Warning: There is lots of foul language in this post. I am particularly fond of the F word and I use it a whole lot when I am angry. This is a letter to B and it comes off as narcissistic in some ways. Right now I do not care. I have come to the conclusion when relationships are shit and unhealthy it is difficult to not do things that are abusive. Even some things that are understandable responses can come across as abusive when coming in at that particular scene, not knowing history or even the events in the moments leading up to such a reaction.

I’m not justifying any sort of abusive behaviors. But I am trying to understand my reactions at times as I tend to go into fight mode when it comes to my relationship with B. Not physical fighting, but I do yell and berate and there’s a lot of wtf moments for me.


There is rage that builds up even after I release the initial rage and agitation. Likely because of the heaps and mounds of stress and bullshit already on my plate, in my life, on my mind, in my body.

But here I am, I can feel the rage rising. I could feel it as I drove away from you after dropping you off for a medical procedure I’m sure you were nervous about.  And I know my hesitation, shame and guilt about my anger is coming from the depths of my psyche. It was entrained into my brain that any sort of emotion other than being happy to serve is bad. It’s selfish, self centered and how dare I care about myself.

So now I’m entangled with a man who doesn’t take me much into consideration when it comes to certain things. It’s ironic that your major in college was communications, you even graduated, but your communication skills have always been shit since I’ve known you.

And although your issues are just that…YOURS! They effect me too.

For instance, twice now you had appointments with doctors recently and both times you went to the wrong fucking place. I don’t completely blame you for this, as I understand the possibility that the communication from the person who told you where to go, may not have been clear.  You were driving yourself at the time and even though it’s a bit irritating that you wasted time like that as well as gas, I wasn’t there, so I was able to do my own life without being all that impacted.

However, today, you needed a ride…which I had no and never would have a problem with. If I am available and capable of helping, (also something you hate communicating and asking for, but that’s beside this point) I am happy to help you. Despite my frustrations, I am writing out in this letter, I am certainly grateful for all you have done for me.

We left for your appointment today in plenty of time and I dropped you off, not able to wait as I had/have things to do today. However as I drove away to get on with my afternoon, before needing to pick you up later, you called to tell me you were in the wrong place…again.

“Okay” I say and drive back to pick you up. Expecting the worst from me of course, since that is our history together, you want to get in the car asap and so you start walking toward the car, while it’s still moving. I relate this to stress and fear and immediately feel like the bad guy. I know you were not thinking straight. I feel like a horrible person.

This relationship has gotten so sick that I know I need to leave. I feel like all I do is hurt you. I blame myself some days and other days I see the dysfunctional dynamic so clearly.  I try to tell myself that it’s only my actions and behaviors I can control and then in the stressful situation or what feels like a repeat of the same old shit and I react the same old way.

I’m a trapped animal lashing out.

I really wasn’t all that pissed off about this mistake at first. I blamed the miscommunication on the doctor’s office. But then you didn’t know where you did have to go and so I pulled over in a busy McDonald’s parking lot, so you could look up directions. So you could call the office.

Knowing I was pissed, you were stressed. Could not think straight. I was getting more and more agitated. Where the fuck are we going? Why is this being figured out now when you were supposed to be at the appointment ten fucking minutes ago?

I didn’t say all that while we were sitting in the car. But I was certainly saying something. Being berating. Being agitated. Sick of the situation and how we seem to get stuck in this kind of bullshit time and time again.

And you know why??? (Well besides the fact that I should’ve taken my own life by the reins years ago and left this sick, dysfunctional hell.)

All it would’ve taken to avoid driving to the wrong place, wasting time, not knowing where the fuck the destination was, was to CALL THE OFFICE AND FIND OUT FOR SURE! Especially since you’d already been to the wrong place twice before.

So now I’m anxious, overwhelmed and so pissed off that I can’t think straight. I have a life to pull together and every time I make a plan, even write it the fuck out on paper, something happens to sabotage it in one way or another. For fucks sake, give me some space to get a fucking foot hold!

