On rage. rage. rage.

I seem to only come here when I am frustrated, angry, upset.  Which paints a picture that I am only ever those things.

Of course that’s not true.  I think my diary is the complete opposite of social media.  I always remind myself that social media is not real life.  I think in those spaces, people post their adorable pictures of a kid or a dog, or they tag the location of the vacation they’re taking, or share a meme of Something Happy.  Beneath that, (I know this personally) they may be horribly depressed, facing eviction or foreclosure, or going through significant life trials.  The snapshot provided on social media is a fake-positive.

Here, I suppose, I am providing a fake-negative.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation for that.  I just know that it’s true.

I am far away from my family this weekend for professional reasons.  I should be enjoying the silence.  I suppose in some ways I am, but in other ways, I am not.

Even here, in this space, I am not sure how much I can share.  I am beginning to have terrible images; fearful of Her.  My biological relation.  My nemesis.

I am a licensed professional and before I left to come to this conference, I was notified that She had filed a complaint against my professional license.

Of course, no one could tell me that She did it.  But I know it was Her.  I know that as certainly as I  know my own name.

Now, I am tasked with wondering what I will have to do.  I may need an attorney, but I may need help to afford one.  She is sick and evil, but I am the one who suffers.  I am the victim.  I am the subject of investigation after investigation, but She is the felon.  She is the piece of shit.

I am told to be calm.  Wait for the legal system.  Continue to fight.  I have waited for the legal system.  I continue to wait for the legal system.  I am working to be disciplined.  I have not made any mistakes.

But I am furious.  I am so finished with “waiting” and “discipline”.  I am sick of being a victim.  I am sick of the cruel manner she takes her rage out on me.  Punch after punch, and I must take it.

I’ve lost my ACL – because of Her.

I’ve lost a relationship with my nephews – because of Her.

My husband probably lost his job – (in part only) – because of the attack she did on me and the amount of time it took him to care for me.  Because of Her.

I have security cameras outside my house.  Because of Her.

I have had CPS in my life for the first time ever.  Because of Her.

I have a professional complaint filed against my license – because of Her.

I live in fear because of Her.

My finances are slowly getting screwed up, because she isn’t paying bills associated with the house we BOTH own.  She isn’t paying.  SHE isn’t.

I worry that my phone is hacked, my facebook is hacked.  Perhaps my computer is hacked, or this place is compromised.  Because of Her.

I want to give up and walk away; drop every legal action against Her, BECAUSE of Her.

“Keep fighting”, they say.  Yes.  Yes, I am.  But it does not mean that it is easy to fight.  She makes it almost impossible.

I have much to lose and She has nothing to lose.

I am in rage.  I want to make mistakes.  I am smart enough to know  how.

Right now, I don’t think I want my PhD anymore. This conference hasn’t been as interesting as past ones.  I am trying to tell myself it’s the content, or it’s just my state of mind.  It’s because of Her, maybe.

I don’t know.  I just know that one of my classes is one I do not think I can pass.  I have lost the will to fight for my education when I am busying fighting against so much else.  If I stop, I will have had a short stint at a PhD student.  Maybe I will have learned much.

I try to ask myself, what will I learn about myself if I fail?  What can I take from the (brief) journey I had?  What – that I don’t like research?  That I will never have, and never want, a PhD?  That it wasn’t the right time in my life?  That I learned…what?

I don’t know what I have learned.

I am sick with rage.  I am filled with hate for Her.  There is nothing else except somehow finding a way to make Her stop.  STOP.  GO AWAY.

I know my thoughts, but even here I cannot verbalize them.  But I know what I wish would happen.

For now, I just fight.  And try.  And perhaps die trying.