way) so he's gone from monday through thursday. so from monday through thursday, i don't leave my house. sometimes i'll get the mail. but usually i don't. sometimes i'm okay when we go out places together, but sometimes i'll unexpectedly start panicking and we'll have to leave wherever we are, at least for a few minutes so i can calm down. sometimes i go out and i'm okay, but then when i get back home, i think of the people i talked to and i start panicking then - it's so bizarre. it's like i start trippin that i said too much, now they're going to hate me, and they're going to use something i said against me - ugh. i have never in my life felt like this and i hate it. i used to be so independent and i just never gave a fuck, and now i feel so helpless. the court case against him is being dragged out, he's doing whatever he can to prolong his trip to prison, and i am just so stressed thinking about when i'll have to go there and be in his presence and tell people outloud what happened. even typing this shit makes me cry. i just can't help but feel terrible knowing that someone hated me so much that they were actually willing to try to hurt me so bad, and possible kill me. it just makes me want to never interact with humans again.
i think all this stress is the reason i got so sick about a month after all of this happened. i wasn't really eating around this time, and when i started feeling sick and throwing up a lot, it was just more of a reason not to eat. one day matt came home from work and found me facedown on the living room floor. he couldn't wake me up, so he called an ambulance. i don't really remember much myself, but apparently when i came to and the paramedics were trying to load me up, i flipped the fuck out and started fighting them - apparently i was spitting at them, i bit one of them, i was trying to kick them - matt said they were being complete assholes to me and that he understood why i was freaking out on them - i freaked out on the paramedics the night i was attacked, they were assholes to me then too, and i refused to let them treat me, i just ordered them the fuck out of my home. when i am panicking, i don't want to be around strangers, and i ESPECIALLY do not want strangers touching me, or trying to tie me to a fucking stretcher. they took me to the worst hospital in the area just to be assholes, where the staff were very rude and treated me like an animal. i overheard a nurse saying, "oh my god, this says that a man doused her in gasoline not too long ago?" and a male aide sarcastically said, "uh, can you blame him?" after that, i think that i literally lost my mind. i ripped out my IV and took off. nobody said a word to stop me. matt was in the waiting room, and nobody even told him i left - after a half hour of hearing nothing, he went to ask a nurse if he could come back there to see me, and she informed him that the police had told me i could leave. (the police weren't even there at that point.) matt drove around looking for me. i had gone into the hospital barefoot, so i was out walking on concrete barefoot when it was 105 degrees out. i remember i had found a payphone and i was trying so hard to figure out how to call matt collect - my brain was still fuzzy, i was hysterical, and my feet were burning so bad i was sobbing. i went into a store and told the cashier i needed to use the phone, and he said i could only use the phone to call the police. i tried to call matt but the guy tried to snatch the phone from me and ordered me outside. he unplugged the base of the phone so i couldn't use it, so i threw the phone at him, and i punched the display case. in a flash, one of his sons behind the counter came out, grabbed me by the shoulder, opened the door, and knocked me to the ground below - i say below because there were two steps leading up to the store. it was horrible. i don't remember what i did after that, but matt said he finally found me at a store seven blocks from the hospital, crying and bleeding all over and trying to use the phone while standing in a pair of socks that some nice man had bought me. he said it took forever for him to get the whole story out of me, because i was crying so hard and all i kept saying over and over was, "why does everyone hate me?" he was crying too because he had never seen me so sad, he said it broke his heart :/
i went home and threw up some more and was just generally exhausted. the next day, i wouldn't move from the bathroom floor. i don't really remember much, just that i felt so shitty that i was convinced that i couldn't move. after i started throwing up on the floor, matt convinced me to let him take me to the hospital. he practically had to carry me to the car. i was admitted to stay - at first i thought i must have been really fucking sick. but after a day of doing nothing but puke and sleep, i finally found out that they had me in there because they were doing a fucking psych evaluation. not even matt knew that they were doing that - they had just said they were going to run some tests. but i refused to let them do shit to me. they wanted to do an MRI because i was so out of it and i kept saying how my brain felt fuzzy - but i refused. i was so pissed off that i was being stubborn and i didn't want to cooperate. i was pissed off because they kept asking me about drugs - i do not fucking do drugs. and they asked me multiple times if i made myself sick on purpose - wtf? what did they think i did, hang out at the ER in hopes of catching something and putting myself in the hospital? after four days, they finally concluded that i was just an asshole who couldn't stop throwing up, so they let me go home. the only thing that they did while i was there that i allowed to happen was they changed my anti-depressant. i have been sick of zoloft for a long time, it made me fat and it totally killed my libido. sorry, i'm shallow and i'd like to be not obese and be able to have orgasms again. so they put me on wellbutrin, which i was happy about, because i had heard it had little to no side effects. except...SEIZURES.
