Saturday, June 30, 2012

Inking over the past

When I was 11, I carved a not-so-nice word into my upper thigh.  It is one of the words my foster father often wrote on me with lipstick (it starts with a "W").  I still have the scar today.  I've obviously grown a lot since I was 11, so the scar is much smaller than it used to be and very light, but it's still there.
Not me.
I have tried all kinds of scar creams and treatments, but I can still see it.  I want to cover it up with a tattoo.  Something simple and small.  The scar is only about two and a half inches long by one inch tall.  I've never had a tattoo before, but anything has got to be better than the word on my leg.  

Any ideas?

Thursday, June 28, 2012

Never had a friend like this before

I love Melody.  Not easy for me.  Scary for me to post publicly.  She has done more for me than anyone in my entire life.  I don't know why, but thank you.  For everything.

I felt safe enough to share these screwed up, shameful, embarrassing letters to myself, horrible words written in my childish handwriting, with someone who "gets it."  I've kept them secret since I was 8 years old.

Then we turned THESE


Never could have/would have been brave enough without my awesome friend by my side.  Thank you for putting up with me, "getting it," and helping me try to "get it" too.  Thank you for reaching out to me and freakishly living so close to me that I still get my WIFI at your house.  I've never had a "real" friend before.  And I'm thankful you nudged your way into my life....and that you haven't run away even when I'm as asshole. 

Thank you a million times.  <3

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Alien abduction

I feel like some creature has taken over my body.  This lunatic did not used to be me.  I used to be relatively sane.  I swear!  I used to have my act together, and now I'm losing my mind.  No, I think it's already lost.  I can't find my mind.  It's gone.  Forever?  God, what if it is?

I cannot stand this creature I have become.  I don't know what is wrong with me.  I hate myself more and more everyday.  I feel crazier and crazier everyday.  I screw up everything good in my life.  I don't deserve friends or family or anything.  I'm too screwed up.  I just pull people down with me.  I suck them dry.  I can't ever fill my empty cup, so I end up depleting the cups of those who dare take a peek into my private (well not so private now that I have a blog) world., yesterday I went to a friends house.  I was feeling really great all day.  I had decided not to work on the Victim Impact Statement, and was feeling pretty solid, and grounded today.  Honest, I was.  I wanted to support a friend, so I go over to her house.  Somehow we end up chatting about me.  Why?  Why do I make everything about me?  I tried to change the subject a few times, but it never worked.  I'm a horrible friend.

I asked my friend to help me burn some papers that I've been carrying around with me since I was 8.  They are pretty screwed up letters to myself, covered in blood from cutting since I was 8 or 9 or whatever.  So we went on her porch, and I emptied my little pouch of bandaids, papers, and razorblades.  One by one we burned my letters, until nothing but a pile of ash was left.  You'd think it'd be simple for me to get rid of these disgusting things, but they've become a kind of fucked up security blanket for me.  I would take them out and hold them, read them, cut myself, keep reading them.  Sleep with them near me.  It's crazy.  I know it is.

So we burned them, and they my friend wants to delete the photos in my phone of Maggie and Tim's house.  I pull them up on my phone and get stuck.  I'm stuck in that fucking house with those stupid rubber ducky tiles.  I give me phone to her to delete them, but I'm already lost in that house, fighting to come back.  To be present in this world.  A world where I am big and in control.  I feel the panic coming.  Normally I have more warning, but I was lost in my head and not paying attention to my body. 

I started to panic and tried to leave but she wouldn't let me.  Did she hand me ice cubes?  I think so, but I'm not entirely sure.  All I could concentrate on was that I couldn't breathe and I wanted to leave.  I'm not sure how I went from the kitchen to the sofa, but somehow we were on the sofa, me freaking out with arms around me.  I panicked, hyperventilated for who knows how long and then the worst part is...  I passed out.  Like, totally passed out.  Fell asleep?  I don't know what that means.  It's happened to me before.  It's more like I faint and then wake up, but this time I passed out and fell asleep and couldn't wake up.  It's so beyond mortifying.  I cannot believe that happened.  I don't know why it happened.  This seems so dramatic to you guys, but it's so scary to me.  These things are dramatic, but they are happening to me and to the people in my life.  I'm so scared that this is my future.  I'll never have a normal life.  My life is going to consist of failed relationships, panic attacks, and self hatred.  What kind of life is that?  What is wrong with me?  Really?  What is happening to me?  I feel like some sort of succubus has taken over my body.  Or maybe this is just all that is left of me?  I can't live this way. 

