Tag Archives: Failing


I feel like I’m stuck at “Hate Me” while others have been able to move on to “Fear” and make progress.

I’m still on that same floor I was on at 19, 21, 24, 27, 30, 33, 34, 36 years old begging for someone to make it all stop.

I stayed a little girl. There’s no emotional growth when you’re drinking at 16 to hide from something that scares you but you have NO IDEA what it is or how to explain it. It’s hard enough being a teenager who isn’t considered popular, pretty, or smart. What you become is target practice.

You were born into a family of “large boned” people or in some cases “morbidly obese”. There were a few stunning women and men but they were not without problems. If you do not believe Mental Illness or Addiction is hereditary I personally invite you to study my family.

I don’t remember what it feels like not to be anxious 24 hours a day. I didn’t stop bouncing my legs or shaking a foot while sitting until recently. I still do it just not as much.

When you start your life afraid of everything it’s paralyzing. My poor parents didn’t know what to do.

As I watched them argue with one another, knowing it was my fault, I tried my best to make them hate me and give up on me. My Mom understood more than my Dad because she had been hospitalized for Depression and 3 of siblings are mentally ill. Two of them are Paranoid Schizophrenics, so she was scared and didn’t want to lose me.

There came a point where I pushed her too far and it was my Dad who stopped her from kicking me out of the house and giving up. At that point I had no feelings, no self respect or dignity left. I felt like I would never be good enough and I didn’t deserve anything good in my life. I sabotaged myself.

As my drinking became worse so did my behavior. I didn’t care who I slept with and would start fights over the smallest things. Years of saying and doing nothing while being spit on and having elephant noises made at me had taken a toll. It started to boil and come spewing out at everyone.

The older alcoholic men I drank with took bets on how much longer I’d be alive. I came close more times than I like to remember.

When I watch someone like Justin Furstenfeld who I could relate to on many levels, change his entire life, behaviors, and outlook, it makes me feel frustrated and confused.

Am I afraid to be happy? Am I not trying hard enough? Do I have to believe in God? Are medications the wrong answer?

I want to leave the house, I want to do things, I want to be happy and at peace.

I don’t know how people do it. My brain keeps screaming NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!!!

And then of course I get bitchy because Mr. Furstenfeld has mentioned “God” and “Heaven” many times when it comes to his happiness. I have such a hard time with religion. I also suspect he might not be taking medications anymore. He doesn’t talk as much about his mental health as he does his addiction.

There is a documentary coming out where he mentions having “Extreme highs and lows” and being in a mental health facility. He was put on medication at the age of 14. I believe he’s Bipolar but I’m not sure it was confirmed and that’s his personal business. EXCEPT when you do Public Service Announcements about Depression and Suicide and you’re not being honest. If you have fans that are mentally ill and they think they can just pray away their illness we have a problem. I’m probably exaggerating.

I’m down lately and yesterday my Dad tried to hit me. Not what you want to do to someone who is now afraid of aggressive men even if it is my Dad. It didn’t go well at all.

Instead of crying and shaking something else took over.


All I could think was “I’ll be damned if I ever let anyone physically hurt me again.” I calmly said “If you come near me I will leave for good. You will never see me again and I won’t tell you where I am.” It must have been the way I said it because he stopped and left the room.

When I mentioned it to him later in the day he denied ever doing such a thing. He then called me a liar and said I was making it up. I think I’m going to get Nanny cams to prove to him how angry and violent he’s been the last year.


For once I tried to do something charitable that didn’t benefit me. I failed. It’s a feeling I’m used to. I try not to get my hopes up ever for anything. Our family motto is “If something bad is going to happen it’s going to be to us”. Recently finding out my mom’s maiden name actually meant “dark stranger” or “sinister” in some translations didn’t surprise me at all. My mom couldn’t just get Lung Cancer. She had Cervical Cancer while pregnant with twins and had to have an emergency hysterectomy after we were born. Years later she then was diagnosed with Lung Cancer. Of course that isn’t what killed her, Congestive Heart Failure did several agonizing years later.

My father has 9 lives. I’m afraid they’re almost used up. From saving the kids stuck on the railroad tracks and almost getting himself killed, the Portuguese Man Of War, 2 bouts of Peritonitis, a Quadruple Bypass, Lyme Disease 2 times, ran over his foot with the lawn mower, a rare virus that destroyed his kidneys putting him on dialysis, Temporal Arteritis that they caught minutes before he stroked out, bursting his eardrum 4 times, Aortic Aneurysm, I’m pretty sure I’m missing stuff but you get the point. And you might have guessed he hates to go to the Doctor and waits until the last minute.

I’ve never won at Bingo, scratch cards, or any contests. The one contest I won was rigged so that everyone won. So I was excited for exactly one minute.

I wanted the Janie’s Got A Fund Fundraiser to work because I know it’s legit, it’s something I’ve experienced, it’s needed, and important.

It bothers me that so many in my family didn’t take me seriously or care. My sister was busy at the beach and then going to a concert and after party because her husband of course knew the band. He used to be in a side project with one of the women in the band. They were going to be hanging out in Newport for the entire day and night. I’m not sure if anyone knows much about Newport, R.I. but where they were going is pretty high end. It isn’t jealousy, it’s pain. A lot of pain. I bought some new colored pencils yesterday. That was my big day. And I actually washed my hair.

The first pic is my Dad with Nixon, the next is him probably getting his first bout of peritonitis in the Navy, and then my sweet beautiful mom. I’ve probably shown these before but I miss her unconditional love and his smile that disappeared with her. He used to make me laugh even when I didn’t want to. Now it’s mostly yelling and tears.

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