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This Not So Haunted House

October 1. 

My Two Month Anniversary Of Living In My New (rented) House. 

It’s An Old (buit between 1925-1929) House That Was Converted Into Two Units.  I Reside In Unit 1/A.  It’s The Larger Of The Two, Due To The Screened Porch And Number Of Rooms.  

I’m Still Not 100% “Moved-In.” 

7 Boxes Still Not Unpacked (All Master Bedroom). And I’m In The Process Of Buying New Furniture. *(A thing in life I have not done in five years).

I’m Still Have To Purchase A New Couch, Coffee Table(have not own one in 8 years) End Tables, Kitchen Chairs.

I Have Purchased A Console Table, Office Chair, And A Cat Box(litter box) That Looks Like An Accent Piece.  

Strange.  I don’t feel at home.  I just see a different space in a larger town farther away once more.

But, that’s not on my mind, my agenda today.

I’m still in mourning.  The loss of many and pieces of myself these past two and half years.  

One face in particular that lingers among me.

I promised myself I wouldn’t listen to this song anymore too many memories, feelings.

“But still the warmth flows through me                                     And I sense you know me well                                                    No luck, no golden chances                                         .             No mitigating circumstances now.”  Peter Gabriel 

On October 5, 2016, he called me on my cell phone, he thought I was dead, or the possibility of it all.  

He voice mail, haunting.  Asking questions like, “I hope you’re ok.  I hope you get this message.”

That was the beginning of our confidentional (working) relationship regarding things that are painful, torturous, private.

We talked almost everyday.  *(Part of the Job).  We got to know each other somewhat in a place that’s still respectful but not inappropriate.  

We have not spoken since May 29, 2017.  I feel he had to become a stranger given the situation and what and how it all happened.  

It makes me sad. I hoped to maintain a Friendship wherever we both remained.  But, as my life has continued in these past 2.5 years, another loss in the book.  It’s as if I’m not meant to hold onto anyone anymore, no matter the type of relationship it is, I end up with death.  Literal and Metaphorical.  *September 9, 2016, My Best Friend’s Death, The Worst.

To be haunted by spirits that cannot move on is an easier task to accomplish.  You can ignore it all and you can go on living.  

To be haunted by people who are alive but are gone leaves you invisible in your own existence, a suffering so infinite you wish you were underground.

Ending Begin

Yesterday.  Last day of Rosh Hashanah. First Day Of Fall.  Day Off (first since August 6, 2017.             Technically, not a “Day-Off,” just no Classes to Teach).  I Was Anticipating A Wonderful Day, Full Of Adventure.  Instead, I Was Sick, Lying In My Bed In So Much Pain, Torture From My Disability And Colon.  

I Tried To Rest In My Beautiful Ivory Comforter But Too Much Pain And Self Burden.  

I Made Myself Get Up, Get Ready.  It Took 2 Hours.  I Was Dizzy, Frustrated, Blood Pooling, Fatigue, Angry.  

But, I Accomplished It All: Makeup, Outfit, Jewelry, And Hair. *The Black hair will be departing.  

I Drove.  Something I Knew Was Too Dangerous When My Disability Is Extreme, But I Wanted My Freedom.

I Made It, Not Sure How.

I Spent A Lovely Late Afternoon And Early Evening With My Best Friend And Her Daughter. Even Though I Was Beyond Weak, Brain Fog, Demobilized, I Still Found My Inner Strength To Have Conversation, Engage With Her Daughter (Dinner Time, Singing Songs, And Even Coloring). Again, My Best Friend Let Me In, And Be Apart Of Her Daughter’s Bedtime Routine. 

My Nerves Were Shot, Numb As I Tried My Best Not To Cringe From The Frayed Roots That Burn Me Inside Out.

After Bedtime, My Best Friend And I Spent Time Alone, Talking.  And It Was Interupted By My Ex Messaging Me Via Instagram.  

I Was In A State Of Shock And Disappointment.  We Have Not Spoken In 27 Days.  I Have Nothing Left To Say, Not Then, Not Yesterday. (When I was called a kurva(whore) on my Birthday Weekend, there is nothing left).

