Wow, okay. I don’t even know where to start this week.
First off, I’d like to apologize. I know I didn’t post on Sunday like I should’ve, I’ve had a crazy week. The good news is that I picked up Angel on Friday, and she is here for the summer. The bad news is that this post has quite a few trigger warnings.
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TW: Abuse: Physical, Mental, & Emotional. Chronic Illness. Disability. Asthma. Severe Allergies. Depression. Anxiety. Mental Health. Hospital Scenarios. Namecalling?
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Okay, I mean it, seriously. Trigger warning. Turn back now if you can’t or don’t want to read about any of the topics above because, this is not the cute lighthearted NaNoWriMo update that I had originally written and saved in my drafts for today. Instead, this is something I seriously need to get off my chest.
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I’m pretty sure if you’ve been with the blog for awhile now, you’ll know that I have issues with my aunt. One of my most prominent posts involving her is from 2020. I’ll leave that linked for you here in case you care to familiarize yourself. Otherwise, I’ll just give you a quick rundown.
My aunt is a 50-year-old military vet who likes to scream at people, insert herself in situations she does not have any part in, and put herself in your face. Occasionally, she also likes to put her hands on you, hit you, push you around, and bully you. (By occasionally, I do mean always so long as I am involved.)
Such as she did to me, and Angel yesterday, when she started spraying perfume in the upstairs of my house that triggered a severe anaphylaxis episode for me. Angel and I had been sitting in the living room playing Super Mario Party on the Switch not bothering anyone. When I felt the reaction start, I told Angel that I couldn’t breathe (she has asthma so she too was struggling) and then proceeded to drag me out of the house into the front yard so I could get some fresh air and (hopefully) prevent the episode from progressing and needing to go to the hospital.
This aunt decided to chase us out of the house, and when first asked nicely to just get away from me due to the perfume and the medical crisis instead chose to come chest to chest with me and start yelling in my face about how I was being “dramatic.” I’m sorry, my eyes swelling shut, chest tightness, full body hives, and dizziness is not “dramatic” it is life-threatening.
Angel was brave.
She put herself between me and my aunt, trying to help me by insisting that she get away from me. That she was hurting me. My aunt was waving her arms around like a crazy person, yelling and screaming about her putting herself in a situation that has nothing to do with her. To get out of my aunt’s way. Other things about how she “always” does this- which is really quite silly considering she’s only ever met my aunt once before.
My aunt looked quite literally insane.
(My neighbors who were outside will fully vouch for this.)
She grabbed Angel’s arm, ripping off her watch and scratching the absolute shit out of her. I dragged Angel into the house trying to flee the situation. I didn’t feel like I had another choice, and so I tried to go to my grandmother. Someone who claims to love me and want to protect me.
That, I learned was a complete lie.
She sided with Diana. She told me to go downstairs, where my room is. To “just stop” and that I was making a problem. It was an “honest mistake.” An honest mistake would have been listening when I said I was in a medical crisis and getting away from me. Not chasing me, and my friend into the yard and physically attacking us.
I got so dizzy that I wound up falling down in the backroom.
I went to my grandmother for help, and instead, she left with Diana.
I spent over 5-hours in the emergency room yesterday. Five hours being given fluids, epi, Benadryl, steroids, and oxygen for a reaction that she called. Now, today I’m being told to just “let it go” and being gaslit into believing that I am the problem. Last night when we returned from the ER because where else were we supposed to go, the exact words out of my “loving grandmother” were all that over stress.
Stress.
All.
That.
Over.
Stress.
The hospital wanted to keep me. They gave me information for a women’s shelter because they believed me to be in an unsafe environment. They believed me to still be in danger. They wanted me to make a police report, or stay in a hotel room overnight as if I have the money to do that. I did not let them keep me.
That same post I told you about talks a bit about how my grandmother likes to defend Diana constantly. It doesn’t matter how many times this has happened over 27-years. I’m always wrong. I’m always the bully. The “drama.” At fault. Always.
This is the same aunt who I could tell you numerous stories about getting in my face, making my poor mother cry before she died of cancer (with screenshots of messages saying that she’s psychotic and she hates her), and my absolute favorite story of my aunt. The time she kicked me in the stomach so hard that it threw me into the hallway closet when my bedroom was still upstairs because she was screaming and pounding on the door, demanding I let her in. I didn’t feel safe. So, I refused, and she tried to bust down the door.
