So, I've been looking around for the last few weeks, and finally thought I would drop a line or 900 about my state of mind and the utter darkness I am in.
TBH, I did have a good childhood. Never wanted for anything, had awesome summer vacations with the family, great neighborhood and kids to play with. Live in Northern Utah so we always went to Yellowstone, all the national parks around Utah and the area. Extended family in northern, central and SoCal. So, it was good. Older brother and sister, younger sister and two parents that never divorced (which is rare). Lived in farmland next to the Great Salt Lake. Sleepouts on the trampoline, sleepouts at friends houses or in the backyards. Staring up and seeing the whole Milkyway instead of all this light pollution 40 years later. Winters filled with lots of snow. Digging tunnels to crawn through. Building igloos and sledding down the slope of the corn silage at my friends house.
I was always a kid who thought outside the box. Sometimes I would get in trouble for that. In elementary I was in a class called "Resource", what would be called Special Ed. I had difficulty studying and staying on task, even though I scored high on proficiency tests and IQ. I just co. uldn't be assed to do any of the work needed for the teachers. I would get in trouble for coloring an elephant green, or a banana blue. I always had weird concepts that most people didn't, or still don't understand. But, I never thought anything about it. I never knew I was wrong. I never knew I was abnormal and not like everyone else. The one thing I did know that I was different about was that I like boys.
Shopping for groceries with my mom was an excuse to run to the magazine stand and stare at the bodybuilding magazines and the men's fitness. The 1980's produced a lot of great bodybuilders. I was 6 when I knew that something was "off". Kissing girls was a vomitous thought. Slowly through time I developed crushes on my boy-friends. Not boyfriends, but boy (space) friends. First one was Joseph. He was gorgeous. We were both in the 3rd grade. Mrs. Carpenter's class. It was in the old part of West Point Elementary. We both would huddle at recess and play in the sand and just have fun. Don't get me wrong, I did have friends, a lot of friends. But on the other side I did have those kids who would bully me. No one knew. Not until junior high. In first grade I remember wearing a Mr. T tee-shirt and this group of 4th graders would corner me and taunt me and ask "you think you're tough like Mr. T?". Silly and stupid when you think about it. But as a first grader, I was mortified. I didn't tell anyone. No one at all. I just slunk my head and took the shame and embarrassment, hoping not to be beaten up.
This is one of the few things I would change if I had a TARDIS, or if time travel was real. I would go back and tell my younger self to throw a punch. Fuck em. Hit em till they hurt. Would save me a lifetime of regret and cowardice. I was never taught how to defend myself. Instead I developed my sarcasm and wit that I used to make people laugh. As I grew older I fine tuned it into a weapon. If I can't use my fist to make someone hurt, by god, I will eviscerate them with my words. Even to this day, I know how to hurt someone deeply, in a very fundamentally fucked up way. I was always cool with teachers, except Mrs. Povey. For some reason we clashed hardcore. 5th grade was tough.
Then we come to 7th grade. That year was good enough. Went to junior high and met new kids and made friends. This was when my reality of who I was deep down was surfacing and forging my identity. Well, my inner identity. This was the late-80's. Fuck if I was going to alert anyone to who I thought I was. I didn't want to open that because I knew what it was, and I knew the world's view, especially in a Mormon dominated state. So, I did my thing. Made friends (hung out with them and then... comes mid-year 7th grade 1988.
Absolutely the worst time I ever had up to this point. Dustin Po***ck. Deranged monster of a kid. Made my life hell. Tormenting me, threatening me harassing me and being absolutely ugly. "Hey fem", "hey fag", "faggot", "fairy"... if you can think of it, I was called it. Again, I slunk down and avoided confrontation. I took it. I took it because I was terrified that if people knew that he was right, it would ruin my life. Growing up in the 80's in Utah with a church that abhors homosexuality and overtly preaches their intolerance... yeah, I kept silent. Imagine going to church when you're puberty begins and you're sexual identity is blooming and being taught you will go to hell for who you are at the core. That fucks with your head. It's no wonder Utah has a very high suicide rate among LGBT kids.
Summer of 1989 was good. Out of school. Dustin was out of my life and I had the entire summer to just fuck around. August 29th. Horrific day. We get a phone call that my grandpa was in the hospital for a pain in his inner thigh. We kids stayed home while mom and dad went to Salt Lake (40 miles south). Parents come back and tell us that grandpa had died. Aneurism. It had burst before they could do anything. Everyone thought he had pulled a muscle in his groin because they were rigging up the motorhome to head to Starr Valley in Idaho for some summer golfing. I remember being at their house while everyone was talking and making plans. I was on the side of the house were they parked their RV crying and hearing my grandma talking to someone on the phone. I remember hearing her say that she felt "Bud" (grandpa) comfort her last night. That still sticks with me. Making me 5% agnostic and 95% atheist. The services were somber. My aunt was almost inconsolable when they closed and secured the casket. The I don't remember much from the graveside service. I was still sad. I was grandpas "turkey" and my younger sister was his "lap pooch". He was a great man. He gave me my first taste of wine and beer. He had a wicked sense of humor. Always smelled like Elsha cologne. Hair slicked back with his Brylcream and his bolo-tie. Grandma was... different. She wasn't overly loving or liked being a grandma. That was my perception. She was more into entertaining and drinking. You have to remember, their heyday was the 1950's.
