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The Bathroom That Saved Me part 2


^ my slutty artistic expression of feeling caged. Caged referring to the mental prison in which I (and others’ abuse and neglect and toxicity helped, too) placed myself. Then breaking free using what I know best… which is seduction. Why wouldn’t it be? I got it honest. I earned this chaotic trait of hypersexuality. I did the years of hell. Now, let me reap the benefits for fucks’ sake. 😩 This video is relevant because it encompasses the overall idea of the bathroom’s significance and what it symbolizes for me and my healing. And it was recorded in said bathroom’s floor. So. It’s oozing with relevance to the story lol.



Plus, be seducted by me if you so choose 😉 It happens to the best of 'em. And the one’s it doesn’t, I chalk it up to their loss and away I go to undoubedtly seduce again. Unless you’re my ex. But, that’s a story for another time.


Do what works, ya know?



In part 1, I explained the pertinent history to get you (and myself, really) caught up and to maybe, for a few minutes, see it all from my point of view and with my same warped and traumatized lens. It’s all significant in my story. The story I so desperately feel the need to share to anyone who will stumble and fall upon it. And yes, you will fall. It’s the effect I tend to have on others. Fall in love or fall apart in the realization of your own trauma or fall victim to true compassion and empathy… 1 of the 3 I feel certain.


Well, there’s 1 more… maybe you’ll just fall back. Fall back because you can’t be bothered by another’s story right now. That’s ok, too. It’s ok because I have been there. When your own life is full of fuckery you cannot tackle another’s fuckery - mentally or otherwise - or you might explode. Don’t explode, exit stage left. I’ll cya when fuckery leaves or you finally kick fuckery to the curb. Just don’t kick fuckery my way please… I’m begging at this point lol.


My fuckery gets screamed from the rooftops for it’s removal as not to place it’s heavy burden on any one person but to stretch fuckery out thin and manageable among the masses. To be seen, felt in a minor but impactful way, and placed to rest by it’s sheer nature of being unable to survive once it’s been exposed. It’s dark for certain, my fuckery, and the exposure to light instantly overpowers it.



So enough about that. Back to the bathroom. Well, back to the bathroom for you in your imagination as you read my words. I’m still, in real life and in real time, sitting in the floor of said bathroom and I never left. I have sat here for an actual ungodly amount of time that I don’t think anyone realizes quite yet but you will in just a second.



Let’s do the meth… math. Sorry, it’s my lil “fuck society” gene I have always had and lately has been stronger than ever. It’s… not smart. Don’t do what I do. Just read. I don’t survive off smarts alone… sometimes I must rely on my true intentions. And they are pure regarding all of this.


The road to hell is paved with good intentions, I’m aware. But, I’ve been to hell, I can promise you that. The roads were paved with just as much “sheeple following society standards instead of live their true intended path free of fear and doubt and shame” as was the same road paved with good intentions. I’m throwing out society standards and giving myself a 50/50 shot back to the top which is the same odds as anyone else. Trust me, this all makes sense in my manic mind right now. Lol. It’s meth math so don’t expect your brain to compute if you don’t partake in this type of numbers game yourself. Just disregard.



So, since becoming homeless in September 2021, I spent until December 2021 living in my car and also periodically staying at my sister’s (where the bathroom in question resides) long enough to take a bath and wash clothes and then back to my car I went. I was hard-headed… and for good reason. I needed the shock of going from a nice apartment with more than I could ever need to the bare minimum... a drastic change and something to ignite what I like to call “purposeful psychosis”


Purposeful psychosis is the active engagement in doing all things in my life in such a way as to shock my system. I do everything in the opposite way in which I would normally tackle it. It sets my world upside down and pulls the hypothetical rug out from under it… psychosis ensues. I enjoy psychosis as a tool to use for it’s “idgaf and couldn’t if I tried because life ain’t a dick so don’t take it so hard” aspect combined with it’s increase in the connection I feel with the universe. It’s needed in times of high stress. I can’t tackle the stressful situation if I am also debilitated with worrying about the stressful situation plus everything else from 1992 to 25 years into my potential future. I need to be psychosed for this to happen, in other words. That’s how I joke about my psychosis lol. Oh I forgot to mention, I also get high on a stimulant that creates the perfect environment for psychosis to flourish if someone wishes (or doesn’t wish) to go there. It’s a recipe for chaos so like I’ve said before, don’t do what I do.


