THE TRUTH IS MESSIE…

My e-journal, all the nitty-gritty, overly-emotional, sappy stuff…

Merry, Merry… December 25, 2013

Well, all the stockings are stuffed and hung up, all the presents are wrapped and piled under the tree, and the kiddies are all fast asleep (though unlikely about sugar plums, I’m sure). So now for some ME time…a rarity for me on Christmas Eve. This is one of the first times in as long as I can remember that I haven’t spent Christmas Eve running around trying to get everything bought and wrapping into the wee hours. Yes, I’m one of those last-minute shoppers. Guilty as charged. It’s not that I forget or can’t do it…I just really, really dislike shopping. Especially Christmas shopping. I know, I know–a woman who hates to shop–oh the blasphemy!! Haha. Sorry, but it’s true. I don’t mind it if I have an idea of what I’m getting or something specific to buy, but just going and shopping for the hell of it–yeah, no that’s not my thing. Firstly, ever since that situation years back, I hate the crowds and I can’t sand to be around a lot of people at the same time. I get all claustrophobic and anxious and my anxiety level goes through the roof and start feeling panicked. Secondly, I hate the lines–yeah, I’m not patient at all. No offense, but some people are absolutely bat-shit crazy when it comes to shopping. I mean Black Friday shopping one thing–but some people are like that no matter what the occasion. I must say I do find it a little humorous when people go all ape-sh*t over sales though. Most of them completely oblivious to the fact that what the store is actually doing is inflating the price, then dropping it back down to the original (or thereabouts) price…therefore not “saving” the customer much at all, if anything. It’s a ploy to make it appear that it does, but it’s not. So in that respect…yes, it’s a little funny, or it is to me at least.

Anywho….whatever shall I do with my free time… hmm, what to do. Me thinks I’ll do a little more “fine-pointing” on the details on my upcoming move. Yep. I’m leaving. For real this time. I’ve already decided and I’m not changing my mind this time. I’m doing it on my own, so there’s no hiccups to hold the move off or people changing their minds. And no one gets to have a say this time either. I don’t want anyone’s opinion or input. Nothing. Nada, Zilch. Nothing. That’s what’s been at the root of all this…me listening to what everyone else wants and to hell with myself and what I want. Well, not anymore. Now I’m doing things for myself and to hell with the rest of them.

I need to get away from here. Away from THEM. I just can’t take it anymore. I’m so miserable here and people are cruel. And by people–for the most part–I mean my family. Things aren’t going so well lately…again. In fact, things have pretty much gone to hell in recent weeks…more so than usual. Which is saying a lot. My grams and I are at war with one another right now and we’re not on speaking terms at the moment. She and I got into big time last week. I had my niece’s concert to go to one night and planned to drive to my sister’s right after it was over for the arrival of the twins. As I was packing my things, I learned that one of my journals was missing. Naturally, I flipped out. I know it’s my brother who took it because he’s one of the only ones who would stoop that low and do something like that. After all, he’s done it before. I was pissed and refused to go anywhere until my grams made him give it back. But she wouldn’t do a damn thing. She just told me that I was being selfish and to pull it together. Oh how I lost it after she said that. “Pull it together”–she really said that. That’s when I let her have it. I mean hell, doesn’t she know that all I’ve been doing  is “pulling it together.” all these years. Since the rape, I’ve done nothing but suck it up. I had to.  I couldn’t tell her or anyone else, for that matter, about the rape or the abortion I’d had. I was too ashamed and scared to say anything. I wouldn’t have been able to face her I don’t think if I had. I’ve kept the secret from her all these years. It wasn’t until the other night that I actually told her–and that was out of pure fury, more than anything else. She insinuated like I was overreacting and that it was just a stupid notebook. So much for what she knows. It’s a hell of a lot more than that, damn it. It’s so, so much more. It’s hundreds of pages of my heart and soul. It’s all of me, all that I have. Which is one of the main reasons why I want it back. Every minute that it’s in my brother’s hands, it has the ability to inflict and release a whole lot of HELL. Just like it did the last time when he stole my journal, read it, and spent every chance he could throwing all my secrets and regrets in my face. The rape, too. That the biggest blow. He used that night to beat me down. He even took it to a further vindictive level going so far as to embellish on my attack by calling me a whore and accusing me of having sex with half a dozen guys at that party, which is NOT true. My grams is always telling me to ignore him, but how the hell am I supposed to do that when he’s using that night–and that HELL–against me? I know they’re just words, but words hurt. God, they hurt so damn much. I wish I could say that they don’t, but they do. I wish it were that easy to just ignore him, but it’s not that easy. At all.

She can accuse me of overreacting, but I’m not. It’s called self-preservation. I need that journal before he starts gathering up everything he needs to use for his verbal attack arsenal. There’s too much in that journal that he could find to use against me. And he’ll do it the first chance he gets.  I know it. Which is why I’m so damn scared. God-knows what he will tell everyone. I  don’t want the world knowing my business or getting in the way of my life. The last thing I need is for the words I wrote and the secrets to get out, especially in this small town. Everyone knows too much about everyone as it is.  I don’t feel like giving them any more ammunition, and I won’t–not if I have anything to say about it.

I hate him. I really do. He used to be my brother, but he’s turned into someone else entirely. He’s a monster and vindictive son-of-a-bitch, he really is. My grams can say what she wants, but I know exactly what he’s capable of…and the damage he can cause. So while it might not mean anything to her, it DOES mean something to me. And knowing that–she still sided and defended him. So I told her I was done with her. Done with all her bullshit and her assumptions and accusations and her just plain bitching. So done. She thinks she knows everything. She thinks she knows me. Well…she doesn’t. She doesn’t know a damn thing about me or who I am. And she hasn’t for a long time. The longer I stay, the worse it’ll get. So I have to leave. Call it running away, call it impulsive, call it reckless…call if anything you want. I call it self-preservation…

Anyhow, enough with the negative…Merry Christmas y’all!!! 🙂

xoxo,

MESSIE

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