So, I moved into 8th grade with a huge hole in my heart. And ding dong! guess who comes back to school. Dickface Dustin. Same bullshit, different year. I got caught skipping gym and was hauled into Mrs. Sullivan's office. She was the vice principal. She grilled me until I broke down and told her what was going on. Mom and dad get called. Great... now I have to tell them I've been bullied for two years and god knows what they will say. Mom was more pissed at this kid, dad didn't understand why I didn't defend myself more. However, they were supportive and understanding. A few weeks later Dustin is nowhere to be seen. Didn't know why, nor did I give a shit. He was gone! I came out of my shell a little bit and life was good.
So, life was essentially good through then and high school. In high school I got into the drama crowd. I was friends with all cliques, belonging to none if we are going to be honest. I met Jimmy. We became best friends in 11th grade. My 10th grade was made up of confusion and unbearable friend. She wanted more, but I couldn't do it. The only reason I was friends with her is because her brother was simply gorgeous. I did love her, as a friend. We hung out all the time, went to Lagoon and got into crazy hijinks. But she wanted more. I had to tell her that I wasn't going to be anything more than a friend. She downed a lot of sleeping pills and I had to rush her to the hospital. At this time Jimmy and I were just acquaintances through the drama crowd. He had seen my other friend and I rush Nic out of the Commons and to the hospital. He showed up and consoled me. From then we were best friends.
High school was just tolerable. Nothing noteworthy. Just... bleh. Graduated May 1994 with like a 1.8 gpa. Not very scholastic I know. I'm not dumb. I like to think I'm pretty intelligent. I just never had use for regurgitating facts for adults that needed to grade me on my recitation. So, now that I'm out of school it's time to do what 99% Americans are supposed to do. Get a job. (See post about jobs I've had). Still hiding my true self, but summer of 1995 I get a job as a checker in a local grocery store. One of the managers who we will call Dave, was a giant flamer. But he was cool. He knew I was gay. One day he invited me and three other co-workers to his house for a dinner. The other co-workers were much older, and knew he was gay. I did accept. He told me that he was gay. This was after hours as we were counting down the tills. I took a deep breath and for the first time in my life I uttered the words I never wanted to say. I told him I was too. He hugged me and I started crying. It was a huge relief. There was nothing sexual about it. He was much older, but he was kind. He took me under his wing, taught me which bars didn't ID, and which queens to watch out for. Gave me a boo to read about a bodybuilder who was gay and never wanted to come out, but he and his boyfriend were becoming more prominent and it was a story of their coming out.
At the time I was still living with my parents and I had my own half bath. I would keep the book under the sink beneath all of the towels. My mother found the book. I get home from work and she and my dad pull me into the front room and we have a discussion. My dad was having none of it. My mom just kept reciting gays going to hell and the "outer darkness" (Mormon hell). My dad made some very crude remarks. I was dumbfounded. This wasn't how I wanted this to go. So, for about 6 months I would avoid my parents. My mom would walk in a room, I would walk out. I was 19, but put on a very strict curfew. 10pm weeknights when not at work and midnight on weekends. I remember just arguing with my mom about a pride sticker I had on my car. I told her it's none of her fucking business. My brother rushed up the stairs and knocked me to the ground. I remember gathering all of my strength and standing up with him still on top of me. I start yelling about my brother having a fairy for a brother and him calling me a fudge-packer and me quipping back that I do like fudge.
My brother and I had a very tumultuous relationship. Mostly about how I behaved towards my parents. Which we will get into later. So, at this time my parents called Jimmy over and I had to come out to him. He was pissed. Kept telling me how the Book of Mormon and Bible feel about it and how I will be going to hell and how disappointed he was in me. From that point our friendship quickly disintegrated. My family never got it. They never understood how damaging it was to hear that. I can't be friends with someone with views like that. This is where I start diverging my stories because life gets complicated.
Suffice it to say I lost friends, but family stood by me until recently. More on that later. So, I meet this girl who would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life. No, not a girlfriend. My friend. We met through a mutual friend. We bonded over my obsession with Erasure. We slowly became close and we did everything together. She got married and it seemed that all three of us were this happy family. Then, her, her husband and her mother get into a huge car accident. Husband was driving. He became addicted to pain-killers which eventually ended their marriage. Her mother was like my second mother. J (second mom) was in her early 70's and very cool. She eventually developed dementia and I helped take care of her along with my friend and her husband. I was living with J at the time and she became so incapacitated that she had to live in a home. Left me alone worrying about bills and rent, even though my friend said that her and her brother would help me out, which they didn't.
