Wednesday, April 22, 2015

All I'm asking for is Time...

my heart is broken.  I have no idea what to do.  I love my parents so much but I cannot begin to fix their ailments.

I don't even know what to say.  I just know I need to write.  I need to get something off my chest.  I need to verbalize my feelings the best that I can for now...

I want my dad to feel better.  If I could, I would take all his pain for him.  I would do anything as long as it would give me more time with him.

All I want is good quality time with him.  Why else would I wake up at 4:30 every morning if I didn't want that?

I love our time together in the mornings.  I love spending afternoons with him on Monday and the weekends.  I just want time.  I want to pause time and spend as much as I can with my parents.  I love them more than I could ever say.  They are two of my best friends.

I'm at a loss.  I don't know what to do.

Sunday, April 19, 2015

an... update?

I've written two extremely long blogs today that I can't post.  I can't finish my thoughts.

I'm bouncing from subject to subject...

This has been my problem and my reason for not blogging.

I can't say how I really feel because people get hurt.

People can't let me voice my feelings without getting upset at something I say.

So therefore I stopped writing these things down.

I stopped blogging although I have a shit ton to say.

I have to try to rewrite things to make them politically correct or make sure I'm not going to hurt anyone's feelings... therefore when I try to write I can't handle it.  I can't handle editing myself.

That's just ridiculous.

My blog was my outlet... now I don't have it.

Here's the gist:
I'm celebrating my 3 year wedding anniversary with my husband.

I'm still bipolar.

I harbor a lot of anger toward about 95% of my family on my dad's side (I'm not sure of the math, I just know that it's more people than not)

I'm still anxious.

I still have flashbacks.

My body still hurts.

I can't expand on any of these things because I can't focus.  Hurrah mania!

Friday, March 6, 2015


Creativity has been my outlet lately and I'm dying to write but I can't seem to find the words to express myself as needed.  Tonight, I'm making myself find these words because if I don't... I may just implode.

I feel alone. I feel like I'm trying to breathe underwater and the more I try, the more trouble I have.

I hate that I don't know when I feel real joy or when I'm just pretending because I feel that my entire life has been one giant acting job.

I'm so scared about losing my dad.  I'm so scared that my husband will find someone else who is better and more deserving of him.

I'm worried about all this shit that's going on with my body and I don't want to find out what is wrong with me because I'm scared that what I think is wrong, is really what's wrong...

I'm worried about losing my mom.  I would die without her.  I'm not a strong person.  I only pretend to be.

I have so many things jumping around my head it's overwhelming me.

I'm just fucking scared and that is all.

I really fucking hate my cousin and anything associated with him. I want to tell my family how much I hate them for so easily brushing me aside and forgetting my existence.

I want to punch certain people in my family when they seemingly bring him up on purpose when I'm around... they do it like it's nothing.  I hate it.

I can't tell anyone anything about how I feel because people get upset and can't let me just have my feelings.  I'm not allowed to feel the way I want.

I'm fucked.

Tuesday, December 2, 2014

pray for Chaos

Over the last several months I have developed this insane bond with my parent's dog, Chaos.  He's a 10 month old mastiff mix.  I love him so much and I miss him when we are apart.  I hate going more than a day without seeing him and think about him constantly.  It's like he's my dog that lives somewhere else.

My heart is broken into a million pieces right now because we have no clue what's wrong with him.  His back legs are weak and he gets tired easily.  I keep praying that it is something that can be easily fixed because I will die on the inside if it's not.  Animals are my world.  I love them more than most people.  With them, it's a true unconditional love... there are no stipulations with them.  They don't judge you or discard you like you don't matter like people will.

I don't know if I'm making sense... I'm just missing his hugs and giant wet kisses.

Sunday, September 21, 2014

This is why facebook says my maiden name right now...

My husband and I had a huge fight a few nights ago.  I mean, HUGE.  I did not want to share a bed with him, let alone a last name.

There was no doubt in my mind that I wanted to get a divorce.  I hated him.  I hated everything about him.  I wanted to punch him so hard in the face that his teeth flew out.

Before this blowout occurred, I was driving home and I was in a pretty good mood.  Well, that changed as I called him from our driveway (I drove our truck and was unsure of my parking job and needed him to guide me, it was dark out) and there was NO porch light on and he didn't answer.  I called him twice.  So, I said fuck it, grabbed the heavy ass grocery bags I had and attempted to unlock the fucking door in the dark.  As I cussed my way through this process my phone rings... FUCK THAT MOTHERFUCKER, was what I thought in my head and possibly out loud.  The dogs started barking as I was struggling to find my key in the dark and my husband opened the door.  Drunk.  I could see it in his face.  His face morphs when he drinks.  I hate his face when he drinks.  He no longer looks like the handsome man I said "I do" to 2 years ago.  He unlocks the door and I walk in without greeting him and walk toward the kitchen to put shit away.

