Brother to My Rescue

I talked with Mom today about reporting the guys. She couldn't really talk and express her thoughts because Dad was home and he still doesn't know what happened. In fact, he's still mad at me about exfiance.

It breaks my heart that I cannot go to my dad for support with this stuff because he would have a heart attack or stroke, probably both. He would call his brothers, and all of them and all of the buddies he calls would end up in jail with either murder charges or charges for severely beating exboyfriend's and exfiance's asses.

While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, all I want is for him to hug me and tell me he's sorry that it happened to me. I want him to tell me he is there for me and wants to support me. I want to know that he still sees me as his little girl even though I've been dragged through the mud and the muck and am defiled in the worst ways possible. I want him to tell me he believes me and that we will get this whole mess sorted out legally and nobody but the guys that can't keep their dicks to themselves will be ending up in jail and probably, eventually, prison.

That's what I want. But that's not how life works.

So, I told my Mom that I have been seriously considering reporting these guys today. That took a lot of guts on my end and I was hoping she would be supportive. She couldn't even say what was on her mind but she told me it is a bad idea because it will get back around to the uncles, their families, Mema, and then Dad. Therefore, she said, it is better for me to not report it so that Dad and the family don't find out and don't have backlash.

Excuse me for believing that reporting these assholes was going to better the world somehow. Forgive me for finally being able to see beyond not wanting to hurt them in their lives even though my life is completely ruined, I have worse psych problems than before, and I'm hanging on by a fucking thread! Apparently trying to lock these fuckers away so that they don't do this to any other girls is the wrong thing to do an I should deal with this bullshit on my own for the rest of my life, because I'm going to die alone caring for everyone else but me. Pardon me, it was my bad. Social justice cannot be served in the way that would prevent this from happening to others. Legal justice cannot be served to prosecute them at all.

Maybe my life should just fade away so that my family and friends won't have to suffer through the psychological problems of having people doubt my PTSD symptoms, my stories, the bruises he gave me that I used to hide, the cuts that have turned to scars that I continue to hide, and the fact that I don't want to wake up anymore. No, I won't kill myself, but maybe if I moved to another state and changed my name, then nobody there would have to know. I wouldn't be traceable. Then, maybe for the people I leave in this state, their life will be easier and they'll be none the wiser. I'll be a runaway but nobody will bat an eye because life will be about a billion times easier.


With my mind reeling from the phone call with Mom, I called Brother. She mentioned that I should because we had a football game on today (the Super Bowl...) and she suggested that he come over to my place to watch it since he's having problems with his roommate. Heading her advice for this, I called him up, but I figured he was probably at work. Turns out he was. We exchanged the customary small talk but I brought up reporting the guys. He asked if I had been thinking about it, and I told him I have been for a few months now. Really, I've been thinking about reporting them since the them was only a him after the first one. But I've been more seriously considering it in the last few months. He told me I should do it and that he'll support me if that's what I feel like I need to do, or he said he'd continue to support me if I feel like it's okay that they don't get reported.

I broke down and started telling him about the conversation with Mom. For the most part, I try really hard to not cry around him because he doesn't need that kind of stress.

I am an ugly crier. Like uglier that ugly. There is snot, blubbering, and eye leakage EVERYWHERE! Even on the phone, the listening party gets snot and tears on their shirts. I don't know how, but it's a gift I have.

In the process of me telling him that she told me not to report the guys because of dad and the family, he told me that he understands that. I do too. We have spent most of our lives sharing the good with Dad and avoiding the bad because he doesn't take it well. However, he suggested calling Mom, telling her to act like she doesn't know anything, and then me sitting both parents down and telling them together. I feel bad lying, but it seems like the best way. I told him I'm scared Dad is going to blow up the way he did when I wrecked my car and how he blew up when exfiance went up to ask for Dad's blessing. Brother told me that if Dad says anything negative or hurtful or how what happened to me is ruining his life (as he usually argues everything that I do ruins his life) then I just leave. I get in my car and I head to Brother's house. However, that way Dad would be finding out when Mom is finding out (supposedly) and so maybe he will take it better. I still think he's going to have a CVA and an MI (CVA-cardiovascular accident, aka stroke; and MI-myocardial infarction, aka heart attack). He may also call up his brothers and go through the previously mentioned story that lands him and a bunch of guys in jail before the guys that actually hurt me can end up in jail or prison.