The Message Was A Question Followed By Him Admitting He Created A False Girlfriend (he said it’s better than nothing) Then “I’m Eating Dinner At A Restaurant, Good Night.”  

I Did Not Reply To The Last Good Night Because It Was Not Immediate Nor Necessary.  

Four Hours Later.

I Replied: Ok.  Good Night.  Verbatim.

Within 30 Minutes, The Attack Began. 

Unbelievable.  Here We Go Again. This Person Is Crazy.  Yes, Everyone Is Well Aware.  

He Is Telling Me Now, He Has A Girlfriend (Screenshots of WhatsApp Phone Call List And Messages). Calling me a kurva AGAIN.  

I Have Not Seen This Psychopath since August 12, 2017, 6 Weeks And He’s Calling Me A Whore At 11:30p.m?!

I Completed My Message Battle With How I Felt In The Past, And That EVERY Time He Ran-Away HE CAME BACK. I NEVER Went Looking For Him. EVER. You Vanish, Run, Change Your Number(twice), I Have NOTHING Left To Say, Give You.  

He Continued Verbally Abusing Me, Thinking It Would Get To Me, Creep Inside.

Absolutely Not.

I Haven’t Even Read His Last Message And Never Will.  It Can Sit There And Rot In Time Like Him.

I Always Knew I Would NEVER Be Able To Have A “Goodbye” Conversation With Him, And Yesterday Proves It All.

I Did NOT Let His Abuse Ruin My Evening. I Continued Enjoying My Friday, Preparing For My Saturday Work Day, Chores, And Evening Plans.  I Went To Bed With My Mind Happy And My Heart Protected, Understanding That In Reality, I Won’t Ever Understand His Behavior Because He’s Mental, So There’s No Need To Analyze His Behavior Towards Me Anymore.   I Did Remind Myself To Contact The Order Of Protection And That I Stayed With Him For Way Too Long.  


I Woke Up At 8:30a.m Still In My Vera Wang Skirt, Made A Cup Of Green Mountain Dark Magic Flavored Coffee, Changed, And Went To Work.  

Yes, I Remembered What Occured The Evening Before, But This Time, Differently.  

I Have The Power To Block Him Out Of My Existence, To Move Forward, Never Letting Him Interrupt Any Part Of Me Ever Again.

Between searching and my need to work the past out has ended.  You are broken.  My heart, now clear. My Mind, beginning a new chapter, Time.

The Vanishing Kind

Originally Posted:

July 10, 2017.

It began 

April 1, 2017.  

Second time

June 5, 2017.

The last

July 10, 2017.

Why did I let this happen?

He came back, swerving like a snake, manipulating me once more with his tears and false pain. *Even managing to destroy what was left of my already sorrowful Birthday weekend. And after 17 days of not speaking, he continues to verbally assault me on a Social Media Platform.

Nine months of verbal and emotional torture?  In Disability, Charges, Heartache, Violated. 

It seems manifested from a dream as now the reality night shades pulls the sadness back over my soul.  

I have been far removed from this situation (for many reasons).

I loved him.  Even when he was inpatient with my Dysautonomia or my progressiveness as a Woman.  

I watched him become more withdrawn, delusional and I never understood.  

I was faithful, honest, giving him my soul in our future commitment as husband and wife. *That was NEVER going to happen.  His insecure soul could never let him trust as his delusions ran his heart.

This all still stands true.

But, now I’m remembering all of the times I tried beyond my physical and emotional capacity.

I remember the first time I cooked him dinner.   He didn’t even wait for me to sit down.  He devoured his food like an animal (He has absolutely no manners) as we watched his favorite movie, Jaws.

All at my house.  

Everything, at my house.  (Minus the two times I drove to a dingy motel (where Sexual Assault took place) once when I took him on a Weekend Vacation to one of the most iconic and swankiest Hotels in the Country).

*That was when he chose to let me pay for EVERYTHING, even though I couldn’t afford to.
Now, I have been educated.  

He has Major Psychosis.

He has never been treated, but diagnosed by multiple Psychologists.

