My Vendetta with the World Explained
it will be said in plainest words
I believe in natural healing—fixing things from the root of the problem—not simply addressing symptoms with drugs.
The world has asked me to stop giving power to someone who took it from me and heal by means of talk with others—seeking of affection elsewhere—or taking pills which will numb the anxiety from how none of those routes will work. My trauma is a broken heart. That is and was my power as a healer—my heart.
When I’ve tried the medical solution of pills—I hate living and feel under a cloud of haze that takes my presence away from my daughter.
Once, coming off the medication which was terrifyingly overbearing and being pushed for upped doses because, “People usually want more after a while,” I cried at the sight of my daughter. It felt like I hadn’t seen her in that month.
My broken heart has taken me to madness and back and back… and back. The trauma and abuse of the world and others has bled me dry and still I fight. I’m a fighter.
Systems that lead a mother to medicate herself and a world that has no support for someone like me—families abandoning me—close confidants with hard boundaries which prevent the needed care from being sought by their helping hands, or struggles their own—nothing but pressure bearing down has me riddled with anxiety and it all surrounds a shattered heart that nobody respects.
I’m too old—I’m too ‘male’—I’m a mother—they’re young—it’s silly—get over it. The power dynamics of that relationship cannot be seen by any eyes but mine and theirs; they had it all.
Why do we not have anybody fighting for healing?
Why will nobody believe me that I could be better with a hug from one person who I broke my brain writing to after trauma?
Why won’t they care? Why won’t someone help me make them understand?
Y’all say, “Here, take these pills and grow up.”
I say, “Here, let me tear all your lies down you heartless monsters.”
That hug I need is with a person who broke my heart. Who lied to me—gassed me up to not understand why; reasons told didn’t check out—kept me puzzled and sad and feeling used throughout the time before—properly spun me about and cast me into a depressive rut. They didn’t give me a conversation or a hug once at the end and it had been both my first friendship and romance as a burgeoning feminine adolescent in a man’s body. Then people laugh at me like the man. Then the world traumatizes me non-stop and I face nothing but abusive relationships and reach out for their help in the worst way—the guilt of which is worse than all. It’s the one thing I can’t forgive myself for, how I ruined a chance at reconciliation over and over when I was losing my mind from the abuse, which still happens on both ends; I just publicly accused them of being a murderer to get their attention and because I am feeling highly suicidal after more abuse.
I’m a damaged woman who has not been cared for and saw disappointment recently in my daughter’s eyes for the way my mind was flitting about in anxiety borne from the fact I have no supportive friendships which provide affection. I haven’t for the breadth of a nearly two-year depression. I will not abide losing myself to this and depriving my daughter of our relationship. Our love is special.
My seeking has been turned against me, and I feel used and raped and like I just want to die after relationship attempts on-end. Still, I hear nothing from that one and the people in my life suggesting anything but the hug I need as the solution makes me mad—very mad indeed.
Everyone is a liar. Everyone is heartless. Everyone is a devil in disguise.
Those feelings come from somewhere valid. They aren’t true literally, but there is something very wrong with the way our whole world has been groomed to think.
I need a hug. Someone should help me get it. Hit me up. I will just cry for like a year and the Daphne inside this Ophelia will fade, and I’ll be chill, and then I’m going to dunk on these assholes who thought I needed pills the rest of my genius life.
I’m a healer.
Do it to it. Anyone other than me has a better chance to break through. Someone who knows them could literally just tell me the truth about what they think anytime—you monster people.
One person—if they read—can change the fucking world with a hug by saving this mom who’s going to write books that make people think differently.