I love my dad. Truly I do. I am a daddy's girl to the bone and love spending time with him. I absolutely love my Dad. He has a laundry list of mental illnesses and that makes life difficult. And, for selfish reasons, I absolutely hate that I cannot tell him the things that are going on in my life. I want so desperately to tell him everything. I want to explain why I call exboyfriend and exfiance dicks when I tell stories about them. Dad defends them every time, saying that he "likes the kid" and it's like a fucking knife to the heart. He doesn't know what he doesn't know, but if your daughter calls someone a dick and she does not do that on a regular basis and she is typically very happy and forgiving, maybe there is a problem there.

I hate that I cannot do what I need to do because I have to worry about dad reacting poorly. Oftentimes, his reaction is worse than whatever situation I am going through. For instance, my wrecking my car. I was shaken up, but I survived with no injuries. I was stressed majorly, but able to compose myself to do what I needed to do and call a tow truck, my mom, and get my car fixed. When he answered the phone for my mom, my heart sank. When I got home from my mom picking me up, he yelled at me for a solid 20 minutes because I was ruining his plans and his life. I was being an inconvenience and he made it sound like I got in a wreck on purpose just to fuck with his life. I guarantee you, I did no such thing. It's an accident. Accidents happen. I'm almost certain he's been in a few wrecks himself. I backsassed him and told him to not worry about it because I was going to fix it. I didn't get in the wreck to be an inconvenience and I am an adult and can fix my own mistakes.

He proceeded to ignore me for a few days until I brought up a conversation with him.

When exfiance went up to ask for his blessing, he told exfiance yes. Then called me and told me it was a huge mistake. He yelled at me, over the phone, for a solid 45 minutes on the day of the big date I had planned for exfiance and didn't let me talk at all. He kept talking about how I wasn't mature enough and that he regretted his first marriage from when he was 25 to some crazy lady in town. Whatever, that's not my fault. I wanted to yell back at him but there is no reasoning with him. He told me the same things over and over and over again until he had to go back to work. The essence of which was: I am not mature, I'm an idiot, I'm too young, he hates his life, he regrets his first marriage, he regrets his second marriage, and he regrets having kids.

I ended up saying yes when exfiance asked at the restaurant and I had the ring on my hand for a couple days. I ended up going home a day or two after the date and he refused to look or talk to me because he heard through my mom that I had said yes. I broke up with exfiance a couple days after that and Dad still didn't talk to me for weeks until I started talking to him.

Do you see the pattern? Do you understand why we don't tell him anything? Yes, we should tell him stuff, but we can't because he loses his shit every fucking time. It makes our situation 20x more miserable than if we just suffer through it alone. Then he wonders why we don't tell him anything...

Brother asked if telling them together and leaving if there was a problem sounded do-able. I told him I think it was a better idea than just flat out telling Dad, but I told Brother I don't think I can do it. Planning for it and actually carrying out the plan are two completely different things. I'm having panic attacks just thinking about telling Dad and they get worse as time goes on. However, I get so much more nervous when I am about to do it. I almost crapped my pants just asking my dad if I could go to prom. Telling him I've been ruined? I think I'd pass out from shame and nervousness. Brother ended the conversation by saying that he would go with me to take care of Dad and be my support. He told me before he offered to come with, to ignore Dad and let him (Brother) take care of Dad if he flew off the handle, like he normally does. Brother is the one who got Dad to start talking to me after exfiance asked for Dad's blessing. Brother told him to stop taking it out on me and to trust in the way Dad and Mom raised me. After that, and several weeks of reflection, Dad told me that that helped him "forgive me". *Just remember, everything that happens is my indirect way of making sure that I completely fuck up his life (that was complete and total sarcasm).* So, Brother is going with me, if I ever get the balls to go up and talk to them about everything.