Or no, maybe you like it this way? Maybe you just want to keep me down and miserable because that’s where you are? I know you would say no, that’s not how it is. Consciously speaking, you probably want the best for me. You told me once before that if I were to go, you’d be alright. But subconsciously, Idk, it seems like maybe you are sabotaging at every turn. But I could say the same. I suppose I should’ve known that you might end up in the wrong place again, since I knew about the other two times. And I should’ve said, “Dude, call that office and make sure we go to the right place the first time. I don’t want to drive in the shitty traffic around here more than necessary. Make that phone call and save us any possible aggravation and stress.”

But I didn’t.

I mean, if for no other reason to call, (because God forbid, you reach out and ask for clarification/help), you could’ve at least done it for me.

I want to be taken care of in such a way that you think to yourself, “Hey you know, I’ve made the mistake of turning up in the wrong place twice. Lemme call this doc office and double check on the location (even though I’m fairly certain as to where I’m going) so as not to cause a lot of stress for Tiger, who is being so kind as to give me a ride to this appointment. I know how much she hates Delco traffic and I know how stressed she gets when she has to drive longer than necessary or when I’m not sure where to go. And hey, in doing that, I limit my stress as well.”

I’m realizing today that I was taught, both insidiously and directly at times, that stating my anger and frustration after the fact, about my own stress and agitation and anger, is wrong. Especially when in such a situation where you have some medical issues to tend to.  Basically I was taught that it’s not okay to be angry in such a circumstance. I should have compassion…all compassion…no other emotion is okay.

As I said to you in the car, the communication issues are not just one problem, that issue creates a whole shit ton of them as a result of not simply opening your mouth and asking a quick and simple question or in other cases, opening your mouth and making a quick and simple statement.

If you’d just do that, it would save so much aggravation for you, for me and for both of us as a (couple?)

Sometimes I feel like I can’t get away from you fast enough.

So now that you’ve sucked my attention away from what I really need to be doing, I’ll sign off.



Death of a Cousin: I’m in Some Shock at the Moment

I went down to start some laundry and when I got back upstairs I saw I had a text.  Less than an hour ago I’d been texing with my old neighbor about me taking care of their cats, with a couple visits each day to feed them and scoop their litter boxes, while the humans (my old neighbors) are out of town,

So I thought it was another text from him or his wife. Not sure why though since we’d settled everything we needed to.

But it wasn’t them.

It was my cousin. He wrote, “Sorry I thought I texted this to you yesterday. And then there was a screen shot from his Facebook page.  He was thanking friends and family for support throughout his sister’s (also my cousin obviously) fight with cancer.  And then it said when the service is and all that.

It was a shock. She’s only three years older than me. I had no idea she had cancer in the first place. The cousin who texted me never mentioned it. When I first read, I missed the part where he wrote “my sister” and just saw the name. The name of his sister is also the name of a second cousin of ours. She is my father’s and uncle’s cousin and I thought at first it was her that had passed. She is around my father’s age so that would’ve made sense. But then I read it again, slowly and saw it was indeed his sister/my cousin.

I started to text a message of condolence but I stopped because I would want to say something about whether I’ll attend the service or not in addition to my sympathies. I’m sure I would be welcome by my cousins, etc. BUT…if you’ve read most of my blog, you know the apprehension I have.

I’ll give a bit of history here because there was no closeness between my cousin who just died and myself. Idk, once we’d grown up and out of childhood, when I did see her, which was rare, I sort of felt put off by her. Like a snobby kind of attitude when she’d talk to me. But then I also would question whether it was insecurity and shyness on her part.

These cousins are my father’s brother’s kids. They are my only first cousins on that side as my father only had a brother.  There are/were five siblings. Four girls/women and one boy/man.

The man, Matt, is the only one I have any contact with at all really, unless circumstances just so happen to present themselves otherwise. And those circumstances in the past, I-don’t-know-how-many-years, have only presented themselves by death. Plenty of deaths have occurred of our elders: grandparents, parents, a great aunt.  But now a cousin. Fuck!

After the initial shock and feeling horrible for my cousins for losing their sister, (particularly the youngest cousin because the two of them were best friends) I was like, “Oh god, should I go? Will my siblings be there? Will my mother be there?”

I don’t feel strong enough to see my brother, sister or mother. But that feels self-centered. I also feel like I owe my cousin Matt… and there’s the obligation. He’s helped me out in the past years and he’s become the cousin I have felt most comfortable talking to and keeping in touch with…once in a while. We don’t talk often and lately what correspondence we’ve had it’s been in private messages on FB and then texting.