I think my friend got worried and called my gf.  My gf came to get me and my friend ran back into her house.  Angry?  Freaked out?  Probably.  I would be.  Fuck.  I AM.  My gf asks me to get in the car, but I say I want to walk home and she drives passed me.  I wanted to walk home because she will only make things harder for me.  She would bombard me with questions and judgements and I needed to clear my head and calm down.  When I get home-- I'm sobbing.  She says that I'm fine, that I should just calm down.  Then she pats my head and says goodnight.  I am sobbing on the sofa, so mortified and terrified about what's happening to me.  This isn't me.  I freaking swear to everything that this isn't me.  At least, it's not who I used to be.  Where am I?  I feel so lost.  So very lost.  I have another panic attack.  My girlfriend texts me from the bedroom, like three feet away.  "BTW, did you know nora ephron died???  Sad."  That is sad, but why does she think about that now, while I'm hyperventilating on the sofa?  I know she can hear me.  My apartment is like 400 square feet. 

I don't deserve friends.  I really don't.  All I do is hurt people.  I scare people.  My life is full of so much drama, but I'm the one who creates it and I hate it.  I can't stand it.  I'm mortified by it.  My life is spinning like a pinwheel in a hurricane.  It's scary, and lonely, and so fucked up.  I am losing my mind.  I really am fucked up and I've been fucked up my whole life.  I wasn't like normal little girls, and I'm not like normal women.  Little Campbell was fucked up.  Big Campbell is still fucked up.

I absolutely fuck up everything in my life.  I cannot stand myself.  I'm a fucking lunatic.  A complete fucking lunatic.  I don't deserve friends.  I don't deserve family.  I don't deserve anything.  I can't let anyone close to me because I suck them dry.  I'm so fucking crazy.

I'm really sorry friend.  No one needs this kind of shit in their lives.  I'm so beyond disgusted and mortified.  This was not supposed to happen.  I'm so ashamed and embarrassed and so very sad that all I seem to do is add drama to the life of someone I really care about.  I want to crawl into a small, narrow, black hole and wait until it's over.  I'm not a good person.  I'm a self absorbed, dramatic, psychotic piece of shit.  I keep saying I swear this isn't me, but how many times can I say that before I realize that this really is me?  This is who I am now.  The girl I used to be is gone.  Forever.  And she's never coming back.  This is who I am.  And I can't live with her.

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Shrinks and happiness in a pot

I saw my psychiatrist today, the last day I will see her because her rotation is up, and she kept asking me if I should go to the hospital.

"What keeps you safe?"
"I don't know."
"You know you can always access the hospital if you need to, right?"
"I guess.  But they are just going to lock me in a room.  I won't feel any better.  It's like prison, except they bill you for it."
"Well, if you think you can't be safe, I'd like you to go."

Then she brought it up again later.

"Have you been cutting or burning yourself?"
Very quietly I answer, "yeah..."
"How much?"
"I don't know. More often."
"How are you burning yourself?"
"I heat a paperclip with a lighter and then hold it on my skin."
"Where?  Just your legs?"
"Sometimes other places."
"Do you think you are safe?  Any urges to hurt yourself more seriously?"
"The thoughts have increased."
"Would you go to the ER if you think you might not be safe?"
"I don't know."

She brought it up several times.

Then CT and I talked about my foster mom, thinking about child pornography all the time and almost crying at work.  We talked about how it's so much easier for people to give back their foster kids.  They are kind of like puppies.  When people can't deal with them they "send them to a better home."  We talked about how screwed up I was as a kid and the shitty way I feel about myself.

I have not been doing well this year at all.  Not at all.  I still really miss my cat.  It still feels like she's going to hop on my lap or crawl on my head when I'm sleeping.  I still have the urge to look for her and squeeze her furry little face when I'm sad.  I don't have her anymore because I'm a fucking moron and let her outside.

Dealing with the world inside my head is exhausting.  I am having "flashbacks" all the time.  At an increasingly unbearable rate and intensity.  I feel like I might snap at any moment, again.  I have a few good hours, maybe a day, and then I fall apart.  I am thinking about child pornography all the time and it really scares me.  What does it say about me that I am constantly thinking about child porn?  Maybe it means I am as sick as the people who look at it.  

I'm feeling really really low today.  My foster mom wrote back but I'm too low to even open it right now.  I want to crawl in a deep dark hole somewhere and wait for death.  Sometimes I just don't know why all of this is worth it.  Why am I worth this?  I'm not.

So in an effort to cheer myself up, I went and took care of the plants in my yard.  Little tiny flowers make me happy.