And, where he comes from, domestic violence and rape are not called by those names. The country is old-school and they believe football players can do whatever they want as long at they take their team to state. Husbands can hit their wives because their wife must have done something to piss him off. Children can be physically punished to the point of bruises, broken bones, and other serious problems because they must have fucked up badly enough that they needed that kind of punishment.

Granted, not every person that lives in the country believes this way, but I've heard the mean things they say about a high school girl that reported her boyfriend for raping her a few years ago. They say that she was just mad that he broke up with her. She's just trying to get attention. He didn't do anything wrong, she made up stories to get him put away. And others. There are so many others.

When you hear about domestic violence, child abuse, and rape stories, how many of these occur in the country or in the woods? A lot. It's because not a whole lot of people are around, it's easier to do your own thing without anyone ever figuring anything out. Plus, their mindset is usually very different.

That makes me feel a bit crazy. Am I being over dramatic and making stuff up? How will this effect my uncles, aunts, and cousins? Will I be able to ever go back there? What if I run into a family member or friend of one of the guys? How much worse can my name be drug through the mud? THIS IS NOT A CHALLENGE TO ACTUALLY SEE HOW MUCH WORSE IT CAN GET!!! These are just the wonderings in my brain. This stuff keeps me up at night. I wake up in cold sweats.

I keep waffling between knowing that they need to get locked up to wondering if people will believe me to being terrified of what will happen with my Dad and extended family.

I talk to my counselor about all of this on Tuesday. I can make it until then, I think.

An it's on again!

Date has been rescheduled for Saturday. I am a bit nervous that he is regretting this whole thing because I have been a severe pain in his butt with the scheduling of this shindig. Originally, we were supposed to have a whole group accompany us and he couldn't get them to come this time so it's going to be the two of us and Roommate. They have known each other for years but it's scary going out with not as many people to keep the conversation going. Still, I'm really excited and I hope he is too.

I told my dad about the date today... I keep trying to tell him big stuff first so that he doesn't feel left out because I tell both of my parents lots of stuff but my mom and I talk a lot on the phone (maybe every other day or several times a day) while I talk to my dad once a week or every other week. However, lengths of calls make it end up balancing out, kind of.

First thing out of his mouth once I told him was, "You know, you don't owe him anything. Sex is off the table." Haha, does he know who he's talking to? Well, I haven't shared my no kissing policy with him so he kinda doesn't.

This policy is getting tough to stick by. I have a friend who I recently discovered had the same policy. HAD. Then, one of her boyfriends kissed her on her date and she says it's no big deal. Well, crap. (Please forgive the language.) I asked if she wished she would have waited and she said it's not really that big of a deal. We have similar faith and agree on most everything. I don't know that I'll let him kiss me on the first date but man alive is it temping. So now what? I guess we'll see.

Homecoming Weekend

This is my second post of the day because I had quite a busy weekend.

It started off freezing cold because apparently the place I live can't smoothly transition between seasons, it just kind of kicks in and out for awhile until people get used to it and then it starts changing again. So, we were supposed to go ride horses but ended up calling that off to stay home and bake some delicious zucchini bread and brownies. Dude, my roommate can bake and cook like a pro! Maybe I could learn how to cook well for my future husband (hopefully a cowboy but we'll see...)

Then we watched a movie. By we I mean her while I fell asleep on the couch because I had worked the night before. I got about 30 minutes in before my 12-year-old cousin came home from school. He lives across the street from her, but really he kinda lives at her house too because that kid is so social! My dad and his two brothers all got that social gene and passed it to their sons, but I got none of it. Seriously, I am about as social as a cactus.