He’s a cop and so I turned to him for some help with the noise disturbance next door. And now I’m kicking myself for that!  I mean, here he is worried about his sister right? And I’m texting about a noise nuisance/disturbance he can’t do anything about because it’s not in his area or even county.

The service is at 10 am tomorrow (Wednesday). It’s about a 45 minute drive to a place I’m not familiar with. Not that the lack of familiarity is a big deal but just wanted to mention it because it’s not like it would be a drive where I could just sit back and not think about where I’m going.

When we were really young the two families saw each other for Christmas at our mutual grandparents’ house and then later my aunt and uncle would have Christmas. We did the same in the summer for cook-outs, starting at the grandparents’ and then when they were too old to host, we moved it to the cousins’ house.

But once our grandparents’ both passed, we didn’t really have any contact with each other.  As I said, we’d have contact when someone died. My oldest cousin came up from Florida to visit my father when he was sick and attended the service as well. And of course without asking, I know she will be attending her sister’s funeral. In fact I’m sure she’s already in the area and was right by her sister’s side when she passed. They were all with her, according to the text I just received from Matt and I have no reason to doubt that. Those siblings have a bond that my siblings and I never developed.

I won’t get into how I know that, that’s not my story. But I’m well aware of the closeness they share.

All of this is of course thinking out loud. Attending this funeral gives me anxiety just thinking about it. It’s not like I haven’t thought about this kind of thing when I decided to cut my siblings and mother out of my life. But now that a circumstance has arisen, I have no idea how to handle it.

Feasibly and logistically, even with the short notice, I could make it. It won’t be easy because I’m sure I won’t sleep too well tonight and my body is used to getting up no earlier these days than 9 am. I will be tired because of the lack of sleep and then as a result even more vulnerable to any sort of emotion that were to arise in seeing my siblings and my mother.

It’s not all that likely that my siblings will go. But I don’t really know for sure. My mother lives in Florida and unless she was already aware that my cousin was ill, (which is possible despite these cousins not being her blood. They love her, particularly my oldest cousin), she likely won’t make it up here for the funeral.

It is way too short notice for B to come with me for emotional support as well. His work is getting busy at this point. Usually taking off requires some notice. There are exceptions when it’s slow or maybe if it was his sibling, that would be different obviously. But in this situation, I’m pretty sure he would not be able to go.

Before I File it Away: Letter from the Ex Therapist

The date on the letter is 3/15, the date on the envelope from the postal service is 3/19. So about a month this thing has been sitting in my ‘to be filed pile.’  But I wanted to share and post about it before putting it away somewhere, probably not to be seen anytime in the near future, if at all, until I sort through to trash some stuff.

Just to explain a little: The policy for the DBT program I was in, if I can explain it right. Basically if you miss 4 appointments in a row, you’re out. Well if you’ve been reading, you know why I didn’t show up and it’s not acknowledged in the letter.

It felt a bit like being gas lit when I read it…as if she expected me to show up. WT actual F?

So, here’s what the letter said:

Dear Tiger (LOL…she didn’t really type that on the letter. But that would be cool if she did.)
Due to your failure to attend scheduled therapy sessions on 2/21, 2/28, 2/7* and 3/15, per department policy, I have transferred your case back to case management. In the future if you wish to reconnect with a therapist you can do so by contacting case management. In the interim, please continue to see your psychiatrist and take your medications as prescribed. I hope you are doing well.


Shitty Therapist with Codependency Issues (She didn’t sign it like this, but it would’ve been cool if she had.)

A bit insulting and triggering. I know it’s a form letter and all, but I don’t take medication. And she knows that. No wonder I put it in the pile for a while.

It belongs in a pile all right!

It’s not all that surprising, but it still hurt. Like I just blew it all off for no reason.

*Pretty sure that’s a mistake. I would say that I’m sure it is because of chronological numbers and all that. But I don’t want to make any assumptions here. It’s probably supposed to be 3/7 NOT 2/7.

Anyone Know Anything About the Logistics of Reporting Bad Therapists?

Now that some time has gone by, I’m doing some serious thinking about reporting the two therapists from my DBT group, one having been my individual therapist.