Wednesday, June 20, 2012


Rambling dramatic crap.  Don't read it if you want rainbows and unicorns. 


Here is how I really feel without the filter I put up so people don't think I'm being dramatic or psycho or looking for attention or whatever.  I'm tired.  I'm tired of seeing, feeling, hearing, smelling, everything everyday.  I'm tired of being raped every single day.  I'm tired of my mom screaming at me everyday.  I'm tired of hearing a man screaming for the beating to stop every single day.  It's not just once or twice a day.  It's all fucking day.  Like, maybe once or twice AN HOUR.  I read these blogs from other, "survivors" and I just don't understand.  They seem so healthy and put together.  They are hurting, but not psycho.  They are functional and making something of their lives.  I'm not a fucking survivor.  I'm a fucking failure.  Pathetic.  Psycho.  Dramatic.  Ruined.  Damaged.  Worthless piece of shit.

I don't know how any "negative" emotion always turns into "I want to die" for me.  Maybe that desire is always there.  I don't really understand why I am here.  I really don't.  I feel bad all the time.  Even when I sleep, if I sleep.  I feel bad when I'm laughing.  I feel bad when I'm crying.  I feel bad when I'm drunk.  I feel bad when I'm high.  I feel bad when I'm sober.  So far today I've tried:  Mindfulness, meditation, soft music, holding ice, really hot water hot tea, gross tasting or and spicy things, Klonopin, wine, more wine, weed, lunesta to knock me out.  Nope.  Still freaking psycho. 

I feel gross all of the time.  I hate myself all of the time.  I cannot even look in the mirror most of the time.  When I'm in a clothing or department store, I always look away when I'm passing a mirror.  I hate myself.  I hate what I look like.  I hate what I sound like.  I hate the way I think.  I hate the way I feel.  I hate the things I've done.  I just hate who I am.  I look at the shitty things I've done in my life all of the time.  I know people are thinking, "Well, stop it.  Think about the positives."  I want to.  I really do, but I just have no idea how. It's like I've been way over my limit for my whole life and I just can't take anymore, even the little stuff.  I just want it to be over.  I don't want it to be better.  That's not realistic anymore.  

I fail at everything.  I lose everything.  I'm not playing victim here.  I'm playing fuck-up.  I ruin absolutely everything in my life and I'm so tired of it.  I'm starving for a family.  It's something I think about all day, everyday.  People who didn't grow up and age of out of foster care just don't get it, no matter how hard they try.  There are feelings that I carry around that most people don't even know exist.  I've lived in 42 different placements in 18 years, not counting all the times I moved around with my mother.  I have never lived anywhere longer than 3 years, and those three years were with my rapist foster dad that I also chose to have sex with a lot.  Not only that, but I did things with my Middle Eastern stepfather too.  And I had sex with a male staff member in one of my group homes when I was 13.  It was totally my idea.  I totally pushed him into it.  I was still mute and still did really disgusting shitty things.  He quit the next day.  After that I was kind of a slut with a lot of boys.  Yeah.  I was never an innocent little kid.  Even my mom said the first time she looked at me she knew there was something wrong with me.  I was actually born feet first with the cord around my throat according to my Lifebook.  See, even the womb that created me thought I should die.

Before and after Maggie and Tim's, I never lived anywhere longer than 7 months, and have never stayed in an apartment more than a year and a half as an adult.  I do not know what it's like to have a home.  I do not know what it is like to feel safe.  My mother locked me in closets for days at a time as a little girl.  I used to hide in them when I lived with Maggie and Tim.  I used to hide under my bed in my group homes and as an adult, but now I hide in the closet again because there is nowhere else in my tiny shoebox apartment.  I get stuck in there.  I literally get scared to come out, like Tim or my mother is waiting for me.  How fucking psycho is that?  I'm crazy.  I'm ruined.  Damaged goods.  I am terminal.  Paging Dr. Kevorkian...

Wednesday, June 13, 2012

Maybe I'm not hopeless after all?

I'm feeling much more calm and stable this week.  The totally overwhelming panic I've been feeling for six months (at least) seems much more manageable right now.  I'm feeling like I can do this stuff.  I can manage-- at the moment at least.  I feel... capable?  That's the only word that comes to mind

I feel this sense of, I want to say peace, but that is not really accurate so i will say calm.  I think a more accurate way of describing what I feel is a peaceful kind of numbness.  Is that good or bad?  I'm not sure, but it's much easier than what I had before.  I feel like the worst has to be over now.  Like the tornado has finally passed and can't rip up, up root, destroy, or hit me with anything new anymore so maybe I actually have a chance at building something.  I feel like things from my childhood can't come back and attack me as an adult anymore.  My childhood can't hurt me anymore.  I mean, there is still a lot more inside me that hurts, a lot of destruction, a lot of pain, a lot of damage, but no one from my childhood can come back into my life and hurt me anymore and that feels really comforting. 