J died in Oct 2005. It felt like a piece of me died. My first attempt was in November that year. I was working at the IRS in the Power of Attorney department. Had been with the IRS since Feb 2001. Friend asked me why I did it, and I told her that she promised to help, and never did and the anxiety of bills became too unbearable. She then proceeded to block me from her life because her mom had just died, as did her favorite cat. Ok, I get that. Slowly we reconnect. Become inseparable again. She and her husband adopted a 16 year old. Soon after they divorce leaving my friend to raise this kid alone. That was about 2010. So two years of hanging out with the son and my friend. It was a good time, but I felt like she was needing me to fill in as a father figure, which I wouldn't do.
Sept 2012. The beginning of the end. I met W (who later became my husband). He was short, fat and bald, and a registered sex offender. But I thought well... this is it, can't find any guys that will want to be with me. So I settled. He was living with a guy who was under investigation for child porn, so his PO told us to move out. We got a spall place of our own. But W's loud mouth got us kicked out of three places before we had to move in with the child porn guy who had moved to North Carolina. I sold everything. Uprooted my life and moved to shithole North Carolina. Shelby. Two years scraping by while he was a chronic unemployed shitface dick. One day (two days after my 41st birthday) he said he wants to open the marriage. I'm like no. Rule one and two. No cheating and no open relationships. Fuck that. But, to be fair he was becoming more and more repulsive to me and I wouldn't sleep with him. He would always check my phone, my Facebook and my emails. Like go for it dude, I have nothing to hide. His phone dinged and I looked at it. A text from a guy in the neighboring city telling W that they're ready for him to come over and gang-bang. I hit the roof. Instead of him feeling like shit, he got pissed I looked at his phone. I laughed. Called my mom and told her to get me the fuck home. She and my older sister got me a flight back to SLC. I move in with my parents and file for divorce. Yes, I'm leaving a lot out.
Because of W, I lost my job of 14 years at the IRS. Had to file bankruptcy, lost my car and ruined my credit and my self esteem. I felt like nobody. Even though he sexually repulsed me, i still felt violated on the most fundamental level. I try to get my life back on track and try finding jobs that turn into shit and I get fired or quit. 2017 until 2020 life was just fucked. Job after job. The Trump election was more than I could even bear. I would post my opinions and my feeling on him, religion and the Republican party. So much so that my younger sister posted a meme on Instagram and tagged me in it. It was of an elderly couple pushing an overweight bearded man in a stroller. I hit the fucking roof. I message my younger sister to fuck off and I began blocking everyone in the family on social media. Everyone.
Later that night my older sister barges into my parents house and into my room and just barrages me with insults and nastiness. I'm worthless, I'm a mooch and I have no worth whatsoever. Telling me that I'm always playing on the computer instead of looking for jobs, to which I turned my laptop to her and showed her I was filling out an application. She kept at it, non-stop. My dad telling her to shut up, telling me to shut up. My mom in the doorway not knowing what's going on. Annie shaking to death because it's so loud. She kept at me about being useless and just being so ugly. I finally yelled at her and called her a cunt. Not a nice word, but still, you act like one, you're going to be called one. She flips out harder and starts throwing things at me. I was more pissed that she throw my bag of SweetTarts and they flew everywhere. I just laughed at her. And I remember saying "Okay, little girl, you can go now". My dad getting in my face with his fist after calling her a cunt. I dared him to hit me, and if he does he needs to hit my sister for the gross things she was slinging at me.
My sister storms out. I am in such a crazed state that I grab my backpack, head down to my dad's bedroom and grab his two guns. It's a very Republican house, so guns are like dust, they're everywhere. I stuff them in my backpack and start walking down the street while on the phone with my friend. As I'm recounting what had happened her two sons come roaring down the road in their "sorry about your small dick" truck. They get our and start threatening me. It came to a point where they were making fun of my weight, my ex-husband and how the older one wants to beat the shit out of me so bad. So, I turn and put my glasses on the top of his hood. Before I could even turn around that punk ass clicks me in the back of the head. I go down. They start punching me and kicking me. Finally they stop. Apparently the two guns fly out of the bag. The younger fuck calls the cops. I limp back home and tell my dad that his grandsons say hi. My dad runs out and start yelling at them that everything was under control. The cops get their statement and mine. They had the nerve to say that I stepped into the street to stop them. As if I knew what kind of fucking hillbilly bumpkin fuck they drive.
While being verbally assaulted before being physically attacked the older son was telling me all of this shit that my older sister said to him. Lies about discussions her and I have had, or reactions to her unable to help me out that I never reacted to. So, police leave, mom helps me clean up. The house calms down and I start my third day of work the next day. A few days later after I get home I was sat down with mom and dad and they told me that I have to leave by Thursday. This was a Monday. They didn't feel safe with me and the guns. They didn't like not having family over because the family doesn't like me. My sister thought I was going to use those guns on her fucks. I explained until I was blue in the face that I never knew the fucks would be storming over. I was going to use them to ensure success on blowing my face off. But, I still had to leave.
