Have you ever had a time when you really needed someone -- anyone -- and you sent out messages but mostly didn't call because it was too late to call the people you were comfortable calling, and NONE of the people to whom you sent SOS messages responded? One person said she sent a number, but it wasn't in my PMs or emails, so I have no idea who she might have sent it to. The rest didn't even respond. I don't think even God gives a rip what I'm feeling right now.
Did you ever call a suicide hotline? This was my second time of calling one. The lady manning the hotline told me in so many words that I was wasting her time and that while she was wasting time talking to me, a person with a REAL problem might be trying to get through. She hung up on me.
My mom is in Catalonia. My dad is in Argentina. They're no help.
Some would say, and some do say, that my problem isn't a big deal and that I'm making much ado about nothing. That may be true, but when the guy from the exmormon site said that while he wouldn't have personally assaulted me in high school, he totally sympathized with the people who did hurt me - with the girl who stepped on my not-quite healed fractured leg, with the other girl who burned me with a cigarette, with both girls who banged my head on the bathroom floor, with the guy who had apparent intentions of raping and/or orally sodomizing me but since he was unable to complete the act, kicked me hard in a very private place and caused both a hairline fracture and soft tissue damage, and who also kicked my ribs hard enough to break two of them and lacerate my left kidney. It hurt me to the core of my existence to read this supposedly mature man's comments that his sympathy was with my attackers. I don't know what he's doing in an exmormon forum. His "blame the victim" mentality belongs more in the mainstream Mormon church. Does that man really think that just because he finds my writings obnoxious(which no one ever forced him to read) , that I deserve to be on the receiving end of such a vicious attack?
This is dredging up memories like it just happened yesterday. I can feel the places where I was kicked. My head hurts where it was pounded into the tile bathroom floor by the two girls who assisted the thug. I feel the cigarette burn on my thigh. I know it's not rational to feel the pain, or even the terror that accompanied it, but I do feel it all again just like it happened all over again tonight.
My brother is out with friends and apparently thinks it's a good night to stay out all night or at least until the wee hours of the morning. I am hidden in the closet of the master bedroom (I may be lying about where I am hiding just in case the attacker, who is no longer incarcerated, chooses to show up and attack me again tonight); we have an alarm, but sometimes alarms don't work.
I thought I had friends who would be here for me. I know I would have been there for them. If Claire were here, she would at least call me. Claire is gone now, though, and there won't be another Claire. I even called Claire's parents and left a message, but no one bothered to call back. I guess I don't matter to them much anymore. They've moved on. I gave up a an entire day of studying to provide music for Meredith's parents' wedding. Neither they nor Meredith could be bothered with returning my call. I may need to rethink the status of my real-life friends. It is probably better to have no friends at all than to have friends who are only your friends when they need something from you. And it's not as though I call on them frequently with crises. The last real crisis with which I bothered them was the attack six years ago. I cannot blame those whose acquaintances exist through online communications and phone calls. While I may call them friends, they have their own real-life families and friends and problems of their own.
Chances are that I will still be here in the morning. I'll then decide if I'm in any condition to take the USMLE or even if I ever want to take it. I could just become a busker playing violin or cello on the street.