smb814 | Here we go again.

This will never end. Or, if it does end, it won't end well. My sanity is very nearly a lost cause right now as it is.

We were hit again today. Yes, again.

Again, they didn't get anything from us. Again, we didn't catch them. Again, we have to spend hundreds of dollars to fix the damage they've caused us.

Five times total now. This time they wrecked our back door, trying to get it open. When that didn't work, they busted out our den window, both the inner window and the storm window on the outside. They neatly placed the glass pieces into the basement window well but must have been wearing gloves because the police didn't find any fingerprints.

They ran into my parents' bedroom, dumped the top drawer of their dresser, and ran back out before the security system could even alert anyone. That was all they did. They were out of the house by the time the pastors at my dad's church got there.

There was absolutely no point in it. They didn't get any money. They didn't take any valuables. They didn't even take the change that was sitting on top of the dresser. All that's left in that drawer is junk; we moved anything of value out of there weeks ago.

And it can't be the same kids. It can't. Anyone who's been in our house knows there's no reason to bust through the back door, because that only leads to the breezeway. The door between the breezeway and the house has a dead bolt. They wouldn't have been able to get in that way anyway.

And here's the kicker -- we just talked to the Alderman about all of this last night. After last week's incident, we sent him an email and then sent him a copy of that email via certified mail. His office called us back, and we (and half of the neighborhood -- 18 people total met with him, representing 12 different households) met with him last night, at our house, and described what's been going on. He was extremely impressed with how many people showed up, and he was appalled at everything that's been happening. He also promised us he would talk to the police, talk to the apartment owners where we think the problem is stemming from, and get more police patrols through our area. I walked away from it feeling very positive that something would change.

Not that he's had enough time for it to start making a difference. There's a lot of work he needs to do on his end, and I don't know that my sanity has enough time left for it to make any difference. Because these bastards just won't leave us alone.

I'm starting to think this isn't about the money for these creeps, since they're not getting anything anyway. They're breaking in to be spiteful and malicious. Maybe it's a gang initiation -- break into this house, steal something (anything), and get out. Maybe it's personal. Maybe they're bored (or, as one policeman said, maybe their parents don't trust them and won't even let them in the house anymore) and it's "fun" to terrorize us. Maybe it's all a game for them. Maybe someone bragged about it in a room full of 15 people, and now every single one of them is checking us out for themselves.

Repeat victimization is very common. They're familiar with the place, they know what we have, they know how to get in and out of the place. It's "easy" for them. They probably get off on getting away with it and causing us grief. Heck, they're probably laughing about it right now, about how they "bested" us this time.

And then we heard that a house several streets over, with a security system, was broken into. They tore the system right out of the wall. At least that time they think they got a fingerprint.

It's lovely to know that everyone in the neighborhood cares so much about us, about reclaiming this area, and about seeing justice done. But that's not helping us when no one's ever home during the day when all of this is happening.

So I ran out this afternoon and picked up Babylon 5 and season 1 of Supernatural. I needed to do something that felt normal, something that made me feel like I wasn't letting them control my life. Because Heaven knows how out of control I feel right now, about everything in my life.

I've lost too much this past year. Friends, peace of mind, a safe place of my own, self confidence, optimism, hope for the future, any remaining innocence I still possessed. I don't know what God's purpose for all of this is. I don't know if God has abandoned us altogether, or if all of this is supposed to be happening for a reason.

To top off everything else, yesterday was my birthday. I don't celebrate it, and I don't make a big deal out of it, but I do acknowledge it, it makes me feel like I matter when other people remember and acknowledge it (but don't make a big deal out of it), and I usually try to do something to treat myself. I'm just of the opinion that it really only affects three people in my life -- me and my parents -- and the last thing in the world I want to do is tell everyone about it and make them feel obligated to do something for me. And I finally realized yesterday why I took that approach to my birthday all those years ago, why I do everything in my power to avoid people on that day: because it hurts too much to be forgotten. It's happened too many times throughout my life, and so I guess my way of dealing with it is to keep that information from everyone else and avoid them. If they don't know about it, they can't forget me, and therefore they can't hurt me.

And then my mom forgot all about it yesterday morning. And it nearly killed my already-devastated psyche and resurrected all those emotions I've been fighting the past year or so of feeling invisible and insignificant and like no one cares whether or not I exist. I felt sick. I felt sub-human. I felt like the world had rejected me.

Happy birthday to me.

I honestly don't know how much more of this I can take. Bits and pieces of my sanity and humanity are flickering away every day. And underneath it all, I'm finding that, above everything else, I am a f*cked up mess with more issues than Time magazine. And I don't know how to fix 'me' anymore. I'm going to the doctor on Friday to get a check-up and make sure there's nothing physically wrong with me, exacerbating this trauma even further and making it that much worse, but then I'm thinking I need to see a psychiatrist, preferably before I'm a basket case and self-destruct any further than I already have.

I'm losing touch with 'me,' and I'm not liking what's left. And I don't have a clue what to do about it anymore.

But that's far more than enough whining for now. Sorry about that, everyone. Now I have to go help my parents fix yet another window.