Then it was time for the high school volleyball game! I miss playing volleyball even though I wasn't super great at it. This high school was the one my dad and his brothers went to. Well, technically, they tore his down a couple of years ago and built a new one, but some of his teachers still work there. It's weird going places that my dad and grandparents used to go and feeling that sense of past, but not actually being able to have that as my past too. Since I can't go back in time, I figure I will just live vicariously through my cousins and Roommate's cousins as they go through high school there. I can't experience everything, but I'm starting to get a taste of what my dad got to do.

Later we went to a bonfire and the football game was the next day. It was so fun! The more I go out there, the more jealous I get that I wasn't able to grow up out there where my cousins get to live and experience because they get the life that my grandparents and uncles got and especially what my dad got.

On the plus side, I got to chill with my two uncles a whole bunch this weekend and even got to drive on of my uncle's trucks in the town parade! Ya, it was pretty cool.

Just before coming back home to the city we had to go round up a steer that had gotten loose. He managed to get into a field with a a whole bunch of other cows and a bull. Dude, I tore my jeans-my only pair of jeans and they were actually really cute and sparkly on the pockets-climbing over the barbed wire, electric fence. Then we had to walk around the whole herd to get them into a smaller pen in order to then trailer the single steer because he was a little crazy and doesn't like doing anything alone. The bull I mentioned before was staring me down the whole time. My Roommate and her cousin warned me to try to run if he started charging at me, but that did little to calm my nerves at being sized up by a huge animal with loads of testosterone and a couple of horns! Due to the way guys work, we ended up working harder than we should have because they refused to listen to us girls and also did not fully think the whole plan through before implementing it. Needless to say, we finally got the steer separated and life went on.

Now I really want cattle. I wanted cattle before, but now I need them just like I now need  horses and goats and sheep and chickens and every other type of animal I can get my hands on. Hopefully someday I can get some land, critters, and a cowboy who actually can teach me how to care for such animals. Until then, I will take all the exposure I can get with them. I pray I do not find myself on the business end of a bulls horns though, I don't need that much experience.

Am I going crazy?

I get these cravings to just hear the voice of my mom or my dad on the phone. I would love to run up to them and just be able to talk, but I don't know their schedules and I don't think I really have time for that.

Does anyone else get these "cravings"?

I usually call them with nothing to say. So they talk for a couple minutes, ask why I called, and we agree that they need to go because they're busy and I should probably be finding something to study.

Lately I just keep talking about Country Boy with them. It seemed like my whole world was crashing down around me right after I had heard about him. Last night at church we were informed that an 8th grade boy took his own life earlier this week. I just can't escape this! Y'all, suicide just won't let me out of its grips. I think I'm doing okay and them all of a sudden I crash back down to the pits of remembering what happened just a few weeks ago.

I keep talking to my mom about the fact that everything still reminds me of him. I'm scared that she is getting sick of listening to me retelling the same silly stories over and over again. I try not to talk about it with her, or my family, or my friends because I'm sure they will get burnt out and just avoid me for awhile.

Why can't I move on?

When things start to go bad, I start focusing on the other things in my life that are not what I want. I wanted the NICU job and may have been able to have it if I had gone with the classes that I originally wanted and ended up having to sign up for. 3 days of classes a week instead of 5. I could have gotten the job. My relationship with Best Friend didn't work out and I'm wondering how I will ever be able to have a boyfriend or have a husband because I am a runner. If things get too deep, I run. I see the worst possible outcome and find all sorts of ways to "fix" it which usually ends up with me flying solo and skippin' town. My brother is moving out and the only prospective roommate I had can't afford it and so now I don't know if I will be able to find a place to live or someone to live with in the next couple of months before my lease ends.

I just feel so lonely.

I went to church yesterday and that seemed to remind me that my prayers cannot simply be a laundry list of requests for G-d. I miss His voice. My life went from being okay for a couple of months to me crashing and burning in a split second.

I'm just wondering what G-d has in store for me next. What is it that I'm supposed to be doing? Is there something I'm missing?