The one who was the active asshole in the incident was not my individual therapist. My individual therapist however, did just stand back and allow it to happen. The passive one. (Codependent I would say if I ventured a guess as she seems to give a lot of fucks what people think of her.)

I’m not going to tell the whole story again. I wrote two posts about it back when it happened. It probably needs some work but you can read about it here and here.

I have found some pretty decent information about how to report, as in what to say, which is to keep emotion out of it, don’t educate anyone and just stick to facts of what happened.

Thing is, I’m not finding much info on where to go or how much time I have to report it. I know there is a statute of limitations, which I need to find out first.

I’m in PA. Southeastern PA. I don’t live in the nearest city and did not receive this shitty treatment in the city. Therapy happened within the same county, but two different towns.

Another thing that really annoys me (well not REALLY annoys but annoys me a little) is that almost all the info on reporting therapists for abusive behavior pertains to sexual abuse. Which is good! Don’t get me wrong. That is worse than what happened to me. I fully acknowledge that. I read a story or two on that happening and just reading about it is traumatizing. I would be beyond devastated if that happened to me.

I was not sexually abused by these therapists. But they still caused me a lot of distress and even saw the distress that I was caused. I  I was emotionally abused and I would also put the incident under psychological abuse. That is what I want to report. What they did was not sexual abuse, but it was still quite harmful. And if they behaved the same toward someone else, someone younger, someone in an even more frail condition than I was in, well, it could have some irreversible consequences for that person. And if my reporting that could stop that, well, I feel that I should do that.

In addition, I feel that this could be a necessary thing for part of my own healing process. I have been walked on and treated like crap my entire life by so many people and frankly I’m tired of people getting away with it because I “let it go,” walk away with my tail between my legs and never speak up about this kind of shit.

I don’t necessarily think that what happened to me is cause for either of the therapists to lose their licenses, but  I do think their behavior needs some attention. Although it’s true I would not have wanted to have been stopped from running out of the building at the time, my desire to do so could’ve been doused by knowledgeable and decent therapists.  Instead I drove home (a half hour drive) crying uncontrollably.

Not only was I not treated correctly by the therapists present at the time, my trauma and I were not taken into consideration one iota when some elusive team I have never met decided that I was the one who needed to make amends to be able to continue attending the program.

If nothing comes of it, I at least know I did my part in bringing attention to their very irresponsible behavior.  And if I was the mother of a kid who this happened to, you can bet I’d make a bunch of noise and probably would have already reported it.

Personal Girl/Woman Stuff: A Bit About Neglect

There is something to be said for staying in a fog of depression, agitation with the present and irritability with the people around you that didn’t cause the trauma.

There are aspects of it that make things easier. You don’t have to feel the pain of the events that come to mind during moments out of the fog.

You don’t have to ruminate on it and think it to death trying to feel better about it. Trying to make sense of it. Trying to think and talk it away to yourself.

It just feels better to keep those memories at bay because it hurts too intensely to realize the depth of neglect in important aspects of your life as you grew into the self you would never actually know.

No wonder so many of us turn to drugs, alcohol and people who use us. Anything to dull it. Anything to just escape the fact that we weren’t loved.

The above thoughts come from remembering that I was expected to stay at the house when I was 13 (in 8th grade) while my parents were still at work, while my siblings could go do whatever the fuck they wanted outside the house. I mean, I could be around the house, but not two blocks away where my (supposed) best friend lived at the time.

Thing is, I didn’t usually ‘stick around.’ And if I did it was because my friend was there with me.

I got paid 5 bucks as allowance for this each week. It was plenty to keep me in cigarettes (yep, I smoke at the age of 13) but that was about it.

What could a 13 use money for? Well, clothes for one thing. I had clothes. My mother met my needs for the necessities for the most part. But I liked to go to the mall and there were times that I saw things I would’ve like to buy. I wasn’t spend crazy though. I’m just talking about an album here and a pair of jeans there. Not a lot of shit that I didn’t need.  It would’ve been nice to have a bigger collection of music (albums). But I was pretty much convince that asking for more than what I was already getting would just be responded to with a no. So I didn’t usually ask.

