Working through stuff #3

I’m counting the one I did on my phone as Working through stuff #2 but I’m not changing the title. Given my mindset lately this really is becoming a series and I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. I mean on one hand I’m acknowledging things and trying to work through them but on the other hand I feel like I’m using this blog as an excuse not to see someone. Like, look how self aware I am! I don’t need help but I secretly do because it’s midnight and this issue is keeping me up awake even though I have stuff to do tomorrow. On a bright note, Sanu is getting adopted tomorrow so that only leaves me with finding a home for Martin and then I’m back down to my normal level of cats, thank God.

So when I was about five or six I was molested by Fubi’s then-girlfriend’s son. I don’t remember a whole lot of it and had it blocked out for a very long time until I was in my sophomore year of high school and in an off hand comment, Mom wondered if I was molested by him or not. Then it was never brought up again and I was left dealing with flashbacks.

Because I don’t remember much about what happened beyond some bad scenes I’m not going to describe, I used to think it never affected me.

“I blocked it out for years and remembering has no ill effects beyond that one semester where I had a massive depressive episode. Also I’m afraid of being touched and men but Step Dad gets all blame for that one. Totally not in part due to being molested.”

Sounds like denial to me.

Acknowledging it a bit more and learning about how it has impacted me has me in a weird place with a lot of things. A lot of the effects of being abused (verbally and physically) by Step Dad over lap with symptoms of child sex abuse, and I’ve been thinking that a lot of my behavior doesn’t truly start with Fubi’s neglect and Step Dad’s abuse- they just made it worse.

I started thinking more about this because I’m trying to figure where I stand on sex and relationships. That’s a big part of people’s lives and with whatever hormone disorder I have any relationship I do have will be impacted by my lack of ability to have children. Unfortunately regardless of whatever hormone disorder I have, the universal symptom for them is infertility or a massively high miscarriage rate. That would undoubtedly have a big impact on any relationship and I need to learn how to be okay with it. I’m still not okay with it but that’s mainly because I haven’t been formerly diagnosed with anything yet. I probably won’t be until next year because my all tests keep coming back clean despite my ovaries not working.

Getting back to tragic back story, I don’t know my sexuality and I’m not sure if that’s due in part to being molested then suffering through Step Dad and being ignored by Fubi.

Originally I assumed I was straight because I’m not attracted to women, however I’m not really attracted to men. A hot man and a hot woman flirting with me would have same effect: I’d be flattered and that’s it.

I used to force myself to like boys because I thought if I didn’t have a crush on someone, then I was broken.  I didn’t (and still don’t) want to sex so my logic was to my make myself like someone and the need to sleep with them would naturally follow. It never happened. I went through two official boyfriends and two potential boyfriends before I stopped trying. I just can’t bring myself to truly feel romantic feelings for another person.

I don’t know if that’s a result of being molested followed up by verbal and physical abuse or if I’m actually asexual.

About 2013 I discovered the term ‘asexual’ and thought it was another made up Tumblr sexuality- gender thing because that’s what Tumblr does. Well the more I looked into the more I realized I really identified with it but I’m still hesitant to call myself a real asexual for several reasons:

  1. I have a hormone disorder that affects my libido.
  2. Sex abuse can artificially alter a person’s sexuality if they haven’t properly worked through it. I haven’t properly worked through being molested.
  3. Fubi and Step Dad are abusive father figures and set me up for being afraid of men.
  4. I haven’t sought out treatment for my mental illnesses so my lack of sexuality could simply be a symptom of abuse.

I don’t know who I am in terms of relationships and sex. Part of me thinks I am straight I’m just not attracted to men because of suffering abuse at the hands of men then not having proper treatment but part of me thinks maybe I am asexual and my feelings about sex, while influenced by abuse, are my true feelings.

Needless to say, I’m very confused. I don’t know what’s truly me and what’s a result of abuse and it sucks so bad. I think being this confused about something so important is part of why my eating disorder is so bad, which I need to do a post on that because I’ve realized I’ve been battling EDNOS for a very, very long time but it wasn’t until recently I learned that EDNOS was even a thing.