The doorknob was ripped off. The door would not/could not open and my mother had to climb in through my bedroom window to save me because I was having an anaphylaxis episode in the room due to my aunt’s actions. I was 11. The door is still broken, and the doorknob is still fucked up. I can get pictures if anyone wants to see them.
Her claims for throwing me into the closet, and my body knocking the doors off the track- yeah, she kicked me that hard… was that younger me was holding a baseball bat. I was. Younger me was in softball because I was terrified having someone literally screaming and trying to break down my door as if they were going to kill me. I didn’t swing the bat at her. I was holding it sideways in front of myself like a shield because that was all I had.
I’ll insert a picture of how I was holding it here.
She grabbed it the same way that I’d had it and tried to wrestle it away from me. When I wouldn’t let go, and I held on, she kicked me in the stomach until I went down. No one called the cops. Or the paramedics. I was left to deal with the “consequences” of my actions.
But you know what? That didn’t stop her because she still physically put her hands on me. A minor at the time. She then said that she was going to call the cops on me for assault. Younger me was stupid. Younger me should’ve told her to do it because when the cops saw the closet doors knocked off, and the bruises on me, they would have taken my side.
My grandmother will probably tell you she doesn’t remember. She’ll tell you that I’m being overdramatic, or some other bullshit. Maybe she’ll tell me that I need to let it go and stop holding a grudge, but you know something? My memory may not always be the greatest but, everyone has certain moments of trauma in their life that they will never forget.
Like finding my mom dead.
Or being on the receiving end of a 50+ year old adult’s unbridled rage.
But Angel? She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t deserve to be grabbed or clawed. I know that’s illegal. I know that it’s assault. We have proof. We have the scratches, and also the report we told to the ER but I know that if I call the police, my grandmother will side with Diana. Again. Or it will literally ruin my life.
Because that’s what always happens. Diana comes for a visit, and she acts out, and my “loving grandmother” defends her. She did it when Diana would be cruel, and mean, and bully my mother too before she died. She would make excuses like “well if your mom would just ___… or if your mom didn’t ____” because it’s always everyone else’s fault. Never Diana’s.
I don’t matter when she’s around. I get shoved aside and treated like a spec of dirt. (But my grandmother will tell you that it’s only my perception of things, even though I have other people who see it. I also have video evidence.) That when she’s around, and I used to be working, I would leave for work early just to sit in a parking lot somewhere so I wouldn’t have to be on the receiving end of her anger.
I’ll lock myself in my room. Go without eating or having anything to drink because God forbid, I breathe wrong in the house that I live in. -ah, yes, I forgot this isn’t my house. I don’t live her. I’m useless. I do nothing. Sorry.
I hate her. I fucking hate her.
I hate that Angel and I had an okay morning, where we played our game, and made a nice lunch, and started making cupcakes, just to have it all crumble when the two of them walked back into the door. We went downstairs to grab something, and when we got upstairs apparently, we had made a “mess” by letting the cupcakes sit out and cool, and by leaving out the butter that needed to go to room temperature before we could make our frosting.
We were asked to do the dishes, so we did our dishes from today. Petty? Yes. But you know what, so is sending someone with an autoimmune disease to the hospital due to your shitty behavior.
I hadn’t had an anaphylaxis episode in 6-months. All of that progress is gone now, and my allergist is going to be so mad when I tell him about it on Monday. So mad. You know what? So am I because, now I get to be on benadryl every 4-hours and prednisone for the next week. Two medications that make me feel like shit consistently. Yet, again, this is my fault, and I am being dramatic.
As for NaNo… I don’t know. I feel like I have enough insanity going on but, I’m going to try to keep pushing through anyways. I’m up to 22,130 words, and I guess that’s good, right? Sort of…
And that’s that on Disability Pride Month I guess. Being attacked by someone who clearly needs to be medicated heavily, if not jailed, and or hospitalized.
I’ll write again soon. I promise… unless I end up in the hospital, yet again. 🙃
-Sky
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