The thing though that really hurts though is that as I was coming of age so to speak. My chest grew pretty rapidly, like over night. I’d had a trainer bra in my drawer for a couple years that I hadn’t touched but it finally came to the point that I could not deny that my body had changed, as much as I had not wanted it to at that time.  I was very subconscious about it and I remember one summer I would walk around the pool (at the swim club we belonged to), with one arm folded over its opposite shoulder to try to hide myself, until I got into the pool.

That trainer bra though, I wore that thing out and I’d grown out of it long before I wore it out.

So where was my mother at this point? This woman did my laundry. She’d have seen the bra wearing out, getting holes in it. And then she would’ve noticed my body and that I had grown too big for a fucking trainer bra! I was a kid and not comfortable with such a big change. I still wanted to be a tom boy and that had been made difficult. I didn’t want to grow up quite yet. I wasn’t ready. I was embarrassed by my body’s changes. And I wasn’t comfortable bringing it up to my mother.  She was the adult. She owed me the reality check.

Eventually of course I finally admitted to myself that I had to do something other than wear a trainer bra. But I keep thinking about how mothers are supposed to gently nudge a young daughter into that reality. She could’ve said something like this: “I think it’s time we get you out of that trainer bra. Why don’t we go shopping for some bras that fit.”

I’ll admit that my memory isn’t perfect and she may have done that.  But I do remember that I was wearing that one trainer for way too long.

Magnesium: Depression

I stumbled upon a book at the library a couple weeks ago after going there to simply get out of the apartment. As I sat a table, after writing something out in my journal, I perused the bookshelf nearby. I saw a book called Magnificent Magnesium: Your Essential Key to a Healthy Heart & More.  I debated on getting up to get it out from where it was wedged between the other books. I thought, “I’ve already read about and listened to stuff about magnesium.”

The thing I’ve run into when taking it in the past, is that it makes me tired and super groggy in the morning. Of course there’s the GI issues too, but sometimes that’s a good thing. Besides, I’ve learned since then that there is a sweet spot when it comes to magnesium and each person is different when it comes to that.

I decided to grab it because I believe that it would not have been standing out to me if there wasn’t something in there I needed to read and know. It got my attention in the first place because of the subtitle. The heart palpitations had been a problem again, with all the stress going on with dick face speaker boy here. So I went for it. (Sorry for the vulgar language. Whenever I even think about that asshole next door I get a sudden case of tourettes. Not being funny either. I’ve never been so disgusted with another human in my entire life like I am about him. And I’ve been through some shit.)

So back to Mg: I have read about plenty of things that I’ve put into practice and then stopped for various reasons.

I already knew that magnesium is calming, and with the rage, anxiety, irritability and agitation, I wonder why I didn’t keep pursuing magnesium. And in actuality I have…off and on.

So after reading most of this book, I started taking it again. I already had some magnesium citrate (Calm brand) so I finished off some capsules I’d made a while back and then made more.  And that was before I came to the part in the book where the author explains the ailments it helps other than heart issues.

So just below is the part where he describes how it helps depression. I found it interesting and a big reason to continue taking the supplement.  When I make capsules I have no way of measuring so I have no idea how many milligrams is in each one. I just take one when I feel the need.  And just a minute ago I felt the need after writing about noise-boy. My heart actually went into arrhythmia. From what I understand the heart and adrenals (which release stress hormones under stress are quite closely related. But then again, everything is connected in our bodies so…)

I wanted to share this here for my own benefit but also for others because those of us who have any effects from trauma at all…well depression is usually part of that. I hope this can help someone. There are other common ailments that the author covers in short sections that are helped by magnesium: asthma, chronic fatigue and chronic fatigue syndrome, chronic pain, fibromyalgia, headache and migraine, gastrointestinal problems, heavy metal toxicity, kidney stones, osteoporosis, premenstrual syndrome and sleep disorders.

All this being said, I am not claiming that magnesium is the end all/be all. I am finding that this time around, it’s helping…a lot. I don’t mean that I’m cured and I no longer effected by the effects of trauma. I’m just saying that at this point in time after having taken it and struggled through some morning grogginess, I am feeling less rage, less anxiety, especially when driving, less agitation, less irritability, and a bit more organized thinking. Oh, and it calms the heart palps within a half hour and usually less, generally.

The following is quoted from the book mentioned above.