I need to see a therapist but as always, I’m worried I won’t be taken seriously because I’m very self aware with my issues. I know I have some sort of mental illness, I can sort of guesstimate which ones, and I can on my own identify what caused them. It’s just working through the symptoms that I struggle with. Just because I can figure what’s wrong doesn’t mean I know how to fix it. I can’t fix this my confusion on my sexuality, which should be clear cut but it’s not. I can’t fix why I randomly fall into depressive episodes and cry over the stupidest of things. I can’t fix my eating disorder and believe me I’ve been trying.

Despite how upset I am right now, I do feel better typing all this out. I’m not closer to an answer but seeing it in writing makes me feel valid. I’m so used to hiding to everything it’s really nice being able to freely express myself, even if nothing comes from it.


*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🍂☕🍂・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*

I’ve been doing a lot of soul searching lately and throughout the searching I’ve been looking back at my life and realizing it really sucked.

My first memory is of Fubi getting up in Mom’s face and calling her a bitch and whore, then being spotted and having to hide in my bedroom with Little sister while Mom cried in the living room and Fubi went storming off to go drink and/or snort coke.

Is it any wonder I have issues?

My depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and disordered eating are a result of the child abuse I suffered at the hands of Step dad, made worse by Mom’s compliance, and Fubi’s neglect. From there I learned not to trust and to seize control in my life wherever possible.

Control, control, control otherwise I’ll be abused again.

Everything must be a certain and it must be in a way I made. If I can’t make something a certain way then I must learn the rules of the thing and strive to follow the rules.

I’m tired of doing that.

I’m so tired of trying to make everything just so. Even when I attempt to relax I must do it in a certain way. I create walls, boundaries, lists, and barriers and in the midst of all that I isolate myself from others. It’s easier to be a control freak when you don’t have to account for other people’s action.

I hate a change in circumstance that is not of my own making or at least following a set of rules. I don’t like random. I don’t like surprises. I don’t like guessing games, intrigue, or mystery.  I like things out in the open and blunt so I can see them and run away if necessary.

Running away and control.

One of the ways I control people is by running away from them. It’s not really controlling them, it’s controlling my interactions with them but still. I’ve ran away from so many people I’m not sure if I can ever truly make a meaningful connection. It worries me that may  I subconsciously group my family in with other people and that’s why I can go days without talking to them.

I don’t think I can ever be genuine with anyone.

I’m worried that when I do try to form a connection with someone it’s going to be unhealthy and toxic because I just straight up don’t know what a healthy relationship or friendship looks like.

I ran away from my best friend of seven years. It was actually a rare justified run away and I’m not going into details beyond it’s probably not a good idea to want one’s virgin best friend to do a rape/knife play threesome with one’s fiancee. That just makes things really really awkward.

It also justifies my desire to keep people at arms length because holy shit I did not need to know what she really thought of me. Anyways, I seem to attract people in my life that also do not know how to form healthy relationships with others.

So back to control. I’ve controlled all my friends out of my life, I’ll control Fubi out of my life eventually, and I’m desperately trying to not control the rest of the family I actually love.

Part of me has always been thrilled at the idea of disappearing. Just run off to start a new life, get bored, wash, rinse, repeat until I’m happy. I even sort of did that. From 2010 to last year, I moved at least once a year. Six years of moving. Six years of trying to restart myself. Six years of battling depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, and feeling of crippling failure. I never found what I was looking for.

When I get my tiny house I’ll start looking again but maybe it won’t be so bad.

I fully intend on building a 7×12 Vardo and just roaming. I’m not sure what I’m looking for. I don’t know if I’m trying to find a home or a person, or my happiness. I don’t know if I even want to find it. I’m so used to being neurotic like this I don’t know if I’ve passed the point of no return. I was happy at one point and that lead to me giving into a eating disorder because nothing bad was happening.

I tried to give up some control today. For the past two days I have wanted to binge so fucking hard core. Like balls to the wall binge on everything. Thankfully I live an hour away from the nearest grocery store and an hour and a half away from the store with all the food I wanted to binge on. Unfortunately there are two mini-marts where I live and I bought some binge food. Non-vegan binge food. I didn’t binge. It tasted awful. I bought two boxes of Annie’s non-vegan mac’n’cheese and loaf of garlic bread. It didn’t taste good. I don’t think I could stop being a vegan even I wanted too.