So What do I do when I am trying to fill the holes inside from my own pain, but in return all that I got was:


“Behavioral: disorganized behavior, aggression, agitation, hostility, hyperactivity, hypervigilance, nonsense word repetition, repetitive movements, restlessness, self-harm, social isolation, lack of restraint, or persistent repetition of words or actions

Cognitive: thought disorder, confusion, belief that an ordinary event has special and personal meaning, belief that thoughts aren’t one’s own, disorientation, memory loss, racing thoughts, slowness in activity, thoughts of suicide, unwanted thoughts, or difficulty thinking and understanding

Mood: anger, anxiety, apathy, excitement, feeling detached from self, general discontent, limited range of emotions, or loneliness.”

The DSM-5.

These behaviors were active on a regular basis.  I knew something was wrong with him, but I thought he was just Depressed.   But, the shift in his manic psychosis episodes became more aggressive. Attacking me verbally and emotionally many times while under the influence of alcohol. *He would end up in a severe car accident, not remembering anything until I put his pieces back together (as I always did). *He broke into my Mobile Phone, literally copied everything off of it.  He called my Doctor and asked to meet him because he thought we were having an Affair.  He called my current Landlord after he took photos of my Lease.  And the killer, he called my Ex-Husband.  

Now, I look back at how he found me, not once but twice. It can be called ‘Destiny,’ but these emotion particles have become truths of nothing.  

Not on or in my Journey.

My holes of loss have only grown into infinite depths of eternal suffering.

I just wanted love.

Instead I slowly drowned inside his misery, delusions, abuse.

Not anymore.

I cannot fix what is already broken.

Maybe one day when you are ready, and you build your mind and have a strong heart, don’t come find me.


The Friday Disease 

Friday night.  7:50p.m. In-bed with Tachycardia, Dehydration, Slight Fever, Oh And A Colon Manifested With Tumors.  

A Lot Of Vomiting And Usage Of Facilities Today Due To My Wretched Colon.  

Exhausted From Lack Of Sleep (I have not slept for more than eight hours straight, interrupted since July 2016), Work, Chronic Illnesses, Dysautonomia(my Disability), and well, Life.

Existence: “The fact or state of living or having objective reality.”  Dictionary 

I played a lot today with my existing Nostalgia, when I wasn’t bleeding from inside out.  

I remembered a time in my life, College, University, Uni, whatever you call it, I call it some of the happiest and darkest times of my-self.

But, Nostalgia is not necessarily sadness. For me, it brings me a few moments of peace in my decaying present.

So, Friday Nights from 2001-2003, mostly in epic proportion with friendship, music, laughter, and oh yes, drinking.  I could out drink them all. 🙂  *(I had a Rule as an Undergraduate, “No drinking during the week.”  In 3 years, I broke my rule ONCE).

I thought about my Best Friend Jon.  How much admiration and respect he gave among our tangled friendship.  (He loved me.  I did not).

We walked the same path in College, working hard, partying hard.  Metal Heads. Ethnic.  Gym Rats.  Simpático.

He was my protector, my confidant.  He was Jon.  I will say there were at times magic between our eyes (Elizabeth Taylor is not the only one with true Amethyst Irises). 

Even after a bottle of Jack Daniels (6’4″ Dutch Guy could kill a bottle of Jack and still walk five miles) his smile could still tear me apart.  As I, a case of Coors Light.  

We would just talk.  Drink yes, talk more.  It was easier to…, I had a Single Dorm.  Yes, Metal in the background.  That was a must.  Korn, Slipknot, System of a Down, Pantera to name a few favorites.  

We both had secrets, sorrow, and this gave our Friendship the foundation we both needed.  He shared many personal heartaches, family melancholia, almost a tortured soul.  He liked the fact I was a different type of girl, a girl who didn’t mind when he had guys night instead of partying in 1040 Higgins Hall (My Dorm, which was Imploded on July 1, 2017.  I was there for it.  *He lived in Higgins Hall as well. Fourth Floor.  Aka The Zoo it was called). He liked the fact I didn’t cry everytime I drank (NEVER) or need him to hold my hair so I could puke in the hallway (NEVER).  He enjoyed it when I could sing like a Metal Head (I was in a Metal Band before College) and know every lyric by memory and heart.

