Sunglasses, Blue Shirt

What's PTSD? Being agitated by a lawn mower that leads me to banging my head against the wall, slamming doors, screaming at my dad, throwing water in his face because he's holding the fucking door knob so that I can't get out while my mom just sits there watching the whole thing only for me to storm off down the street and then have him to call the police just because I feel triggered with no way out on an antipsychotic I should have never been on in the first place at the mercy of a system designed to aid drug addiction and mental illness. For the past 27 years, it feels like I've been scrutinized for my behaviors/responses/reactions to stressful stimuli - given the idea/concept I am uniquely driven, empathetic, and dramatic. Actually, most of my issues are completely and totally my fault. I've interpreted seemingly coincidental circumstances/synchronicities as subtle evaluations by an unknown moral compass/judge. This stemmed from rejection in my interpersonal relationships due to mood instability on my side. Withdrawal is no stranger to me, and it's probably why most of my friends don't call me to hang out anymore. One of my patterns in personal relationships is I tend to be bitchier - or less respectful, I should say - the closer I am to someone. I also speak really fast and use big words to deflect any chance of retaliation, because I've grown up arguing a lot with my dad. I've never been good enough for him and he's never been emotionally available for me, which is why I've dated men who were emotionally unavailable. It's also why I've made out with girls, and why I'm so resistant to hearing the word "No." It's why I'm being threatened with facing homelessness and a restraining order if I don't comply with Daddy's Napoleon Complex and his wife's codependency, while they play the rescuers and the victims of my insanity. Fun fact, I'm the sober one in the family. I'm the yoga teacher and the straight-A student and the volunteer and the award-winner and valedictorian and the camp counselor and the daughter of the American revolution and somehow the scapegoat of the family. Why? My mom died in 2006 and 2010 and 2013 and 2017 and 2019. My best friends from college/high school/childhood think I'm toxic and I've been the "other woman" more times than I'm willing to admit. Grab your tissues and play your tiny violin, but I won't apologize for having an opinion or taking up space. Who wrote the book on good bye? Me.