I didn’t even eat half of the mac’n’cheese or bread. It was like half a serving and three slices of bread before I gave up.  The food tasted awful and kinda fake and it just killed all my binge urges.

At least now I can control binge urges and next time I’m just going to buy a shit of avocados and eat guacamole with those mustard chips I really like. At least then I know I’ll enjoy the food and it won’t make me feel sick.

On top of my control issues regarding friends, family, and food, I have massive control issues regarding romantic relationships and sex.

I’ve only been in two relationships. I essentially pushed both guys away by not communicating. That was back in 2008 and 2010. Haven’t been in one since.

I can’t bring myself to open up to anyone. I can’t imagine living with anyone. I can’t imagine sleeping with anyone. My gawd, I am so disgusted by sex and I don’t even know why. I’ve never been sexually abused so why I’m so weird about sex I have no idea.

Like to illustrate my sex issue, I had a dream where I did have sex with someone then it switched over to me floating in the middle of the ocean on a iceberg praying to God about how much I wanted die. I almost started crying when I woke up because I was so relieved to still be a virgin.

At this point I don’t think I want to be with anyone and the dream kinda shows that.

When planning for the future, I’m alone. No husband, no children, and at this point probably no animals after the current ones. When I picture my life I’m happy, successful at things I want to do, and living in my Vardo.

I can’t even live in a regular house because I must be able to freely leave. Except for now but that’s because I’m getting myself to a place of independence so I can have a Vardo and travel without worry.

Never have I seen myself with anyone. I don’t know what that would look like. I just know that I’ll create strict rules they’ll have to follow and it’ll lead to me someday running away because I can’t control them.

That’s not healthy.

I think it’s best if I avoid the situation all together and just try to take care of my eating habits and mental health.

My favorite song is “I’m Like a Bird” by Nelly Furtado. The whole song resonates me. Like I wanted to quote part of it but after finding the lyrics I just want to quote the whole thing so I’m going to. Makes me feel like a teenage on Facebook, quoting songs and shit.

You’re beautiful, that’s for sure
You’ll never ever fade
You’re lovely but it’s not for sure
That I won’t ever change
And though my love is rare
Though my love is true

I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away
I don’t know where my soul is, I don’t know where my home is
(and baby all I need for you to know is)
I’m like a bird, I’ll only fly away
I don’t know where my soul is , I don’t know where my home is
All I need for you to know is

Your faith in me brings me to tears
Even after all these years
And it pains me so much to tell
That you don’t know me that well
And though my love is rare
Though my love is true


It’s not that I wanna say goodbye
It’s just that every time you try to tell me that you love me
Each and every single day I know
I’m going to have to eventually give you away
And though my love is rare
And though my love is true
Hey I’m just scared
That we may fall through

[Chorus x3]


*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚Happy Fall・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*Pumpkingirl for blog.png

*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🍂☕🍂・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*

In which I complain about my job

*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🎃🍂🎃・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*

My job, a.k.a my Dad,  I mean.

My parents divorced when I was five but the memories I do have of them being together are not happy. Weirdly enough I do remember trying to kill myself at five. In my baby mind I thought if I jumped off the front porch I would hit my head die because my Mom would tell me not to play on the steps otherwise I could well, hit my head and die. They were having a real bad argument one day and I was so miserable I thought maybe if I died they wouldn’t fight anymore so I jumped off the steps and face planted into the sand. Obviously I did not die but knowing that was an actual suicide attempt by my five year old self is pretty surreal.

Dad and Job are tied together due to him being the unofficial boss of the family farm. I should mention he does drugs and drinks consistently so it’s a game of “Is he drunk, high, or just a bitch today?” Sometimes it’s a combination of all three. I’m really happy my Mom got custody of us and honestly I’m only sticking around for my Grandparents at this point.

I don’t love him, in fact I resent him. As a Christian I don’t feel comfortable feeling that way about my father, hot damn though I can’t stand him.

Before we go further, there is a lot more to this story than what I’m saying. The internet is not the appropriate place to air all my grievances, especially regarding my family and all their lovely skeletons.

At this point I don’t imagine my relationship with him surviving past the death of my Grandparents. As it stands, I dislike referring to him as my Dad so I’ll simply call him Fubi. I’m not explaining that one. It’s funny in a sad sort of way.

