Daily Archives: October 22, 2012

Important Announcement

Dear Readers,

At last I find my courage has flagged, as I am in close proximity to the one who abused me from infancy and continues to do so until this day. I am terrified that she will Google me and find this blog, or that some well-meaning friend or relative will “out” me, and I will have hell to pay.

I have abandoned the use of my own name in favor of the pseudonym Soul Survivor, which although I don’t think it’s terribly original, does speak to my inner feeling of the constant struggle to survive when one’s self image has been constantly and systematically crushed by emotional abuse, followed by the trauma and humiliation of rape and sex trade.

I’m sorry that I won’t be able to post under my professional name, which has given more than a few people hope that they can succeed in a profession even though they have been abused or involved in the sex trade in some way. It’s just too much for me right now. Maybe at some point I’ll have the courage, or circumstances will allow me to go back to my own name. But for now there’s only so much stress I can take.

And so, dear readers, from now on I am Soul Survivor. May we all be protected from fear and loathing.

Romantic Monday, Of Love and Love Lost; My Love Bipolar

He was my friend first and foremost.  The first friend I ever had that didn’t really mind the third wheel always with us.  I think it was because it belonged to him too.  Just, nobody had told him yet. The day we met was like the brightest sunniest day I have ever seen.  No clouds. … Continue reading

perhaps too blunt

I saw my counselor the other day, the sunshine spewer.

She told me I waste most of our sessions ranting about the Donor and what’s going on with him.

I told her she makes me feel every time I see her because face it, it’s my time, my dime, and what is going on with him is relevant to my mental well being or unwell being.

She apologized.

I don’t think she’s ever had someone call her on her rather insensitive methods before, she seemed stunned.

It occurred to me perhaps I am too blunt. I tend to open mouth and speak my mind. I try to use tact, like “you look better in solid colors” as opposed to “oh my god stripes make you look like you’re as big as a circus tent!”.

Sometimes, though, usually fueled by mood, I just lay it on the line.

Today, I point blank asked Kenny if he paid rent at the shop because he like, lives there basically.

And R said, “You don’t cut that boy a bit of slack, do you?”


Not when someone agitates me. That is my failing, I suppose, lack of patience with people and the inability to just keep my mouth shut when they piss me off.

Fortunately, Kenny actually seems to appreciate my honesty and is secure enough that it doesn’t make him melt down and send emotional shrapnel flying everywhere,

I’m a bitch. Not a newsflash. I think I have suffered enough utter misery to have earned my right to be a bitch.

And ya know, it all kinda started with Kenny when he began ranting about depression not being a real illness and depressed people are just weak lazy people living off the system.


red alert, red alert, red alert. Claws coming out.

He’s entitled to his feelings sure.

Just as I am entitled to mine, and since he pulls no punches, I sure as hell won’t.

Sometimes, though, I do wonder am I just too blunt? Or is some of it a byproduct of my mood swings? Some days, I am just a seriously angry woman with no clue why.

Especially since starting the Wellbutrin.

Which the counselor says cannot be causing all these side effects.

Even though I read the leaflet the pharmacy gave me and every single thing I am experiencing is listed there.

She’s another one who just pisses me off to no end.

of course, since the lowered dose of Effexor and advent of Wellbutrin, Anger is the state I live in.

My mood is wonky, to say the least.

Mostly, I hate everything and everyone.

I am impatient, irritable, hostile, and a little too quick to be too honest about just how I am feeling.

I should feel bad.

I do not.

Frankly, I don’t want to be surrounded by people who aren’t strong enough to handle  the things I say. Weakness brings out the worst in me, it’s like blood in the water and I become a hungry shark looking to feast. I can’t stand weak character in people.

it’s one thing to say, “You really hurt me when you said (that).”

Tis another to whine incessantly about being picked on just because I have an opinion contradictory to your own.

I don’t whine about being picked on. I whine about being taken advantage of.

And that problem has been handled because I spoke up and risked rocking the boat.

People who keep the peace and don’t speak up will forever earn my wrath,

Sorry, it is what it is.

Of course, with my mood swings, you could just as easily catch my wrath simply because it’s Monday or you wore a color that triggered a certain bad memory.

I’m funny that way.

And to some extent, I do feel bad about the mood swings because even I have a tough time handling them. I don’t really feel bad for being too blunt and honest…

But I do feel bad for not being able to keep a mood for more than fifteen minutes. (My counselor thinks I am exaggerating, which shows just how incompetent she is,it’s the very definition of cyclothymia.)

Of course, it’s not exactly my fault, no one asked me if I wanted to be bipolar.

Nonetheless,I do have guilt issues about my moods being so rough on others.

Until next time…

I am…

Bluntly, yours

The Truth Hurts

Ah, I can’t even express the choking fear, the convulsing fear of being in the presence of the abuser. How many times, how many hundreds of countless times have I tried to please her, laid down my life like a doormat in front of her hoping for her approval, breathed a sigh of relief at her smile, only to find the next moment a sneer, a curled lip a twisted mouth and a cruel remark spat with venom into my face and i crawl away, stung and shaking, and i swear I’ll never open myself again, no, not to her and not to anyone…and yet I do. I forget, and yes, I want my mommy, the one I never had, the one I will never have. I have to face the truth, the awful awful truth, that in this life there is a woman called “my mother,” and yet she is not my mother, because a mother is someone who nurtures you and cares for you, even sacrifices for you, who puts your needs above her own, who would give her life for you. I know that if she were to read this she would say how could you, HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU HOW DARE YOU isn’t that right?

Because you rule by fear.

“If mama ain’t happy ain’t nobody happy” is your motto.

And the saddest part of that is that you don’t even GET IT that that is a sarcastic saying that refers to someone who is so fucking narcissistic that they rule the family with terror instead of leading with love.

I know that none of your admirers in the community, the ones who beatify you for your saintly good works, would ever believe that you have squashed your own child like a bug over and over and over. If they were to read this they would not believe me, because you do so much good, everyone adores you. It must be because I am sick, not well, perhaps crazy. I would not be believed, would be shunned, and of course you would turn your wrath upon me and then you too would shun me, as you have so many times before.

Yes, believe me. The truth hurts.

Copyright 2012 Soul Survivor all rights reserved.