Sylvanna Devlin

And a little depressed.

I might have said this elsewhere but I moved in with the essentials I could fit into my tiny car. I basically had nothing

My sister, my mum, and SSI backpay replaced what I had lost. After escaping from my ex in a week, and Petaluma with books, shelves and ornaments stashed in a small storage space. (Imagine a walk in closet for real. That big). All I had left was in that car.

The storage was in California as I moved from motel to motel then stored enough to let me sleep in my car when I officially became homeless.

I slept in my car, I stayed in a shelter, I moved here with what I could fit into my trunk! Then what I could fit in the rest as I rescued my belongings.

Mum started filling in some of the gaps. And then after my suicide attempt in July sent self care things I use to cheer myself up – and look after myself which is secondary.

My sister filled in more, doing what she could to set me up for the winter.

SSI gave another installment of back pay and I burnt through it replacing sports, dance, physical therapy equipment and clothing. Bags for keeping “fussing stuff” in, baskets for organizing those. I was going to have a space for everything.

What’s more SSI is use it or lose it, so I was motivated to do what it’s intended to. Help me replace the lost and add the necessary.

I did buy a few frivolous things. That’s true. But not much of it was for anything more than my health or that of my homes.

I even bought a Vacuum cleaner!

I’ve stopped spending now and am waiting for items to come in – 1 per box usually, not that I set it that way. And it’s a little fun to be on the receiving end of rebooting my life.

But weird

I now have the things I need. But even my belly dance outfit had to be replaced – it went missing several moves ago. I had nothing so what I do have is new.

And I didn’t recognize any of it. My non psychic psychometry doesn’t do a thing because while some is pretty. It’s new. It doesn’t have years of history I remember by picking it up.

I wake up and don’t recognize my life. Writing I worked on my life since 9. (On a computer at 11) I wanted to be a writer and got good. I’m practiced and fast. But have to put everything on hiatus for now.

So I’m looking to learning ASL to get me out of poverty, then a PHD in psychology because America doesn’t need a guru, the culture needs a psychologist!

I will make a difference and write my books and in quite a number of years stick PHD at the end of my name.

Provided I survive being a digital hostage.

“Come back to reality honey”

The fuck? What part of this does she think isn’t real? Some people will say anything just to try to hurt you. Even if it’s ridiculous.

I’m in reality, love. Where are you?

There is the harassment, hen pecking, reactive abuse and mob mentality. The lies the gaslighting, the unwarranted advice and criticism, the constant commentary on my life.

I can get frustrated and tell Tabitha it’s not a good time. While doing what she’s meowing about because kids don’t care. And neither do cats. But oh no, that just has to be commented on and when rebuked “come back to reality”

Fuck you all.

I wake up and don’t recognize my room, I certainly don’t recognize my critics – their “suggestions” and “instructions” and whatever happened to my reputation that makes them think I’m anything but a sweetheart with a dark side.

Push me? I push back.

Welcome to being 17 again I guess. Time for Silver to shine though – my nickname from that era.

Everything is new, my goals and plans are new. It has all been severed from my past. And my neighbor doesn’t shut up with unasked for commentary.

Guess it’s time to listen to Metallica.

Because my college dormitory was quieter than this and my closest neighbor drank so much she ended up in the hospital!

I’m pissed. So music it is while they waste their breath.

Did they derail this whole topic from the truth? From the painful severance from my past? Did they make it now something you can’t relate to because who could relate to a victim of cumulative abuse?

Please think of what does connect. What does resonate. What is new and familiar to you. Because this blog contains mundane frustrations and the weird bullshit that caused it.

The former is a danger to anyone starting over.

The latter is just interesting.

.

Added same day.

There is no coping mechanism not screwed up by the hostage takers. Even my music (played at “drown out the evil” level) is fiddled with.

Because they want me furious and in a hospital or dead. It’s much likely to be the latter but my Geiger recovery is inconvenient for them.

Got to discredit her

Got to make her look foolish

Got manipulate and control

Got to use reactive abuse to make her seem like the problem.

Get fucked.

I promised to stay quiet and stay out of it.

But nooooo there’s a new asshole in the neighborhood.

The only thing I like about this photo.

I’ve been sorting and organizing. Replacing items I used to have. My physical therapy routine will begin when I haven’t been buzzing around tidying it up!

And have been tidying and sorting all day. So no selfie. But Tabitha did take to my bedding basket.

I’m testing out make up. Mostly lipstick though my subtle charcoal wasn’t so subtle. Did a good job with under eyes. Which is hard to tell but looked worse before!

Frankly I love the shade but feel this one makes me look like a theatrical impression of a whore!

I tried blotting

I tried another color and my eyeshadow suddenly worked!

I tried without. Just lip gloss (clear) unless it stained- which would be a pain in the ass. I think augmenting my eyes and leaving my mouth alone is better.

I keep rubbing my eyes through so needed to wash it off.

A bit “blushed in the eyes!” But probably better if I can’t stop rubbing them.

Here’s Tabitha’s take

Whoops forgot to wipe off the powder’

Guess I should stick to special occasions! I don’t even remember to wipe off it off!

It did soak in after a while.

Dislocated jaw! Potential Bells Palsy? WTF?

I am desperate.

I died in July. Twice. From a suicide attempt.

I looked like a sci fi drawing

7 tubes in my body. My legs a bit strapped up.

They tried so hard. So though death was preferable I made God a promise.

But my stalker doesn’t want me to keep it.

A couple of years ago I promised if. It was important I’d try to the end times

I promised another I’d do everything I could to get better.

But my stalker wants my death.

I started to improve. I had goals, aspirations, plans.

She clawed into me till I dropped into a deeper pit. One with little light only slowed by my cat.

She’s promised to kill or kind-nap her. Instant over the edge for me.

My stalker want my death.

I hit a point so deep into darkness that I was again only slowed by my cat as I hoped I was dying anyway.

I bought items to work on my health and environment. I made plans.

Back down. Because I can’t stand this hen house. And the abuse just ramped up.

Because she wants my death.

My “subtle enhancement” might be too little

Maybe I’m not quite doing much!

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.