Fubi at best is a mediocre father, at worst emotionally abusive and neglectful. I got enough of that from Step Dad, I don’t need it from Fubi.

Today he was training me to do something called harrowing. Basically you take a giant metal net, hook it up to a tractor, and drag it across a field to knock down gopher mounds. It is as easy as sounds and it took less than five minutes for me to understand what to do.  Despite having a bad back, he stayed in the tractor for about an hour ranting. Thankfully none of it was directed at me and I’m not going into detail about what was said and honestly all the issues are of his own making so I just disregarded it.

However, he stresses me the fuck out. The entire hour my anxiety went from 0 to 100 in .001 seconds. I can not handle being around him. I never know which Fubi I’m getting and what he’s going to criticize(unjustly) me on.  I have a headache and binged my way up to 662.7 calories, when it was hovering around a nice ~400. It wasn’t a real binge but I over ate with dinner and now my stomach hurts.

After he left I was really angry about nothing in particular, just sitting in the tractor pissed off as can be for no reason. Being around him and working for him pushes me back into my depression and I almost started having suicidal thoughts. I work so hard to not think that way and an hour with him and I’m back to square one.  It’s no wonder the eating issues started happening now that I’ve been around him consistently for two years. Yes I am blaming him for making my anxiety so bad I developed an eating disorder.

I managed to catch myself but I was going down a real negative path and it scares me how easy it was to fall back into the habit of calling myself stupid, fat, worthless…. everything mean that I could say to myself I started to say. I’m okay now but this is just another reminder of why I need another job. Another year around him and I’ll probably start drinking.

On a side note, did you know you burn calories driving? I knew that but I didn’t know how much. Hint: it’s a lot and truckers are fat because they eat too much.

🎃Calories Ate: 662.7
🎃Calories Burned: 651.6- all from being in a tractor! Given how hungry I was after I guess it makes sense.
🎃Net Calories: 11.1- and I honestly can’t eat anymore to bring my net up. I legit tried and all I have to show for it is a stomach ache.
🎃Macro Nutrients: 25%- it’s cause I’m not taking my vitamins today. I should’ve taken them in the morning but I forgot.

Today is one of those weird days where I ate three times. For breakfast it was veggies and tofu because I woke up late and rushed making lunch. It wasn’t until I had the tofu cut and cooking did I realize it will not keep until lunch. So breakfast was an accident but I still ate it. Lunch was plain potatoes, bell pepper slices, and some chips. I meant to have more in there but I ran out of fruit and again, woke up 30 minutes late, and dinner was Udon noodles, tofu, and veggies. I’m trying really hard to eat my tofu before it expires. Honestly, I didn’t finish dinner. I made way too many noodles out of anger and I’m a bit sad about it now. I still have a headache too. Today was a hard day for me.



*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🎃🍂🎃・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*


I don’t even know anymore

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I think I was six when I first felt fat. There was a really popular girl my class I thought was so pretty. She always dressed nice, had long blonde hair, and of course she hated me for a reason I still can’t quite work out.

Compared to her I felt so ugly. I dressed in the optional school uniform because for some reason my parents thought it was mandatory, my hair was short and brown, I was very timid, and most of all I had a big belly. Looking back at pictures of myself while growing up, I’ve been an average weight pretty much until the end of high school.

During recess I would run around all over the playground and was only happy if I was sweating like a boy. I wasn’t sure what exercise was but I knew the more I sweated the more my stomach would shrink because all the boys were really skinny.

It didn’t help that no one liked me. I felt like someone tattooed “Bully Me” on my forehead in an ink that everyone except for me could see.  I’ve had issues with bullies all the way up until high school. Throughout that time I was already pretty down due to living in an abusive household. More often than not I would contemplate if throwing myself in front of a car would kill me or if I would just wind up in a hospital hated by everyone for not killing myself properly.  It did not help that my step Dad said if we ever tried to kill ourselves and failed we would be kicked out. I’m not sure why he would randomly say this to us. Like maybe he knew we were suffering but whenever he would say that it was really random and not relevant to whatever was going on.