I spent the next three days scouting a place to live. Three days of anxiety and pressure to leave. I had no money. None. What the fuck was I supposed to do. I finally found a place in buttfuck ghetto Ogden. Mom and dad said they would pay for the move in. I still feel like it was out of guilt. They wanted me out by Thursday because they were going to Baja California that weekend. Wow. I couldn't move in until that Saturday, so they agreed to let me stay while they were in Mexico. The entire family was there. I've never been invited anywhere, even when we were all on good terms. So, I move into this 267 square foot studio. No AC, a dinky wall insert heater. But it was a newly remodeled residence and I was the first one in the building.
No one in the family wanted to talk about what happened so we could all move past it. My resentment grew and my hatred of my sisters grew and my absolute disgust of my two nephews reached an all time high. Still, no one wanted to talk about it. Sweep sweep sweep everything under the rug. Out of site, and out of mind. So, I marinated in my hatred in that shitty apartment. Let me make clear that I love my parents. Even though I think they overreacted and I was the one that took the brunt of my older sister's hysteria and my nephew's criminal violence. My mom calls me one day to tell me that my younger sister's husband had been involved in an ATV accident. Bad. Like TBI bad. Unresponsive and might now come out of his coma. He was in the coma for a long time. He did recover a little, but died as a result of the injury. While he was in the hospital I did sent a little get well gift. Not one word from my sister.
I wasn't invited to the funeral. I wasn't even acknowledged for any part of it. So, not only do I look like a fuck for not being there, It makes me look like a bigger fuck because I wasn't allowed to send a heartfelt letter to my sister. I had put aside everything and wrote her this, what I consider, a beautiful letter expressing my deep sadness of losing her husband. Denied. I mourned alone. I still struggle with it. I didn't like the guy much, but my sister was hurting and I couldn't be there for her. Gutted.
So, more job losses more self loathing and self hatred. More wishing I was dead. More wishing the earth should open it's fiery maw and devour all humans because we are all garbage and none of us deserve to breathe in the air that sustains us. I get a job working for the State of Utah. Coosh job. Nice. I move into a nice one-bedroom apartment in downtown Salt Lake City. I lose that job. So, I begin to worry and hate my life more. Get another job that pays ... meh... decent, but not enough. Lose that job. Depression because I have to have my parents help me with car payments and rent. My parents pay off my car and help with several months of rent. My rent isn't cheap. I finally get a shitty WFH job. I just got fired from that. No zero income.
I know you're thinking that boohoo... this fat fuck whinging about money when we have real problems. I haven't even started about my love life (or lack thereof). Being rejected left and right. Being ridiculed and harassed. Falling in love and get that they feel the same only to be fucked off. I'm not sure that I have conveyed my inner demons. It's a culmination of job losses and heartbreak and family disaster. Yes, most of this is my fault. But what hurts the most is that during the middle of all of this I was hospitalized for a week for suicide attempt. No one in my family except my mom gave any support. My friend (with the kid) decided that while I was in there it would be a good idea to be present for a phone meeting of support and then proceed to tell me to fuck off. She had gotten bariatric surgery and lost some weight. Still fat, but she thought she was a skinny bitch. But I supported her. Went to all of her classes. She once told me to let her know if she became one of those vapid bitches we hate... well... she passed that mark by a mile.
That was the second time she fucked me off after a suicide attempt. This person who I thought I would grow old with and be two angry bitches in our rockers on the porch yelling at kids and throwing screaming cats at them. She hurt me more than my ex ever did. My anger and apathy for her is unlike anything I've ever had.
I called my sister a few weeks ago (the one who threw my candy at me). I was watching tv and got emotional and started crying. I called her and wanted to let her know I love her and that I was sorry for everything. During this whole conversation it was me apologizing and her repeating how she helped me out while I was married and how much money she helped me out with. And how much I had hurt everyone. At no point did she take responsibility for anything that she did. As if she was angelic for this whole fucking thing. I told her I was very lonely and missed everyone. "I'm sure you are". That's all she said. So... like what the fuck.
I sit in the apartment, alone with my Annie. Watching tv. Wishing for a quick release. Wishing that I had a catalyst to ignite that spark and pull the fucking plug. I lie away at night thinking about ways to do it. I am always thinking about it. I'm thinking about what to wear, what I should say, how I should behave before I do, make sure I leave notes about bank accounts and shit like that. But since I have no job anymore, I wont have any insurance, so yay.
I've fucked up this life. There is no joy. There is no happiness. If there is it only comes in short bursts, but those are rare. I a sick of feeling like a failure. I'm sick of the endless anxiety in the back of my head and the self hatred that voices my ineptitude of life. Maybe everyone is right. I'm a failure at everything. I mean, I really am. Jobless, about to be homeless. So depressed that I shower maybe once a week. Apartment is disheveled. Not a shithole, but not tidy either. So low on energy that I don't want to take Annie for her potty breaks, but I have to because I love her too much to let her be uncomfortable.
So, I can predict what will happen. I will be up all night, sleep all days. Apply for jobs that I am qualified for, but will be denied because of my age and track record. Thus cycling in the depression and anxiety. So, why not just fuck it and end it before the rent is due? Right?