i was sick for the next few days, but all i could really do was drink lots of fluids and live off of jell-o and applesauce. my head felt so fucking weird that i could barely concentrate on anything - i couldn't go on my computer, i couldn't read, i couldn't listen to music. everything made me dizzy and nauseous. then one day, i could NOT stop throwing up - i was throwing up every 20 minutes, even though i wasn't even eating or drinking anything. i remember i was laying on the bed with matt, and i suddenly sat up and said, "oh my god. matt...something is wrong. something is very wrong." my mouth filled with this metallic taste, like blood, and my ears felt like they popped...and then next thing i know, i was falling off the bed. matt said i passed out for a few seconds, but then i opened my eyes, and suddenly, my hands were freeeezing cold. my body felt limp, like i couldn't move my muscles. i opened my mouth to tell matt again that something was really wrong...and all that came out was gibberish. it sounded like i was speaking in tongues. i immediately started crying, because i was fucking scared. my first thought was, am i having a fucking STROKE? matt was talking to me and my vision was kind of fading in and out, and he was right in my face, but he sounded like he was sooo far away. he tried to sit me up and i couldn't even lift my head up, and i just fell right back over. it was like i had no control over my muscles. so he called an ambulance again. back to the hospital i went. i had a bunch of tests done on me - this time i cooperated with all of them. i couldn't really say no, i couldn't fucking TALK for the longest time. when they let me go, all they said was that i was dehydrated. later on though, i was looking online for an explanation of all my symptoms, and it lead me to stuff on seizures. and i remembered the wellbutrin and was like, what if it gave me a seizure? when i went to my follow up appointment a couple days later, i told my doctor everything that had happened to me, and her immediate response was, "oh honey, it sounds like you had a seizure." i told her about the wellbutrin and i asked her if that was what caused it. but she said she didn't think so, because i was so sick before i got started on that. she said that it sounded like i was actually very sick and i became dehydrated from throwing up so much, and she thinks that the medication change plus being dehydrated could have been a shock to my system. but she said nothing in my tests indicated that it was a major seizure, and she said it was basically my call if i wanted to continue with the wellbutrin. i chose to stay on it and i'm glad that i did. i haven't had another seizure, and even though it took me awhile to recover from being so sick, i feel physically better than i have in awhile. i've lost some weight and i have my sex drive (and orgasms!) working again. whew.
once i started getting better, i started hearing about rumors that were being spread about me being sick. and i just snapped. the nosy ass dopefiends next door had seen an ambulance, so of course, they decided to make up stories about it. one rumor i heard was that i had gotten beat up. another one said that i had tried to kill myself again. and the people who were laughing and talking shit about it were all people that swear that they don't give a shit about me and my life. i told matt that i couldn't deal with all this bullshit anymore. that i hated everyone and everything in this town except for him and that i was done dealing with it. that i had to get the fuck out before i ended up hurting someone and possibly going to jail. because at that point, it was a serious fucking possibility. i was just so sick of everyone fucking with me, i wanted to get the fuck outta there and start all over somewhere else. matt had been looking for a new job for awhile, somewhere up in northern california so i can be closer to my friends, but at that point, i told him, i don't give a fuck WHERE we go. we just gotta get out of bakersfield. he had just been transferred to ventura to work right before i got sick, so we decided to find a place out there. so we found a place in a little town called port hueneme. we went and visited twice to look for apartments (it's only a 2-2.5 hour drive from bakersfield). it's a small beach town just 20 minutes out of ventura. it's like 75 degrees all year round, and it's windy and foggy in the mornings (which i love). there's not a lot of drugs and gangs, and there are lots of people out jogging, riding bikes, and pushing baby strollers. the apartment we found is smaller than our place, but the rent is almost twice as much. but it's totally worth it because it's right there on the beach. the beach is really clean and chill. the area is very safe. no more living in the hood!!!
i'm so fucking excited. i really feel like i'm going to get to start my life over. and i'm so happy i'm doing it with matt. we just celebrated our four year anniversary. i still can't believe we've been together for this long and that it just keeps getting BETTER. i am still constantly amazed that we don't fight or get tired of each other. after the attack, i think i finally understood just how much he loves me. he saved my life. he is a calm, sweet guy who has never even been in a physical fight in his life - but when he saw me being hurt, he freaked the fuck out and attacked. he has been so incredibly supportive and protective since then. there are days when i literally can't do ANYTHING - days where i am too anxious to run errands, days where i don't even want to eat or shower, and he encourages me to do what i can do, and doesn't force me to do what i can't, he just takes care of it himself. he is sick of everyone out here as well, and we're both so relieved to be getting away from everyone and their bullshit.
i know this may sound stupid, or even unhealthy (that's what my dad thinks at least) - but when i move, i don't want to make any friends. i don't want to get close to anyone anymore. for the past few years, almost every person i've ever met has ended up either fucking me over or really hurting me. damn near every person that i've had an issue with in the past few years has always tried to bring up personal shit to use against me. i am 29 years old, i am too fucking old to have people making fun of me for living in a group home, or for being "crazy," or telling me i should kill myself and to "get it right this time." all of these things are issues from my past that i have long since made peace with in my life. being made fun of for this shit isn't what hurts me, it's knowing that people want to hurt me so bad that they'd stoop that fucking low and try to make me feel bad about the shit i've been through. it makes me sick when i find a message in my facebook inbox from a fake account, telling me that everyone hates me and i should kill myself. what if i was really that weak that i did go and kill myself? would that really make people happy? would they really feel good about themselves, knowing that they told someone to commit suicide and the person did it? it's mind boggling to me. but matt and i both happy with just keeping to ourselves. i have always let him hang out with his friends or co-workers whenever he wants, as i am perfectly content with having only my cats and a good book for company, and i told him that the same thing goes when we move. but at this point in our lives, we both prefer each other's company compared to anyone else.
normally, i'd apologize for this being so long, but 1. i always end up doing this and 2. hardly anyone even goes on LJ anymore, so i'm actually giving you a reason to stick around this place for more than two minutes. hahaha.