All my dreaming and wishing about Maggie is gone.  There is still a lot of pain and yearning there, but I know that she can never be my mother.  My hopes aren't up anymore.  I have cut off contact with her because I know that she has never loved me enough to protect me, then or now, and she never will.  The Maggie fantasy can't hurt me anymore, because the hope is gone.  The same goes for my bio mom.  I don't have contact with my bio mom anymore.  She still manages to write me occasionally, and I will admit that I have read some of them, but I've deleted a lot more of them, unopened, and the ones I have read still sting, but not as much.  The fantasy and dream of my mommy coming back to get me, save me, and ride off to the sunset where we live happily ever after is less intense.  It hurts and it's sad, but I think I just accept it now.  She has never loved me, and never will.  I still really want her to, I still really want a mom, my mom, any mom, but I'm trying to let it go.  I still painfully want a family, but the hope for my bio mother is gone.  There is freedom in that, I guess.    
broken, but still here.

I barely barely surviving the child pornography, but the worst is over and somehow I am still here.  I do feel a bit of panic that maybe I'm wrong.  Maybe I'm just sitting in the eye of the storm right now and more is coming, but honestly, I can't imagine what could be worse than what has already happened.  I can't be hit with any bigger debris, can I?  Will this calm last?  Is it temporary?  Am I hopeless?  Is there hope for me after all?

Sunday, June 10, 2012


Something has definitely changed for me now that there is a conclusion to this horrible case that has consumed six months of my life.  Six months of me.  Since I spoke to the lawyer who wanted to let me know about the couple that was arrested for exchanging child pornography with my foster dad, I feel more okay about my decisions and their outcomes.

I don't know how to describe what exactly has changed for me.  It's kind of like I feel like I can breathe a little bit.  Like I had been stuck in a straight jacket that was wrapped and tied way too tight and someone just removed the straps.  Like I can look at myself in the mirror and not hate myself as much.

I literally lost my mind this year.  I mean literally.  There was a day last week that I was probably clinically psychotic.  My memory of much of last week is a little foggy.  I did and said things I can't explain or understand.  I feel really bad for the way I behaved and things I did.  This case was so much harder for me then I can really say.  I'm so thankful that I do not have to testify.  I am pretty sure I would not have survived that.  I would have needed someone to take me to and from the hospital to the court room and I'm not even sure I would have been able to do it.  I still feel a surge of panic when I think about having to do that.

I was such a jerk to one person in particular.  I did everything I could to push her away and for some reason she's still around.  I've never had anyone stick around after a meltdown and this was a HUGE meltdown.  I don't usually let other people (in real life) see or know about my meltdowns but I have been a such a jerk and a bad friend to someone who has done nothing but be a great friend to me.  I have no idea why anyone would want to be my friend, having read this blog, or why they'd stick around after what I've been like this year.  I truly don't understand and that scares me a little, but I am thankful she's sticking around.  I normally run away from relationships after I've screwed up, so sticking around is new for me, too.

My body isn't part of me

I have some very philosophical friends, so they often get into heavy conversations about deep topics.  I have listened to my friends talk about their own bodies and the ways they feel and experience things and I have a hard time relating to a lot of it.  I feel a little jealous of how connected they feel and how much they enjoy their bodies.  I feel totally disconnected and I really hate mine.  I am pretty disgusted by my body.

I know this sounds a little out there, but I often feel like I don't even have a body at all.  Like my body doesn't belong to me.  It's not mine.  It's not part of me at all.  I mean, I know my body is part of me, but I just feel so detached from it.  I'm not inside of it.  Not connected.  I'm floating outside of it, watching from a distance.  Or maybe it's the opposite.  Maybe it's more like I'm trapped very deep inside. 

I hate my body.  It does things I don't want to do.  Feels things I don't want to feel.  Doesn't feel things I want to feel.  It is so unreal sometimes.  It can be pretty uncomfortable.  There are times where I feel completely numb.  Well, maybe not numb.  There is still some sensation when you are "numb."  I mean I literally feel nothing at all. And I panic about it and frantically search for ways to feel again.  Sometimes I cut myself or punch myself as hard as I can for this very reason.  I hope that pain will make the numbness go away.  I hurt myself hoping it will bring me back into my body.