So I was properly and purposely psychosed for my 3 month stent of homelessness after turning my world upside down following an abusive relationship's abrupt end with no word as to why or how or what the fuck (I'm aware it's weird that someone would want to stay in an abusive relationship but do us all a favor and do some research and you'll quickly see why that is exactly the case), the sudden and shocking death of my step dad, the loss of my career the year prior, loss of all past connections with people except the newfound connection with my sister, and the abortion of my child in which my sister was the only support I had. I was on rock bottom's doorstep and my psychosis would be the one to let me in, lay me down gently, and then help pick me up so I could begin crawling out. Psychosis is essentially rock bottom's handy man to assist with making sure there is a high turn-over rate, lol. I'm getting out there at this point but bare with me.



So, I was homeless. I had an eye on the bathroom every time I'd make my way to my sister's to take a bath (I've said this before but literally a bath was my ONLY comfort for months I swear on everything it was 😩) and wash my clothes. Eventually, I got resentful of my sister knowing about her gold mine she was keeping from me most days (aka the unused bathroom with a bathtub) during those times when I was cold as fuck in my car while leaving it running 23.5/6.5... the 0.5 was to "let my car rest" which wasn't really helping enough. I was just "kinda" cold and "kinda" quickly fucking up my car (aka my current home). That state of affairs wasn't going to last long term and I knew it. Homelessness would have to wait. I didn't really realize I had that option but my sister must have felt my resentment and she took the bait (wasn't my intention but it is what it is and I'm thankful).



I was mostly resentful due to the fact that my sister and my dad had haphazardly and without regard for anyone else that would be effected in mind spent all my grandparents money in just 2 years before my beautiful and loving but gullible and overly people-pleasing grandmother passed away. They didn't have bad intentions they just didn't care one way or another and selfishly spent and spent and spent while my grandmother wasn't quite on her game and was easily manipulated in any direction. She was 90-92 years old when my sister had her.



One of the many things my sister talked my grandmother into was getting a nice house for her. I had washed my hands of the financial responsibility of making sure my grandfather's wishes would be carried out the day I was threatened by my dad and left home (read part 1 if this confuses you). I completely cut ties with the idea of any money even though I was the executor of the will. I don't and have not cared about money, I only cared about the money because it was what my grandfather worked so hard for and he greatly wished it to be there to help his little family once he was gone and unable to help us himself. He earned the money he had for his family. And he made quite a bit of it. Enough so that the will was a topic of discussion for most my life and when they realized I was responsible (haha this might be hard to believe but I was overly obsessed with being responsible all of my life until this last year) and someone who will stick to their word and what I've promised, they made me the executor. And I intended on making sure the will was carried out exactly as was written and decided upon by them. Overall, it was to be split 1/4 ways between my dad, my sister, my cousin, and me. There were other specifics but that was the main thing that matters here... all assets/property in their name be sold and split besides the specifics mentioned.



When my grandmother died, I did what my grandparents had told me to do years prior - go see their lawyer and take the death certificate after all was said and done and I wanted to begin tackling it. They already prepaid him to see me and help with filing the will and any other problems that might arise. I asked my sister to go because she was the one who had Grandma the prior 2 years and she could bring any bank statements or whatever she knew about. Instead she brought tears. Tears for the lawyer and I to see and experience. Tears about how grandma was in debt $3,000 dollars at the time of her passing. The lawyer was pissed, making her cry more, and explained to her that was elder abuse. He isn't wrong. He knew how much they had when he helped them fine tune the will multiple times over the years.