Not your average College Girl by far.  Maybe that’s why he loved me.  I was unattainable.

And I look back now, and I regret that.

But, those were my issues, my pain, my destruction. 

 I didn’t know how to love him back.  And this something that eats away at what’s left of my own heart.

Present:  “Existing or occuring now.  The period of time now occurring.” Dictionary 

We have not spoken to eachother since 2012.  His Wife will not let him maintain any sort of contact/Friendship with me.  *They met in College when he began his Master’s Program, ironically I was attending mine too.  He left his Program without Graduating, I stayed and received my first M.A as that was the last time I saw him.


Many.  If I could love you back, I think we would have ended up together.  It was a Destiny not fulfilled.  And when Destiny is interrupted by failure, souls are lost forever.

Friday Nights.  How you have changed.

Explicit Moon

Holiday Lost

Labor Day. 


I’m Educating, Teaching 9 Hours Today (would have been 10, but a Student in Venezuela needed his Class Rescheduled).



During the 2017 Calendar Year, I have taken off 8 days. *Four for two Surgeries. 1 Personal (Dysautonomia Anniversary). 1 Semi-Personal, to watch my Undergraduate Dorm being Imploded. 1 to move(that was the last day).  The other day was a mistake, but we live and learn. *(For my Ex’s Birthday.   My Birthday was ten days ago, and the last thing he said to me was Goodbye Kurva(whore) after pretending to celebrate my Birthday).
I put on Mr. Mister as I wait for my next Class. Songs to keep me in reflection as I am dealing with circumstances no one should have to experience.

So, Holiday.

The Summer of 1993.  I was a latch-key kid, so home alone, with a Volunteer Job at the local Public Library.  

Everyday, I had a Routine:

I would wake up, make a 32 ounce Ice-Tea, watch The Price Is Right (man I was good at calculating the Showcases) then a quick snack, always the same: Jalapeno Nacho Cheese Sauce with Tortilla Chips, get ready for the Young and the Restless.  There was my escape.  At twelve years old, I understood Adult Relationships, love, pain.  There were two Characters: Danny Romalotti and Brad Carlton each giving my young soul an opportunity to know what kind of woman I wanted to be.

Danny was this Rocker, didn’t quite fit into the shows bourgeoisie of Characters.  Like me, I was a loner. He dated this beautiful blonde Attorney that obviously was not a match, but I thought cool this guy is a musician and lived among people who judge him and he still keeps going, his heart alive.

Brad was a Business Man (originally casted as a Gardener, right).  Brad was dark, sometimes borderline between good and evil.  His ambitions what were I liked (and the fact he was the most beautiful man on day-time television at that time).  He fought hard, always defending himself. Also, somewhat a loner, wander.  He had many relationships during his run on the show, but nothing in comparison to Danny and Cricket.  

Maybe that’s why I was drawn to him.  What really matters in life? Love? 

Absolutely not.

I knew then, We design our own lives.  A part of this design is love.  It is not natural to our being. Love creates manipulation, power, and most of all, misery.  All that is left are regrets.  Why chose to design our lives already broken?  

I want peace, freedom Contentment for my Soul. You will never change my mind. That’s my design. I want to end in solo creativity.

Now, fast forward.  

My last Relationship ended (for the fourth time) due to abuse.  We were never ok together, but as I do, I stay to see if the heart fixes what’s inside.   To only be left with my own pain deeper, further from self or any type of peace.  *When you can count the days on one hand when you were genuinely happy, this is not natural or compatible.

I’m done.  

As a Character on a show, I have been written off from the same storyline.  

My ending: Almost occurred on Christmas Morning 2016: I’m lying in my Grand King Hotel Room inside the MGM Grand.  The view from our 13 Floor Window is spectacular.  I can see the Grand Canyon and the Strip.

But, that’s about all I can see.  

Dysautonomia has proven to infinitely ruin me, my dreams, my life.  

There are no good moments left for me.

Instead, I see myself jumping out the window, but I’d rather die somewhere else.  (Preferably, Sicily).


No, Reinstate.  

Holding Back The Years

I’m in such great sadness.  I never thought the last time I would see you, would be your grave.