“While magnesium is certainly not a complete solution for depression, research does indicate that it can be very helpful for easing the symptoms, potentially resolving them completely and reducing the risk of their recurrence. In fact, because of the mental health benefits magnesium can provide, Dr. Emily Deans, a practicing psychiatrist, referred to it as “the original chill pill” in an article published online by Psychology Today. As she wrote, “When you start to untangle the effects of magnesium in the nervous system, you touch upon nearly every single biological mechanism for depression.”

Magnesium helps to protect against depression in a number of ways. First, when present in the body in optimal amounts, it regulates the activity of both calcium and glutamate, which are found in the synapses between the cells of the nervous system, or neurons. Among other functions, calcium and glutamate serve to activate a part of the neurons called the N-methyl D-aspartate (NMDA)receptor, which plays a role in both memory function and the ability of the synapses to adapt in response to nerve impulses. When levels of magnesium are low, calcium and glutamate build up, triggering the NMDA receptor too frequently.  This excess activity in the NMDA receptor is correlated with higher rates of both anxiety and depression. In addition, this activity can also lead to neuron damage or death. As George and Karen Eby write, “Without magnesium, the neuron operates much like an automobile without brakes, blasting calcium through the synapses, causing great harm to the brain, with severe disruption of thinking, mood and behavior.” (Bold mine.) Sufficient levels of magnesium prevent this cascade of events from happening by regulating the calcium and glutamate that cause the initial damage.

The second way by which magnesium protects against anxiety and depression has to do with its ability to buffer the effects of stress. As this chapter shows, long-term exposure to stress can result in sleep disorders and chronic inflammation, both of which are independent risk factors for anxiety and depression. In addition, the brain’s memory center, the hippocampus, is particularly sensitive to the stress hormone cortisol. When exposed to excess levels of that stress hormone, the hippocampus can become damaged or even atrophy–waste away. Recent studies have shown that this smaller or partially impaired hippocampus* (asterisk mine: see below) is highly correlated with major depressive disorder.

How can magnesium help? As explained previously, magnesium helps regulate cortisol, effectively buffering the effects of stress and limiting the toll it takes on your body and brain. In a research paper, the Ebys examined multiple case histories of patients who suffered from major depression, and found that all of the patients experienced rapid recovery in less than seven days after using 125-300 milligrams of magnesium with each meal and at bedtime. They also found that magnesium supplementation improved related mental illnesses, including traumatic brain injury, headache, suicidal ideation, anxiety, irritability, insomnia, postpartum depression, cocaine, alcohol and tobacco abuse, hypersensitivity to calcium, short-term memory loss and IQ loss. Clearly magnesium has enormous significance for the treatment of psychological disorders.”

*Hippocampus Functions Brief overview of what the hippocampus is and what it does. There is also suggested further reading at the end of this short article.

I think that the hippocampus is a huge key to the healing of PTSD whatever form it takes.

Also, here’s a link to descriptions of the different types of magnesium to help you decide which one might be the right one for you.

Kicking Myself for Not Doing this Before Yesterday: Spoke to a Lawyer

I talked to a lawyer yesterday. He’s a (sort of) friend. I know him through an old boyfriend from years ago and he had helped with something a long time ago. And then I recommended him to a friend of mine for something he’d needed a lawyer for. I recommend him every time someone mentions or asks about a lawyer.

I wish I had called him way back in October, when speaker-boy started his bullshit.

Of course I could sue, but it would take money up front apparently.  What I could’ve done from the beginning is inform my landlord (Nasty) about the noise disturbance/nuisance.   Which actually I did do.

Her response was that she had not noticed it and that if it bothers me to go talk to him.

Now I believe more than before that she is full of shit.

Because it’s in the lease that tenants have the right to peaceful enjoyment of the property, it is actually her responsibility to take care of it.  Being a landlord, I’m willing to bet she knows that. Also, she’s proven time and time again that she is a denial and deflection freak. So to pretend she didn’t notice the noise (loud ass banging noise right next to our windows?) Yeah, right!

If I’d spoken to my lawyer friend earlier, I would’ve known this and could’ve texted back to her bullshit response. “Actually, whether you notice it or not, it’s happening, and infringing on our peaceful enjoyment of the apartment that we are renting from you. Peaceful enjoyment is part of the lease that you are responsible for holding up. Having this noise nuisance next door is indeed your responsibility to have it stopped. Because of speaker-boy and his big banging noise next door, you are actually in violation of that part of the lease, more so, if you do nothing about it.”

