[.l.o.s.t././.i.n././.t.r.a.n.s.l.a.t.i.o.n.]

The Sun was born, so it shall die
So only shadows comfort me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
Each day shall end as it begins
And though you’re far away from me
I know in darkness I will find you giving up inside like me
VNV Nation – End of Days

I know that’s a funny quote to begin with, given the title of this post. I’ll also warn you now that there’s some trigger-some content that follows, so you might want to skip the next paragraph and then read the rest if you have abuse-related issues.

I refuse to be a fucking victim. I’ve had enough of that in my lifetime already. As a kid I was abused, but I’m not going into detail there. It gets nasty. At fourteen I was raped by a family friend’s child. At sixteen, while at boarding school, I was raped again. During my parent’s divorce, I was used as a pawn by my mom – promised rewards if I got documents against my Dad during visitations, but nothing ever came of those promises. They were merely lies. Notice how ‘Dad’ is capitalized and ‘mom’ is not. Anyhow, my mom used to have contests with me to lose weight, promising a new wardrobe and other such bullshit if I lost more weight than she did. That never materialized, either. And when her systemic lupus erythematosus got bad enough to where she couldn’t take care of herself, the house, the bills, and my little brother and I, guess who’s shoulders all that fell upon? Mine. There was never any thanks, just chastising that I should do better, perform more. That started when I was twelve. I’d get into my evil bitch of a grandmother on my Dad’s side, who viewed my little brother, cousin, and I for being "half breeds" and therefore not good enough for shit . . . or her verbal and physical abuse because of it . . . and the subsequent bullshit she put my brother and I through while my mom was in St. Luke’s Hospital dying when I was sixteen. Nor will I get into my Dad abandoning me in Puerto Rico for the rest of the summer after mom’s funeral because I insulted his bitch of a mother, over which we got into a nasty argument that resulted in my being ditched there and eventually landing my ass in boarding school, after a wonderful – and I mean that in the most sarcastic way – month with some of my mom’s extended family in which I was ridiculed by an alcoholic pastor’s wife. Hey, at least the pastor didn’t . . . and I got get drunk with him. I’m pretty certain he wanted a divorce, but his religious convictions wouldn’t allow it. Meh. Not my problem now.

I refuse to be a fucking victim again. I refuse to be a fucking statistic. What am I talking about? See, about two months ago, my husband got referred to a neurologist when he had an accident that landed him in the emergency room. So we went to this guy’s office, unsuspecting of the bullshit and lies and what else would come of that. At first, I thought the guy was okay as he seemed to be very scientific in his proceedings. Being narcoleptic and epileptic and having also been looking for a neurologist, I figured I’d make an appointment to see this doctor – if he can even be called that – as well. So I went in, he seemed focused on the narcoleptic issue because, well, it’s been getting worse and Provigil isn’t working for me as a stand alone medication anymore. So he set me up to have a polysomnogram – though without an MSLT, which is a standard test for narcolepsy and repeated if the condition worsens. And then it got fun. I got jacked around and lied to by his office and then directly – to my face – by him, all the while my condition was still deteriorating. And, as if that weren’t enough, my husband wasn’t improving. Now he’s at a point where things are to the point where they began. Our patient records – if they can be called that – are full of erroneous details, things we never said, and more. And I’m angry as all fucking hell about it.

I refuse to be a fucking victim – and even moreso – I refuse to let the one I love be a victim, too. This means war. I’ve been trampled on enough just on my own, but what pisses me off more than anything is seeing the mistreatment of my husband. I can live with having to wait another few weeks – maybe – if my thyroid levels are in check – to see another neurologist, who’s been recommended by both my primary care physician and my psychiatrist. But my husband may have to wait until the start of the year because of our fucking insurance until he can get adequate care without it putting us in financial jeopardy. It aggravates me that he’s suffering and that my hands are tied as to doing anything about it, really, without drastic action. But, you know what? I’m READY to take drastic action against this son of a whore. Little does he know who he’s fucking with. Little does he know just how much firepower I’ll bring to the table. Little does he know that the victimization of people, in this instance, is going to fuck his shit up. And that’s NOT a threat. It’s a goddamn promise.

(ephemeral)