Flat Tire Services

New announcement y'all: BedpanAlley is starting a tire changing business!!!

It turns out that I am super great at changing flat tires. I've done it TWICE this week alone! What is up with all my friends getting flat tires? I love changing them and I really love being the one that is called in cases of "emergency" regardless of how bad it may actually be but dang. Are people dropping mass amounts of nails out of the backs of semi's? Are there tack strips being laid out? What's the deal?

Anyway, I feel super cool that I know how to do it and guys stop by to ask if I need help but I get to tell them I've got it. I'm sort of a feminist if you haven't caught that yet, so being able to be independent in every possible way is important to me. Well, if they were my age then I may just let them take over, but they're usually my dad's age.

Service list with prices to come soon...

Even I Forgot!

I'm 20 today. It's that odd year in between legally being able to drown your troubles in ETOH (alcohol) and your teenage years. This is going to be a struggle.

During clinicals today, I kept forgetting that it was my birthday until a family member would text me here, or I would get a Facebook message there. I was successful in keeping it a secret from all but my family and Best Friend. Yes, even he texted me Happy Birthday. How sweet is that?! G-d sure blessed me with an amazing ex even though I don't think I deserve someone being so kind as he is after I agreed to and then took back my proposal to "try this" (aka, begin going out.)

Maybe I forgot because I was up until 0200 finishing my care plan for today. Perhaps I forgot because I then woke up at 0430 to prepare for clinicals. Then I was rushed all day. I didn't remember again until one of my patients told me it was his birthday today too. He reminded me of my dad... I have got to stop relating my pt's to my family and friends because it makes the care so much harder. I love my dad. In fact, I'm a daddy's girl. However, the last pt I had that reminded me of him passed away unexpectedly. My heart broke and I grew a scar. Then the two ladies that reminded me of my Mema passed unexpectedly and that probably could have been avoided. Again, my heart ripped right in two, and then crumbled into a million little pieces. I picked up what I could, slapped it together with some glue and now my heart is more of a sagging, scarred, mangled mess of flesh more than anything else. I can't even find it some days because I give it to G-d, then foolishly take it back and proceed to lose it. He finds it and I make the same mistakes to repeat the vicious cycle again.

Today was so busy I just don't even know where to start. I got to D/C (discontinue) a foley! That was super exciting because I have only inserted/taken catheters out of manikins and they don't behave like real people and I feel so silly talking to them because I know they are a doll and they cannot respond. I despise make-believe games because I don't understand them and I can hardly think for myself let alone having to create whole other people/situations/conversations/etc for another person or people.

Also, in lab it took about 10 minutes to D/C a catheter. Well, not really, but it seemed like it would take a long time when going through the whole process. I did it in about a minute and I'm sure the nurse could have done it in about 4 seconds. You just deflate the balloon and pull out the tubing while coiling it around your hands so that it doesn't whip out and share the special surprises that are inevitably waiting at the end with everyone present.

I also got to give meds for the first time. That was actually more nerve wracking that the foley thing because they stress the importance of the 6 rights, double and triple checking your meds, and the dangers of getting into too much of a pattern. In lab, that skill took us about 30 minutes to pull approximately 15 meds from one med cart at the bedside, check them the 84720583 times that you have to check them, put them in a cup, and assist your patient with the administration of the meds. In real life, it took me maybe 5 minutes total to pull 8 meds from the med room down the hall from the pt, verify them, and assist the pt with taking them. I felt like I was doing it wrong all day. Thank the L-rd I got to give meds 3 separate times so I got lots of practice. But dang! All day I felt like I was doing everything wrong from passing meds, to helping the pt, to my assessment, to walking down the hall. At one point I questioned my heart's ability to pump simply because it is inside of me, the screw-up.

I survived. It was nuts. Even still, I am more comfortable learning how to be a nurse than I have ever been anywhere where I knew what I was doing. This profession makes me make sense. I'm super cheesy today. You're welcome.