I said Goodbye to you today (almost 11 months after your death, your Suicide).

As every month past and passed, the seasons changed, I kept telling my Heart that I needed to let go. Many nights, crying as I replayed that entire week before your death.

After November, my time was consumed by abuse and me being stuck.  As I wrote to you before on your seven month death anniversary: *You would be so ashamed of where I am at. Giving in, tortured by someone else’s pain who sees me as a dishonest painful Woman, individual, Soul.  And as I uncover my mirror you know that’s Far from all truth.

I spent fifty minutes with you today. Crying in all black as I pulled up and could see your Monument.  I couldn’t breathe.  I have never wept inside a cemetery before.  And how I found you, yes I called the Memorial and they told me approximately where you are buried, but I have never been there and driving with my Disability is wretched, but I followed her directions but the rest was as if you led me to you.

I told you today, I was sorry for not being able to come to the Funeral or to see you sooner.  I played our song, I talked about what’s been happening and how I have to leave this town and will never return.  I apologized for not bringing flowers, so I left my faux pearl necklace hanging on an Angel in front of your tomb (someone left a similar necklace on a Cross on the right side of your Monument).  I asked if you were at peace wherever you are and to look after your Son and Family.  I cried as I spoke about our Friendship, how you were my only friend in this town, my Best Friend and how I miss you everyday.  I thought about you underground (I know what happened at the Funeral Home) I cried and said I was sorry they did that to you. I gently touched the black marble as I looked at your picture and what is engraved next to that infamous smile. The years, showing how young you were (26). 

I didn’t want to leave, but I told you I had to go back to work.  I told you I loved you as I kissed my hand and put it across your picture and held it there as I wept and said Goodbye for the last time.

I walked away and as I got into my truck I looked back and cried.  *A grounds keeper asked me if I was leaving as if our time was over.

On the drive home (A home I have left for 48 hours), I thought about my own Suicide Attempts and what if that was me.

Would people come visit me?  Leave behind memories?  Talk to me?

Vaellaz, I’m sorry it took me almost 11 months to visit you and say my peace, my last Goodbye.

My Soul is better that I did.  

I cannot bring you with me when I leave here.

I will always miss you and love you, but the Pain must remain behind.

“Chance for me to escape from all I know
Holding back the tears
There’s nothing here has grown
I’ve wasted all my tears
Wasted all those years
Nothing had the chance to be good

Nothing ever could
I’ll keep holding on.”  Simply Red

Girl On Fire 

On March 27, 2017 

I ask my Boss Kevin if I could have March 30, 2017 off.

It is very significant to me.

It’s the Second Anniversary of my Dysautonomia.

I then asked him if he could talk 

He called via mobile phone 

And I told him the following:
I need this day to myself.

Last year, I tried to commit suicide

He got really quiet.

He said

“What ever you need from me, I’ll do”


‘Just be my friend.’


“I can do that.”

I got the day off.

On March 31, 2017 he messaged me via Skype:

[3/31/2017 8:33:58 AM] Kevin H.: hey sarah, welcome back!

[3/31/2017 8:36:48 AM] Sarah R W: Hi Kevin. Thank You.

What are the circumstances now? He is no longer my Boss(wrongfully, for other reasons). I was told not to disclose my Health with Students (Three students were “Freaked out” in regards to my Health, so they asked for a Replacement Instructor.  Funny thing, I never gave away when I’m sick while interacting with a Student.  I always kept my pain to myself).

I could have never responded that day, and I would have been replaced without hesitation.  It’s common sense. As long as I continue to work seven days a week (for 348 days now) within my progressive Disability it doesn’t matter, it never did.

Still shot from Burning Down The House By Talking Heads. A Group My Former Boss And I Discussed, Not To Mention One Of My Favorite Bands. 

Ironic, I’m Nine Years Older Than My Former Boss, And I Was Alive And Intune With The Genius Of It All When This Track Was Released. 

The Concept Of David Byrne In This Shot Is Self-Reflection And Regret.  

That Phone Call.  Maybe he was terrified.  Maybe it was all just fashion, truth of the matter, no one really cares.