Suicidal ideations, under extreme stress, are normal to my brain chemistry, thanks to probably brain injury and PTSD.I am surrounded by, at best, indifference and, at worst, contempt, hostility and cruelty.
I have no close friends or family.
I have 3 weeks to clear out this apt. and move to Ft. Sumner.
Br has gone back on everything to which she had agreed and I can't trust her.
I don't know why she wanted me to move to her place. I think she wanted a hostage to orbit around her constant chaos, upset and rage.
She won't let me rent office space, as SHE offered, months ago. Therefore, I won't be able to do radio for months, until I can save up enough for an office.
I can't do my independent producer's grant ($900) project; I won't have access to telephone or internet until I can afford an office.
Most of my things, and my chikens, ducks and goats, are down there already.
I'm bringing the 2nd to last load down on sept. 3 or 4. The last load is being stored in the next door neighbor's yard until I return to Albq. in Oct for a dr's appt.
Severe thunderstorms & flash flood watches were all over the Ft. Sumner area. The next town east clocked a wind gust at above-hurricane velocity.
My animals are trapped in a small pen, without enough shelter or protection from flash flooding. Br has NOT been giving Willy his medicine, as she'd volunteered.
With wind like that, I don't even know if the trailer is still standing.
My power tools "disappeared" between my 1st & 2nd trips down there. Br claims she has no idea what's happened to them.
I am not wanted nor welcomed anywhere.
Rachel calls me a liar, manipulator, cheat and "mentally ill." She steps on my belongings, drops and breaks them. I told her to leave last time she was here, because she was being rude and abusive. She FORCED her way back into the house and refused to leave until I finished washing her clothes.
Paul has been considerate and supportive. He advaned me some funds for the move; I'm to transcribe some of his old radio broadcasts for his website.
Mostly, I'm alone all day, surrounded by the chaos of moving. I wake, before dawn, to drudgery and not enough food. I work until I'm too tired and try to sleep mid day, as the neighbor's dog SCREAMS for hours and telemarketers call, asking for Rachel. I tell them she beat me in the head last xmas and moved out. I don't know why they're calling MY phone number, asking for her.
Cruelty.
I can't tell my therapist I'm suicidal, or she'll have me committed.
So, on top of all the other filth, evil and garbage I must deal with, I have to TRY to fight constant ideas o suicide, all alone, with no support. I can't tell anybody.
Judith sent $35 for my birthday. I bought some dog food today. I'm hoarding the rest, as Br racked up a big long distance bill for me last month, calling my 800 # sometimes 6 times a day, looking for her drunken husband.
I agreed to pick him up at the bus station at 3 am one night before I drove down there last time. He was supposed to help me pack for a few days & drive down with me so Br could take him to rehab in Clovis.
He came in the day we were to leave from an AA club house and announced he got a ride to Clovis and was leaving right then.
I said, but you promised to help me pack.
He said, I'm not losing Br, and walked out.
So, he ate about $25 in food, smoked about 5 packs of my cigarettes, misplaced my hairbrush & comb and left his filthy clothes and shoes here -- I threw them out.
He didn't thank me. He just left.
I finished packing myself.
3 hrs. later, Br called and said, I don't think you should move down here......
I know she was mad because Zack left.
I said, what should I have done? Nailed his feet to the floor?
Every dime i had is wrapped up in the move; the truck was full; my animals were already down there & I couldn't get them; I had no money to rent storage or pay rent and deposit on a new apartment up here, cuz I'd spent it on gas to go there.
I talked her down, but she's been worse and worse, ever since: Accusing me of things I didn't do, getting mad at me for doing things SHE had suggested, painting me into corners and scaring the hell out of me.
I am NOT looking forward to moving down there. I'm not wanted.
She must've talked shit about me to her mom, in the car with the girls. Amanda got mad at me -- sweet, gentle, tolerant Amanda. She said I should go back to albq., that I'd taken her dad's things out of that filthy trailer. I'd had to clean the whole thing, before I could evn unpack the truck. It was FILTH. The refrigerator even had food in it that had been rotting for YEARS.
Nobody would care if I died on the side of the road. If I break down, I'll have no cell phone & no one to call, anyway. What would happen to my animals, my writing?
Death stalk me, with a diagnois of emphysema. Think I'm going to try to quit smoking right now, you're nuts.
I'm trapped. I'm running out of food, toilet paper, gas. I won't spend any more money until the end of the month bills clear. I'm havig to take handouts.
I don't want to live like that again. After 14 yrs. in the War zone, after spending my young adult hood and most of my life dumpster diving, shop lifting, going to food pantries..... I can't do it anymore.
I'm a loser. Nobody wants me. My life is a pile of shit.
What's the damned point?
THAT's what's in my head, all the time, as I struggle to pack the truck and clean out the apartment.
For what?
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