TBH, I did have a good childhood. Never wanted for anything, had awesome summer vacations with the family, great neighborhood and kids to play with. Live in Northern Utah so we always went to Yellowstone, all the national parks around Utah and the area. Extended family in northern, central and SoCal. So, it was good. Older brother and sister, younger sister and two parents that never divorced (which is rare). Lived in farmland next to the Great Salt Lake. Sleepouts on the trampoline, sleepouts at friends houses or in the backyards. Staring up and seeing the whole Milkyway instead of all this light pollution 40 years later. Winters filled with lots of snow. Digging tunnels to crawn through. Building igloos and sledding down the slope of the corn silage at my friends house.
I was always a kid who thought outside the box. Sometimes I would get in trouble for that. In elementary I was in a class called "Resource", what would be called Special Ed. I had difficulty studying and staying on task, even though I scored high on proficiency tests and IQ. I just co. uldn't be assed to do any of the work needed for the teachers. I would get in trouble for coloring an elephant green, or a banana blue. I always had weird concepts that most people didn't, or still don't understand. But, I never thought anything about it. I never knew I was wrong. I never knew I was abnormal and not like everyone else. The one thing I did know that I was different about was that I like boys.
Shopping for groceries with my mom was an excuse to run to the magazine stand and stare at the bodybuilding magazines and the men's fitness. The 1980's produced a lot of great bodybuilders. I was 6 when I knew that something was "off". Kissing girls was a vomitous thought. Slowly through time I developed crushes on my boy-friends. Not boyfriends, but boy (space) friends. First one was Joseph. He was gorgeous. We were both in the 3rd grade. Mrs. Carpenter's class. It was in the old part of West Point Elementary. We both would huddle at recess and play in the sand and just have fun. Don't get me wrong, I did have friends, a lot of friends. But on the other side I did have those kids who would bully me. No one knew. Not until junior high. In first grade I remember wearing a Mr. T tee-shirt and this group of 4th graders would corner me and taunt me and ask "you think you're tough like Mr. T?". Silly and stupid when you think about it. But as a first grader, I was mortified. I didn't tell anyone. No one at all. I just slunk my head and took the shame and embarrassment, hoping not to be beaten up.
This is one of the few things I would change if I had a TARDIS, or if time travel was real. I would go back and tell my younger self to throw a punch. Fuck em. Hit em till they hurt. Would save me a lifetime of regret and cowardice. I was never taught how to defend myself. Instead I developed my sarcasm and wit that I used to make people laugh. As I grew older I fine tuned it into a weapon. If I can't use my fist to make someone hurt, by god, I will eviscerate them with my words. Even to this day, I know how to hurt someone deeply, in a very fundamentally fucked up way. I was always cool with teachers, except Mrs. Povey. For some reason we clashed hardcore. 5th grade was tough.
Then we come to 7th grade. That year was good enough. Went to junior high and met new kids and made friends. This was when my reality of who I was deep down was surfacing and forging my identity. Well, my inner identity. This was the late-80's. Fuck if I was going to alert anyone to who I thought I was. I didn't want to open that because I knew what it was, and I knew the world's view, especially in a Mormon dominated state. So, I did my thing. Made friends (hung out with them and then... comes mid-year 7th grade 1988.
Absolutely the worst time I ever had up to this point. Dustin Po***ck. Deranged monster of a kid. Made my life hell. Tormenting me, threatening me harassing me and being absolutely ugly. "Hey fem", "hey fag", "faggot", "fairy"... if you can think of it, I was called it. Again, I slunk down and avoided confrontation. I took it. I took it because I was terrified that if people knew that he was right, it would ruin my life. Growing up in the 80's in Utah with a church that abhors homosexuality and overtly preaches their intolerance... yeah, I kept silent. Imagine going to church when you're puberty begins and you're sexual identity is blooming and being taught you will go to hell for who you are at the core. That fucks with your head. It's no wonder Utah has a very high suicide rate among LGBT kids.
Summer of 1989 was good. Out of school. Dustin was out of my life and I had the entire summer to just fuck around. August 29th. Horrific day. We get a phone call that my grandpa was in the hospital for a pain in his inner thigh. We kids stayed home while mom and dad went to Salt Lake (40 miles south). Parents come back and tell us that grandpa had died. Aneurism. It had burst before they could do anything. Everyone thought he had pulled a muscle in his groin because they were rigging up the motorhome to head to Starr Valley in Idaho for some summer golfing. I remember being at their house while everyone was talking and making plans. I was on the side of the house were they parked their RV crying and hearing my grandma talking to someone on the phone. I remember hearing her say that she felt "Bud" (grandpa) comfort her last night. That still sticks with me. Making me 5% agnostic and 95% atheist. The services were somber. My aunt was almost inconsolable when they closed and secured the casket. The I don't remember much from the graveside service. I was still sad. I was grandpas "turkey" and my younger sister was his "lap pooch". He was a great man. He gave me my first taste of wine and beer. He had a wicked sense of humor. Always smelled like Elsha cologne. Hair slicked back with his Brylcream and his bolo-tie. Grandma was... different. She wasn't overly loving or liked being a grandma. That was my perception. She was more into entertaining and drinking. You have to remember, their heyday was the 1950's.
