Just Venting

I’m pissed right now. Really fucking pissed and tired and miserable and I just don’t know how I’m gonna keep going right now. And I have been feeling like this almost all day. Nothing new happened, I just hate feeling backed into a corner.

Ok, backstory leading up to my pissed offness. After I got in the house Friday night, first thing I did was take a shower. And washed my hair. Six times. Still debating cutting it off completely. If I think about it too much, I can still almost feel-

And stopping that thought before I end up sick in the bathroom again. Have you ever puked with ribs that are at least bruised if not possibly broken? Want to try and avoid that one. So anyway cleaned myself up and typed up my last post. I then proceeded to collapse in my bed and slept for about ten hours. Went looking through my mirrorless bathroom cabinet to see if I had any aspirin and got damn lucky. Found half a bottle of Vicodin left over from when I tore my MCL last year. So spent most of yesterday in a drug induced haze commenting with horrible spelling and grammar on other’s people’s blogs and catching up on what’s been happening in the vlogs. (And oh for shit’s sake, the poor EMH guys, can’t they get a freaking break?)

Random note, has anyone here seen Dr. Cairo Zelphest’s latest vlogs? He trolled his Slendertroll and I could not stop laughing. Link if anyone needs a smile.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5iyDAdaZH8I&feature=feedu

So anyway, I spent more time on the computer yesterday then I should have, but I did make sure to baby myself. A few years ago after a beating like this one, I would have had to still make dinner and clean up the kitchen afterwards, so being able to take drugs and relax was almost like a vacation.

So I woke up this morning and just enough of the stiffness was gone that I felt like I could take a drive to the store and pick up some stuff for the house, priority being a new mirror for the bathroom, a few extra mirrors to keep around since they seem to be a good trick at the moment, and some food.

I don’t keep a mirror in my bedroom. And since the bathroom mirror was gone, I hadn’t actually looked at myself since before everything happened Friday night. So I took a shower and went into the spare bedroom to do something with my hair.

My entire right cheek is a giant purple black bruise. I know, I know, big surprise after getting the shit kicked out of me, but I’ve been focusing so much on my ribs and the bruises on the rest of my body that I haven’t been paying attention to my face. Yeah it was sore, but the rest is so much worse that I’ve been ignoring it.

When I was younger I used to wear make up. A lot of make up. I mean the super thick foundation that makes your skin feel like it’s been covered in layers of mud. I didn’t wear it to make myself look pretty or any normal reason a woman would wear make up. I wore it to try and cover up the bruises so that I could go to work without everyone asking me what happened. It didn’t always work, but sometimes an illusion of normalcy is all you can hang onto.

After I…removed myself from the situation, I threw out every bit of make up I owned. Even the stuff that had nothing to do with my bruises and really was just meant to make me feel pretty. I didn’t want to ever have any of that crap on my skin again. Well guess what? When I went out this morning I bought foundation. And that was when I started to feel...I don't know. Lost I guess is the best way to put it? I got home and have barely moved from the couch all day.

Wanna know what one of the worst parts about getting beaten is? Afterwards. After the beating is over and you have to go out and face the world. When people look at you and ask what happened. And when you tell them that you fell down the stairs or ran into a door, they look at you with this mixture of pity and contempt. And you can hear their thoughts. “Oh poor thing, she must be so beaten down, I would never let someone do that to me.” And all you are at that point is an object. Not a person, just an object for them to use, to make themselves feel so high and mighty by pitying the poor weak minded woman that lets a man push her around and telling themselves how much better they are then you because they’re strong enough to not let that happen and you’re not.

And I have to go and face that tomorrow. I have to go to work, with people that haven’t seen me come in with bruises on my face and a limp to my walk for years and when I give them whatever lame excuse I can come up with, instead of all the respect I had to fight to earn from them, they’ll think I’ve just gone back to being a willing punching bag.
It’s almost enough to make me wanna lay down and give up.