There is a lot about me that makes me feel so abnormal, like such a freak.  Why do I feel so detached from my own body.  Is there some sort of short circuit in my brain?  Do I have some kind of neurological problem?  Is this another type of mental illness?  I've searched online and have come up with very little.

Saturday, June 9, 2012


You all DO "hear" what I'm thinking.  :-) And I've already been to the looney bin...

Wednesday, June 6, 2012

Something good came out of it

I just found out that thirty percent of the child pornography on my foster dad's computer were of other kids, not just me.  Today a man and his wife were arrested for trading child porn with my foster dad.  I am feeling so overwhelmed with life right now, but it really helps to know that these horrific last 6 months have been for something.  I have been crying nonstop since I've found out, and they are tears of relief.  I am so relieved.  This was worth it.  You have no idea.

For the first time since this all began, I don't hate myself.  For the first time since this began, I feel kinda good about myself.  

Monday, June 4, 2012

A judge's signature

They are waiting for a judge to approve and sign the plea bargain, but the offer has been accepted.

My foster brother plead "No Contest" to reproduction, distribution and possession of 2,101 images of "gross" and "sadistic" (not my words) child pornography, harassment, sexual misconduct... The lawyer listed a bunch of stuff but it was really hard for me to pay attention.  How do they get all these crimes from one?  What do they mean by gross and sadistic?  Isn't all child porn gross and sadistic?  Anyone who looks at that stuff is gross to me.  

Sentence is 90 months in state prison with parole after some time I can't remember.  I kind of panic every time that number calls my phone and it's hard for me to be fully present.  They said he could have faced up to 10 years per image, plus the other harassment charges and federal charges.  

I'm feeling REALLY guilty and ashamed right now.  I feel so bad.  How is a few minutes of pain for me worth 7.5 years of prison?  I wish I could go back in time and not report it.  I feel so horrible.  I know what he did is very very wrong, but I feel like the punishment is too extreme.

They said my foster brother asked to speak with me, or give me a letter, to apologize, but I said no.  I cannot handle that.  I had a huge panic attack and cut my legs to pieces after the phone call today.  I cannot even imagine talking to my foster brother.  What would I say?  I would literally lose my mind.  They want me to come to AZ to do some stuff, but I don't want to do that either.  I can't do that.  When will this be over?

I want a mom and a really long hug so badly I could literally scream.  I want to beat the crap out of something.  Actually I want someone to beat the crap out of me.  I know that's sick, but I really do.  I want someone to beat me up.  I want someone to hurt me.  I want my body to hurt.  What kind of person wants that?  Ugh.  I'm sick.

This has been a very very very long six months.  A very long, horrible, painful six months.  NO...actually a very long painful 2 years.  I hope it's over now.  I don't think I can survive any more.  At least not for a really long time.

I wish there was a website where you could get a "Mail-order Mom."  God.  Someone invent that!

Part 2

Yes.  I know I'm a shitty, crazy, unreasonable, self pitying person.  I was crazier as a kid than I thought I was I guess.  I still don't know what I did when I was 15/16 that was so crazy, but crazy people don't know their (not a typo) crazy, I guess.  I kind of hate myself for my response.  I wish I had not pushed send.  I don't know what's wrong with me.  She's a normal, sane, caring woman who tried to care about me but I was too fucked up.  That's really my fault.  She says it's not my fault, but how can it not be?  It's happened to me repeatedly since the day I was born.

It's easier for me to deal with my mom's or even Maggie's emails that are kind of mean and blame me for everything then to have someone talk to me like she did.  Why is that?  It's kind of fucked up that I am more sad about someone being nice to me than someone being mean to me.

I guess it makes me feel like such a freak.  This woman isn't a bad person.  She's not crazy.  I can't just tell myself that it's not my fault when this personal obviously cared about me and tried her best.

How do I become a better human being that someone can tolerate and love?  While writing this email I realized that I've wished I was dead my whole life.  I tried to kill myself when I was 12, then again at 15 or 16 when I tried to shoot myself with their gun and the force of the gun made me miss, and then I tried last year.  I have notes I wrote when I was 8, 9, 10, 11.  I've carried them around and read them when I self injure.  I know it's crazy.  The note when I was 8 said, "No one loves you.  You should die."  I've felt this way my WHOLE life and it makes me realize that I'm always going to be fucked up, crazy, and wish I were dead.

This is me at 17 wearing my foster dad's college sweatshirt.

Email is long.