He recommended I sue her. Of course, that is not what my grandparents would have wanted nor did I want it so that was that. He told me that if I filed the will, the house my sister just got (that was in my grandma's name) would be sold and split along with some property they owned in New Mexico. That was all that could be done if I didn't wish to sue. I decided not to file the will at all and forfeit my cousin's and my own small portion we would get from doing those two things, I talked to my cousin about the situation and he agreed. All the actual money and savings and assets were gone at that point by the help of my dad and my sister in a 2 year time period.



I'm talking hundreds of thousands of dollars just gone. Not to mention assets (my grandmother had quite a few diamonds and gold jewelry among other things... some pretty expensive stuff that she got for anniversaries or whatever over the years. Gone. All their stuff from their house? Gone. My mom stole it all is my very educated guess now that I've seen what I've seen... she knew no one was at the house during that time of limbo when grandma moved in with my sister but all her stuff was still at the house before it finally sold... I wasn't staying there so I had no say so or I would have locked the doors at least. SMH. I noticed in the following years that my mom had things that were exactly like my grandparents stuff and I found it odd after about the 3rd or 4th thing I noticed because my grandparents had a specific taste in stuff and didn't buy their stuff from typical places. They accumulated it all over years and years from all kinds of locations and a lot was handmade or unique/rare for one reason or another.



My mother said it was all bought from a yard sale I had a few years before and sold a lot of the stuff they had that they didn't use and stuff they were storing away and didn't want anymore. I couldn't remember what I had or had not sold so I took her for her word.



Now, I don't take her for her word... and it makes sense that the whole house was ransacked and everything just gone. I got nothing of my grandparents... nothing. And it's not that any particular valuable thing mattered. It's that my grandpa worked hard for all of it and wanted anyone in his family to never need anything and to be ok... to have what they needed. My sister even gave away their car to someone... while mine is totaled and I could really of used it. The whole ordeal has been heartbreaking.



But, I stuck with what I knew was right and that was to not file the will.



So, here I found myself at rock bottom, homeless, and in a totaled car, with little money, and cold and all my belongings spread out at 2 storage unit locations and 4 storage units of which all the money I was making was going to pay for those 4 units because I couldn't mentally handle giving away most my stuff like I wanted to do.


Me in my car in front of my sister’s house (even though I stay here I frequently choose to sleep in my car even in her front yard. It feels right so I do it.


My sister's [grandma's] house created resentment in me because of the beforementioned reasons in this blog. I tried to hide it because I was newly following my spirituality to see what it was all about and I felt wrong having the resentment for my sister at the time and for such reasons. But, she felt it at some point and mentioned the extra room and bathroom for me until I get on my feet. I gladly accepted the help once I realized I could no longer deal with the cold not another second and I couldn't afford to lose my car to the experience. It's really all I have left even to this day... I'm just learning to be ok with that instead of changing it. But I'm open to the change if it so happens to come, too.


Side note but important: help the homeless. Not in such a way as to make them feel beneath you because they are not beneath you and never will be. Idc what got them there. Offer just some understanding if that's all you have to give. You don't know the life they lead prior. They might be homeless because they want to be but could use some help. You never know. But during winter, they are fucking cold. Help them not be cold and not be fucking hungry... two things no one should have to be dealing with in 2022. Ok that's all I've got to say. I will take my own advice and do more, too.


Well fuck. I guess this was yet another "back story" to what I'm actually trying to write about. Like I said... bare with me. It's all relevant. Maybe you can respect the hustle... I gotta get all this bullshit out of my own inner soul and onto this blog or else I'll drown with the weight of it. I just hope it can also help other people in the process. But, I'm writing it all one way or another because I love me, finally. and I love the idea of healing me. I love unhealed me, too, of which I still am her currently at the time of writing all this. Maybe I always will be what I believe is unhealed. I don't know. But I love me, finally, either way.



And I'm worth telling my story.





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