So, I moved into 8th grade with a huge hole in my heart. And ding dong! guess who comes back to school. Dickface Dustin. Same bullshit, different year. I got caught skipping gym and was hauled into Mrs. Sullivan's office. She was the vice principal. She grilled me until I broke down and told her what was going on. Mom and dad get called. Great... now I have to tell them I've been bullied for two years and god knows what they will say. Mom was more pissed at this kid, dad didn't understand why I didn't defend myself more. However, they were supportive and understanding. A few weeks later Dustin is nowhere to be seen. Didn't know why, nor did I give a shit. He was gone! I came out of my shell a little bit and life was good.
So, life was essentially good through then and high school. In high school I got into the drama crowd. I was friends with all cliques, belonging to none if we are going to be honest. I met Jimmy. We became best friends in 11th grade. My 10th grade was made up of confusion and unbearable friend. She wanted more, but I couldn't do it. The only reason I was friends with her is because her brother was simply gorgeous. I did love her, as a friend. We hung out all the time, went to Lagoon and got into crazy hijinks. But she wanted more. I had to tell her that I wasn't going to be anything more than a friend. She downed a lot of sleeping pills and I had to rush her to the hospital. At this time Jimmy and I were just acquaintances through the drama crowd. He had seen my other friend and I rush Nic out of the Commons and to the hospital. He showed up and consoled me. From then we were best friends.
High school was just tolerable. Nothing noteworthy. Just... bleh. Graduated May 1994 with like a 1.8 gpa. Not very scholastic I know. I'm not dumb. I like to think I'm pretty intelligent. I just never had use for regurgitating facts for adults that needed to grade me on my recitation. So, now that I'm out of school it's time to do what 99% Americans are supposed to do. Get a job. (See post about jobs I've had). Still hiding my true self, but summer of 1995 I get a job as a checker in a local grocery store. One of the managers who we will call Dave, was a giant flamer. But he was cool. He knew I was gay. One day he invited me and three other co-workers to his house for a dinner. The other co-workers were much older, and knew he was gay. I did accept. He told me that he was gay. This was after hours as we were counting down the tills. I took a deep breath and for the first time in my life I uttered the words I never wanted to say. I told him I was too. He hugged me and I started crying. It was a huge relief. There was nothing sexual about it. He was much older, but he was kind. He took me under his wing, taught me which bars didn't ID, and which queens to watch out for. Gave me a boo to read about a bodybuilder who was gay and never wanted to come out, but he and his boyfriend were becoming more prominent and it was a story of their coming out.
At the time I was still living with my parents and I had my own half bath. I would keep the book under the sink beneath all of the towels. My mother found the book. I get home from work and she and my dad pull me into the front room and we have a discussion. My dad was having none of it. My mom just kept reciting gays going to hell and the "outer darkness" (Mormon hell). My dad made some very crude remarks. I was dumbfounded. This wasn't how I wanted this to go. So, for about 6 months I would avoid my parents. My mom would walk in a room, I would walk out. I was 19, but put on a very strict curfew. 10pm weeknights when not at work and midnight on weekends. I remember just arguing with my mom about a pride sticker I had on my car. I told her it's none of her fucking business. My brother rushed up the stairs and knocked me to the ground. I remember gathering all of my strength and standing up with him still on top of me. I start yelling about my brother having a fairy for a brother and him calling me a fudge-packer and me quipping back that I do like fudge.
My brother and I had a very tumultuous relationship. Mostly about how I behaved towards my parents. Which we will get into later. So, at this time my parents called Jimmy over and I had to come out to him. He was pissed. Kept telling me how the Book of Mormon and Bible feel about it and how I will be going to hell and how disappointed he was in me. From that point our friendship quickly disintegrated. My family never got it. They never understood how damaging it was to hear that. I can't be friends with someone with views like that. This is where I start diverging my stories because life gets complicated.
Suffice it to say I lost friends, but family stood by me until recently. More on that later. So, I meet this girl who would turn out to be the biggest mistake of my life. No, not a girlfriend. My friend. We met through a mutual friend. We bonded over my obsession with Erasure. We slowly became close and we did everything together. She got married and it seemed that all three of us were this happy family. Then, her, her husband and her mother get into a huge car accident. Husband was driving. He became addicted to pain-killers which eventually ended their marriage. Her mother was like my second mother. J (second mom) was in her early 70's and very cool. She eventually developed dementia and I helped take care of her along with my friend and her husband. I was living with J at the time and she became so incapacitated that she had to live in a home. Left me alone worrying about bills and rent, even though my friend said that her and her brother would help me out, which they didn't.