(She could’ve sued the owner of the building. Actually the first step would be to have a lawyer send a letter to the owner/RE company office and tell them to have it stopped.)

To a knowledgeable text response from me, I’m sure she would’ve still come back with a reply that once again deflected any responsibility, but at least I would’ve gotten across that I know what the fuck the law is. In addition, by that time, we were month to month so there wasn’t and still isn’t much leverage on my (and B’s) part.

(The presence of the noise actually would give us the right to break the lease. But that would also involve a lawyer probably too.)

If speaker boy was still making as much noise as he was before, it might make sense to put that shit in writing even this far along. (But again there is a leverage problem.)  Also, at the moment, he has quieted down…to an extent. And I’m always afraid to say anything anywhere, anytime to this effect, because I tend to have that jinx cloud following me around.

So tonight when that fucker gets home, he’ll probably blast us again. I don’t doubt it will start up again at some point if he doesn’t get out.

Recap here: I was eventually able to find out the owner of the building over there, that houses that asshole, but not only did it take a while to find out who owns it, it also took awhile before speaker-dick got any type of message, through the apparent thick skull that sits atop his shoulders.

And still, it’s obviously still not quite clear to him. He still drives in and out with the noise blasting loud from his car and then turns it off. Thing is, with the shit he’s already pulled, for as long as he’s pulled it, I don’t want to hear a single fucking peep out of anything he owns that makes any kind of noise.

It’s just common courtesy anyway to turn it the fuck down before pulling into the parking lot coming home and not turning it up until you are out of the parking lot when your leaving.

I mean, what the fuck is so hard about that?

So I’m thinking I’ll be calling the RE office again or maybe I’ll email the woman (contact) about it and see if that eviction I was told about is still the plan. (I’m willing to bet it’s not.)   And let her know about the continuing loud noise since, even though it’s usually a short amount of time, as he turns off his car, it’s still long enough and loud enough to wake someone up.

Reblog: A poem my friend Bethany wrote for me

A tiny fairy rested her chin on the edge of a lily pad A few strands of the curls of her hair straightened as they stretched in the current of the water She wrote words with her small fingertip In the blue Her letters disappeared In the breath she blew The water rippled It always […]

via Poetry : for my friend sleeping tiger — NOT MY SECRET…the journey towards healing from abuse

I made a comment about the photo above and said, when I was little and would see a lily pad, I would imagine myself really tiny and sitting on it. Bethany came up with the above poem.

Click the link above to read the whole thing.

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Flood in the Basement

I shouldn’t write about this because it pisses me off so much. But I’m keeping record of the asshole downstairs that owns this shit hole and takes no responsibility for any fucking thing.

See, I told you I was pissed. When every other word is fuck then that’s how you know I’m pissed. So pissed I could spit in the face of the person I’m so pissed at.  Fuck this asshole.

B was on his way out and had already started some laundry.  He was supposed to be going to a pet store to get some cat litter but had to stop and clean up the flood the washer/basin caused in the basement.

This is the second time this happened here.  And it’s because the evil bitch is too lazy and cheap to keep up with the pipes around here.

NOTE: We have never had this problem before, either collectively or apart. If I include all the places that had a washer and dryer that I’ve lived in with my parents AND by myself and with B, that’s NINE places (not including this shithole) and NEVER one single flood from a washer.

B has lived in less places but has also never experienced this. Until now.

So who and what is the problem exactly??? Well according to Nasty, not her.

There is also an same with the ducts that push heat and air. We have an apartment full of dust. ALL THE TIME. I can dust and the next day there is a layer of dust all over everything.

I know dust is a thing. Things get dusty. But again, I’ve lived in 10 places, with my family, by myself and with B. (One place didn’t have a a washer and drier.) And never a flood.

B texted her to let her know there is a problem and that the basement flooded. Why either one of us bother, who the fuck knows because she just throws it back on us as if it’s our fault.

Why are we even still here?

Fuck this! If you don’t see me around here for awhile, I’m getting myself together to get out of here and live someplace more pleasant. Enough is enough. For fucks sake!