My self harm did not take the form of cutting. Mainly because we were too fucking poor for me to sneak some money to buy razor blades. We did have fleas though and I am very allergic to them. When I get bit, the bite swells to the size of a quarter and becomes as hard as rock. It discolors to look almost like a bruise and them will scab over even if I don’t touch it. It gave me the perfect chance to hurt myself. I have so many scars all over from picking at scabs just so I could watch myself bleed. I felt so good watching the skin pull away and blood come out. It was addicting. We lived in a shitty ghetto apartment (~2004- 2010 Chula Vista. Not sure what it’s like now but when I was growing up the city was a shit hole) with management that didn’t bother doing anything about the flea infestation mainly because they were more preoccupied with changing our complex name every month. I kid you not I don’t know what the complex was called because it changed its name once a month. It also happened to change managers once a month too so if you had an issue, good fucking luck.

But back to me self harming. Our step dad was overweight, short, and diabetic. He did not understand portion control for himself or his children. From the time our Mom started dating him, we were given these massive portions. I look at my nephew’s plates and the plates for children in stores and what we were given were adult sizes. And we were forced to eat it or be physically struck, often with a belt. It didn’t help that we were not allowed to not like foods. There was a dish, I can’t remember what it was, and I hated it. I was forced for two hours to eat it and was only allowed to stop when I puked it back up. Little did I know I was lactose sensitive so it was probably all the fucking milk and butter that made me puke. We were not allowed to not eat. I learned over the years to just ignore my stomach if it hurt. I ate so much fucking dairy and felt sick all the time I’m surprised it took until 2011 for me to realize what my issue was.

Middle school was a very dark period for me. On top of entering a new school, that was nick named Hell by everyone who went there, I found myself isolated. I had no friends for the first year and my grades were atrocious. It wasn’t until 8th grade art class did I finally meet people I could call my friends. Looking back now I was more like a tag-along they felt sorry for so they tolerated my presence at school. Part of me knew this but since I wasn’t kicked out of their circle I didn’t really care.

Despite meeting new people I could actually talk too on some level, I still felt really bad. I was suffering hardcore from depression and my anxiety was starting to rear its ugly head. I felt like my biggest issue at the time was that I was fat. Not so because I was around 115-120, which for my  height (5’1) is pretty average. I hid myself in super baggy clothes and dreamed of the day I would be skinny and pretty and everyone would love me. That day never came in high school nor in my brief stint at college. Despite weighing only 114 lbs I still feel horribly fat. I don’t see any difference between myself now and myself at my highest weight of 145. I’ve obsessively measured myself so I know I’m shrinking but I don’t see it. I have a skirt with a 24 inch waistline that I can almost wear comfortably but I feel like that means nothing. I can wear size small tights and not muffin top but still I’m 145 in my head.

Since April, which was also my 1 year anniversary of being suicidal thought free, shooting for two years now, I don’t think I’ve eaten a normal meal. It’s almost like I traded in my suicidal thoughts for an eating disorder. I still get a little depressed and my anxiety is bad enough now I do want to get properly diagnosed so I can get help for it.

I don’t know who I am if I’m not feeling broken. I had a very brief period in April where I felt legitimately happy. I also felt a little empty. My life was fine so when does the bad thing happen? I don’t want help for my eating right now. It’s the bad thing that hurts me so everything else can be good. If I don’t have at least one bad thing continually ongoing then something really awful must be coming is my logic. Loosing weight is great for me, like it is the thing that keeps me wanting to do this to myself. I’m finally going to be skinny and happy, I just need to suffer everyday for it.

I know all of this is fucked up. I have no illusions about what I’m doing. I feel like since I haven’t been properly diagnosed then it isn’t that bad. I have no labels attached me so I can’t possibly be hurting myself in any meaningful way because if this is legit then everyone would know and I would be forced to get help. I feel like because no one has caught onto my issues then this isn’t real, that my suicidal thoughts were just made up and if I tell anyone then I’ll be lying because while I was having them no one tried to help me. If no one knows then there is no issue and I’m fine. I’m just loosing weight and finally feeling like my life is coming together.


As it stands, it’s currently 12:21 pm and I haven’t eaten a thing. IMG_20170723_161822_940.jpg

*:.。. .。.:*・゜゚🎃🍂🎃・゜゚*:.。. .。.:*