Sylvanna Devlin

Lamictol can cause a potentially fatal rash. It takes about 8 weeks to a month to clear up and really you should spend that time in a Burn Unit of an ICI

The rash spread quickly in me If it follows the course it will blister – potentially inside. And if it blisters inside I’m looking at organ damage that can be fatal.

I have it, recognizably the symptoms a doctor would look at. While I needed to remind myself, a nurse practitioner told me what to look for.

Sure it helps someone to have an official diagnosis. So reality can slap them I suppose.

“Pics or it didn’t happen”

That’s the culture we’re in. I know there’s a good chance I’m dying. I could pull through but it will be at least two months.

It’s possible the acute stage won’t be as long. I don’t know. I was taught what to look for, not how it’s treated.

I should be in the ER

But I just would rather face death at home. Saving my life might have been more difficult and complicated when I tried suicide, So there may be experimental treatments.

“Snap back to reality. Who’s reality are you living in”

The one death is preferable to hearing that ever again and god might be doing me a favor.

The sound bites, the scripts, the wiki. Something prompts others to say it.

To hurt me.

Even dying they say it.

Dying.

“I’ll repeat it till you go to the hospital.”

So she’s saying “I know it hurts you, I don’t know why. But I’m a manipulative bitch and trying to control you with reactive abuse, as always.”

I really rather I die than listen to the controlling, manipulative reactive abuse a single second longer.

“You stupid bitch”

Why because your abuse has always gotten what you wanted?

They are so ignorant to their affect they would need to read my book before they understood their ingrained nasty behavior.

“Game Over” is the book they’re trying to stop. I clearly define and explain the push button see saw of reactive abuse.

“They’re’s no such thing.”

See, I hope I’m on my deathbed and they just won’t see how harmful and cruel they are. It’s their go to method of control.

I might have needed to get a PhD and say the same things, sell the same books. But they won’t listen to a writer’s lived experience without it.

Maybe I should have remote desire to survive all their abuse to get one – to shut them up.

“Come back to reality, you stupid bitch.”

Go to the hospital just to come back to an environment full of controlling manipulative women? Rather die, thanks

I can only hope.

Just less of one

I just received cat furniture that looks uncomplicated to build. But there are a lot of instructions and I can’t keep track of them.

Another day, maybe another person.

I’ll get past “instructions failure” eventually.

It’s my PTSD this time.

So could be worse I suppose.

I hunted out one with makeup and one without.

Ah yes, thankfully I wasn’t retaining water Christmas Day,,

You can practically see a water sack on the other.

Since some aren’t sure of the difference – which I take as a compliment.

In the first, the one with:

My lips are a slightly different shade.

My eyes are slightly more noticeable.

My eyelashes are a lot more noticeable (they have blond tips otherwise).

And my nose isn’t as shiny.

Wait till the second one is written. Gang abuse of the same kind

Apparently all this really is about my book exposing the basics of being on the receiving end of Reactive Abuse.

Their response is to not quietly hope it never becomes something. It is to loudly and obnoxiously push to kill me, so the book is never found – should Amazon be able to fix search results or I find the right Agent when I have a secure enough computer.

Right now I need military grade technology to counter the same with a massive budget.

Women in America have become so abusive, so many of them. They’d rather silence objections than come to terms with their own behavior. Americans are known for being an angry lot.

Yeah with this subtext in the culture everyone would be. Women abuse men, they get angry. Women point the finger. Men abuse women – sexually and physically and women feel justified taking it out on everyone.

I have indeed been sexually abused by more than one man. I have indeed been through psychological torture – and sometimes with sound so loud it became physical.

My ear canals have both partially collapsed. A hearing test reveals I can still hear. Which their goal was to avoid – if I lived.

Groups of women have tried to wipe out my existence – sometimes manipulating men or paying for them to join in.

Because silencing me is apparently more inviting than the therapy they all fucking need.

It’s not that Men are never abusive. Or the victim always incites it to happen. If the push button see-saw of reactive abuse is so difficult to understand there’s one single book on it.

It’s called “Game Over.”

I wrote it.

And now I’m subject to such intense abuse from women who don’t know when or how to “shut it” my PTSD alone qualifies me for disability let alone the Bipolar and Fibromyalgia I already had. The second triggered by my ex. And the first so dangerous I run from mania at every turn.

I spend more time battling depression or hanging out in euthymia because mania is that fucking dangerous. So is dysphoric mania. Thank you. Take your arm chair psychologically somewhere else. I was the actual victim so my analysis doesn’t invite or equate to your uneducated opinion.

I tried everything I could to save my marriage.

No regrets allowed.

But it wasn’t something that one person could save and my ex didn’t really want to stop the abuse party.

The PTSD from that triggered my pain disorder. “Bitches and cunts” made the PTSD worse

Yes my pain is “in the mind” where do you think yours is received? Oh wait – all pain is “in the mind”

Pain is pain honey you don’t get to say it’s “not real”

Oh yeah? Have you experienced hot lava nerves? No. Well I have. That’s real pain.

Your childbirth, by reports, is on the level of a Galbladder going bad and I thought I was dying.

Nerve pain has its own scale. The worst of which I hope you never really understand any other way than your imagination.

Should you find it again.

Women don’t have the monopoly on pain, being victimized, being on the receiving end of bullying, harassment, abuse and prejudice. So you can take that “chip off your shoulder” now.

You want better? Be better.

I’d like to go back to being soft and sweet if you don’t mind.

Oh wait, apparently you do.

Well sweetie, my claws are mighty and fast. So it’s just as well, “you don’t scare me” is now uttered by every abusive little whining asshole out there.

Good.

Thanks for that.

Maybe my writing will stop scaring you too. So I can move on with my own life and maybe you could get one of your own.

Apparently they didn’t get the memo that their opinion is irrelevant and “the best picture of me” is currently unnecessary.

And no. I can’t spell it. I’m a dyslexic writer okay? That means my passion for writing is more powerful than my disabilities with it.

Let’s see you overcome your bullshit okay?

And shut the fuck up.

Seems pretty difficult I know.

I invite you to

Practice.

I couldn’t easily find one with make up.

Just can’t be bothered most of the time.

And not sure what to do with the fact I look like a dancer when I see it. I’m complimented on its subtlety. And abusive bitches everywhere complain “I don’t do it right. Why are you bothering?”

Why indeed.

I spilt a whole full humidifier! Just after a nap so my hair was extra expressive!

Time to focus on fitness like everyone else!

And Tabitha’s take

This was harder to take than I want to admit,

I don’t really have much to report about this day.

I tidied up – generating several full trash bags in the process.

I reorganized my beside tables, computer and journal bags, fixed my sliding bed.

I practiced better posture for 30 min and found I could really do with training my core.

I played with makeup again. Something has to teach me not to rub my eyes, my forehead and don’t pick my lips!

It’s barely afternoon and I’m unmotivated and blah. I had plans for tomorrow but I’m far too exhausted to go.

I’ll get dressed to the nines (whatever that means) do my hair. Little make-up. And crack open a bottle of alcohol removed champagne!

Take some pictures and go absolutely no where unless I order curry or whatever is around in the evening.

Then I’ll go to the door looking like a bombshell – well practicing to be one.

Maybe I’ll post a Video – provided I can figure out how. And what to say. No promises.

I swear I was so tired I slept the whole day!

But exhausted of selfies.

Here’s one from around Christmas