J died in Oct 2005. It felt like a piece of me died. My first attempt was in November that year. I was working at the IRS in the Power of Attorney department. Had been with the IRS since Feb 2001. Friend asked me why I did it, and I told her that she promised to help, and never did and the anxiety of bills became too unbearable. She then proceeded to block me from her life because her mom had just died, as did her favorite cat. Ok, I get that. Slowly we reconnect. Become inseparable again. She and her husband adopted a 16 year old. Soon after they divorce leaving my friend to raise this kid alone. That was about 2010. So two years of hanging out with the son and my friend. It was a good time, but I felt like she was needing me to fill in as a father figure, which I wouldn't do.
Sept 2012. The beginning of the end. I met W (who later became my husband). He was short, fat and bald, and a registered sex offender. But I thought well... this is it, can't find any guys that will want to be with me. So I settled. He was living with a guy who was under investigation for child porn, so his PO told us to move out. We got a spall place of our own. But W's loud mouth got us kicked out of three places before we had to move in with the child porn guy who had moved to North Carolina. I sold everything. Uprooted my life and moved to shithole North Carolina. Shelby. Two years scraping by while he was a chronic unemployed shitface dick. One day (two days after my 41st birthday) he said he wants to open the marriage. I'm like no. Rule one and two. No cheating and no open relationships. Fuck that. But, to be fair he was becoming more and more repulsive to me and I wouldn't sleep with him. He would always check my phone, my Facebook and my emails. Like go for it dude, I have nothing to hide. His phone dinged and I looked at it. A text from a guy in the neighboring city telling W that they're ready for him to come over and gang-bang. I hit the roof. Instead of him feeling like shit, he got pissed I looked at his phone. I laughed. Called my mom and told her to get me the fuck home. She and my older sister got me a flight back to SLC. I move in with my parents and file for divorce. Yes, I'm leaving a lot out.
Because of W, I lost my job of 14 years at the IRS. Had to file bankruptcy, lost my car and ruined my credit and my self esteem. I felt like nobody. Even though he sexually repulsed me, i still felt violated on the most fundamental level. I try to get my life back on track and try finding jobs that turn into shit and I get fired or quit. 2017 until 2020 life was just fucked. Job after job. The Trump election was more than I could even bear. I would post my opinions and my feeling on him, religion and the Republican party. So much so that my younger sister posted a meme on Instagram and tagged me in it. It was of an elderly couple pushing an overweight bearded man in a stroller. I hit the fucking roof. I message my younger sister to fuck off and I began blocking everyone in the family on social media. Everyone.
Later that night my older sister barges into my parents house and into my room and just barrages me with insults and nastiness. I'm worthless, I'm a mooch and I have no worth whatsoever. Telling me that I'm always playing on the computer instead of looking for jobs, to which I turned my laptop to her and showed her I was filling out an application. She kept at it, non-stop. My dad telling her to shut up, telling me to shut up. My mom in the doorway not knowing what's going on. Annie shaking to death because it's so loud. She kept at me about being useless and just being so ugly. I finally yelled at her and called her a cunt. Not a nice word, but still, you act like one, you're going to be called one. She flips out harder and starts throwing things at me. I was more pissed that she throw my bag of SweetTarts and they flew everywhere. I just laughed at her. And I remember saying "Okay, little girl, you can go now". My dad getting in my face with his fist after calling her a cunt. I dared him to hit me, and if he does he needs to hit my sister for the gross things she was slinging at me.
My sister storms out. I am in such a crazed state that I grab my backpack, head down to my dad's bedroom and grab his two guns. It's a very Republican house, so guns are like dust, they're everywhere. I stuff them in my backpack and start walking down the street while on the phone with my friend. As I'm recounting what had happened her two sons come roaring down the road in their "sorry about your small dick" truck. They get our and start threatening me. It came to a point where they were making fun of my weight, my ex-husband and how the older one wants to beat the shit out of me so bad. So, I turn and put my glasses on the top of his hood. Before I could even turn around that punk ass clicks me in the back of the head. I go down. They start punching me and kicking me. Finally they stop. Apparently the two guns fly out of the bag. The younger fuck calls the cops. I limp back home and tell my dad that his grandsons say hi. My dad runs out and start yelling at them that everything was under control. The cops get their statement and mine. They had the nerve to say that I stepped into the street to stop them. As if I knew what kind of fucking hillbilly bumpkin fuck they drive.
While being verbally assaulted before being physically attacked the older son was telling me all of this shit that my older sister said to him. Lies about discussions her and I have had, or reactions to her unable to help me out that I never reacted to. So, police leave, mom helps me clean up. The house calms down and I start my third day of work the next day. A few days later after I get home I was sat down with mom and dad and they told me that I have to leave by Thursday. This was a Monday. They didn't feel safe with me and the guns. They didn't like not having family over because the family doesn't like me. My sister thought I was going to use those guns on her fucks. I explained until I was blue in the face that I never knew the fucks would be storming over. I was going to use them to ensure success on blowing my face off. But, I still had to leave.
I spent the next three days scouting a place to live. Three days of anxiety and pressure to leave. I had no money. None. What the fuck was I supposed to do. I finally found a place in buttfuck ghetto Ogden. Mom and dad said they would pay for the move in. I still feel like it was out of guilt. They wanted me out by Thursday because they were going to Baja California that weekend. Wow. I couldn't move in until that Saturday, so they agreed to let me stay while they were in Mexico. The entire family was there. I've never been invited anywhere, even when we were all on good terms. So, I move into this 267 square foot studio. No AC, a dinky wall insert heater. But it was a newly remodeled residence and I was the first one in the building.
No one in the family wanted to talk about what happened so we could all move past it. My resentment grew and my hatred of my sisters grew and my absolute disgust of my two nephews reached an all time high. Still, no one wanted to talk about it. Sweep sweep sweep everything under the rug. Out of site, and out of mind. So, I marinated in my hatred in that shitty apartment. Let me make clear that I love my parents. Even though I think they overreacted and I was the one that took the brunt of my older sister's hysteria and my nephew's criminal violence. My mom calls me one day to tell me that my younger sister's husband had been involved in an ATV accident. Bad. Like TBI bad. Unresponsive and might now come out of his coma. He was in the coma for a long time. He did recover a little, but died as a result of the injury. While he was in the hospital I did sent a little get well gift. Not one word from my sister.
I wasn't invited to the funeral. I wasn't even acknowledged for any part of it. So, not only do I look like a fuck for not being there, It makes me look like a bigger fuck because I wasn't allowed to send a heartfelt letter to my sister. I had put aside everything and wrote her this, what I consider, a beautiful letter expressing my deep sadness of losing her husband. Denied. I mourned alone. I still struggle with it. I didn't like the guy much, but my sister was hurting and I couldn't be there for her. Gutted.
So, more job losses more self loathing and self hatred. More wishing I was dead. More wishing the earth should open it's fiery maw and devour all humans because we are all garbage and none of us deserve to breathe in the air that sustains us. I get a job working for the State of Utah. Coosh job. Nice. I move into a nice one-bedroom apartment in downtown Salt Lake City. I lose that job. So, I begin to worry and hate my life more. Get another job that pays ... meh... decent, but not enough. Lose that job. Depression because I have to have my parents help me with car payments and rent. My parents pay off my car and help with several months of rent. My rent isn't cheap. I finally get a shitty WFH job. I just got fired from that. No zero income.
I know you're thinking that boohoo... this fat fuck whinging about money when we have real problems. I haven't even started about my love life (or lack thereof). Being rejected left and right. Being ridiculed and harassed. Falling in love and get that they feel the same only to be fucked off. I'm not sure that I have conveyed my inner demons. It's a culmination of job losses and heartbreak and family disaster. Yes, most of this is my fault. But what hurts the most is that during the middle of all of this I was hospitalized for a week for suicide attempt. No one in my family except my mom gave any support. My friend (with the kid) decided that while I was in there it would be a good idea to be present for a phone meeting of support and then proceed to tell me to fuck off. She had gotten bariatric surgery and lost some weight. Still fat, but she thought she was a skinny bitch. But I supported her. Went to all of her classes. She once told me to let her know if she became one of those vapid bitches we hate... well... she passed that mark by a mile.
That was the second time she fucked me off after a suicide attempt. This person who I thought I would grow old with and be two angry bitches in our rockers on the porch yelling at kids and throwing screaming cats at them. She hurt me more than my ex ever did. My anger and apathy for her is unlike anything I've ever had.
I called my sister a few weeks ago (the one who threw my candy at me). I was watching tv and got emotional and started crying. I called her and wanted to let her know I love her and that I was sorry for everything. During this whole conversation it was me apologizing and her repeating how she helped me out while I was married and how much money she helped me out with. And how much I had hurt everyone. At no point did she take responsibility for anything that she did. As if she was angelic for this whole fucking thing. I told her I was very lonely and missed everyone. "I'm sure you are". That's all she said. So... like what the fuck.
I sit in the apartment, alone with my Annie. Watching tv. Wishing for a quick release. Wishing that I had a catalyst to ignite that spark and pull the fucking plug. I lie away at night thinking about ways to do it. I am always thinking about it. I'm thinking about what to wear, what I should say, how I should behave before I do, make sure I leave notes about bank accounts and shit like that. But since I have no job anymore, I wont have any insurance, so yay.
I've fucked up this life. There is no joy. There is no happiness. If there is it only comes in short bursts, but those are rare. I a sick of feeling like a failure. I'm sick of the endless anxiety in the back of my head and the self hatred that voices my ineptitude of life. Maybe everyone is right. I'm a failure at everything. I mean, I really am. Jobless, about to be homeless. So depressed that I shower maybe once a week. Apartment is disheveled. Not a shithole, but not tidy either. So low on energy that I don't want to take Annie for her potty breaks, but I have to because I love her too much to let her be uncomfortable.
So, I can predict what will happen. I will be up all night, sleep all days. Apply for jobs that I am qualified for, but will be denied because of my age and track record. Thus cycling in the depression and anxiety. So, why not just fuck it and end it before the rent is due? Right?