I yell at him about his phone and it being dark out.  My mood?  from zero to insanely angry in a few minutes?  You bet your sweet ass.  I'm bipolar.  Not an excuse, a fact.  Not only am I bipolar, I have a fucking insane amount of shit going on in my head that I try to keep to myself as to not stress anyone else out.

Well, keeping the shit in, sucks.  So therefore I explode pretty easily.  I'm worried about my dad.  I'm worried about my mom.  I'm worried about both of my grandmothers.  I'm worried about my two aunts that I keep in touch with on my dad's side.  I'm worried about my own health.  I'm worried about my husband.  I'm a huge, fat ball of worry.

On top of all this, I've had shitty flashbacks and have NOT been wanting to sleep because of the nightmares.  I'm tired.  I'm scared.  and now, I'm instantly angry.  Do you think my husband EVER asks why I'm really upset?  No.  He just rages back at me and defends his drinking.

Now, I know I married an alcoholic. I know this, I'm not a fucking idiot.  But I'm tired of fighting about this shit.  I'm tired of hearing his defense of his drinking.  I'm fucking tired.  TIRED. I try to do everything in my power to be a better person for him, I really do.  I know it's a long journey, but I am at least trying to walk the path of being a better human being for the sake of my husband.  He's cut down on drinking sure, but he still drinks to the point of passing out in his desk chair, slurring his words, walking like an old man because he's attempting to keep his balance... I don't like it.  Especially since I'm mostly sober.  I drink rarely these days.  I drink maybe a beer or a mixed drink once a month if even that.

We fight.  Yell.  I cry.  I can't handle everything.  I'm broken.  I stay away from him and crochet in the living room.  He asks me to go into the bedroom with him, I can't be around him.  A while later, I go into the room and he's in bed.  I start up our fight again because I need something.  I need him to comfort me and I'm not sure how to ask.  I think, as I'm starting to cry, "why the fuck isn't he comforting me?" and I look at those hollow, empty, drunk eyes and I fucking hate him.

I leave the room.  I sit on the couch and cry fucking hard.  As I'm sitting there, stewing in my pain/anger, NOTHING from him.  I'm pissed.  I'm thinking of who I can stay with because I can't stay here.  I can't let my parents know we are fighting to this point because I don't want my dad to worry about me. I don't want them to hate or even dislike him.

I walk into the bedroom turn on the light and poke my husband as hard as I can and tell him to get me my suitcase.  He hops out of bed and starts "looking" without asking me any questions.  He says he can't find it and gets back into bed.  I'm being dramatic, I know this, but I'm trying to get him to fucking ask me what's wrong, why I want to leave, why I'm crying so hard.  Anything.  He doesn't.  I tell him I want someone who will fight for us.  Someone who will comfort me when I need it.  He does none of this.

I'm in so much pain and so fucking angry, I can't see straight.  My mind is racing and all I can think about is this rage I feel toward him.  I hate him for not attempting to care for me.  I hate his guts with every inch of my angry soul.  I want to die.  I just want to fall asleep and die.  That's really all I want.

I want this quite often, but I really wanted it that night.

The next morning, I wake up after waking up every 30 minutes to an hour as I "slept" on the couch.  I'm still pissed.  I still hate him.  I still want a divorce.  I shower.  I get out and see his stupid face (yes, that was my thought as I got ready) and I hate him even more.  He asks me how it was sleeping and I don't even hear his words.  I angrily look at him and say, "what?" and he repeats himself and I mutter, "fine."

We start fighting again.  Finally I can't wait for him to ask me what's really wrong, so I tell him.  I tell him that he doesn't have to live in my fucking head.  I tell him about the horrible things my cousin did to me that I can't erase from my fucking head no matter how hard I try and that I can't sleep because of the fucking nightmares.  I'm having a really bad PTSD week.  I yell that I am worried that my dad may die any day now.  I'm worried about my sick grandmum.  I'm worried about my fucking mom! I'm worried about her so much it hurts me.  I hate how fucking sick I am making myself over worrying about all this shit that I CANT turn off.  I have no control over any of it.  I am at a loss.  I feel like I am drowning.  I can't fucking breathe.  I can't.  I can't tell anyone this because I don't want anyone else to stress.  I'm worried about all this weird shit that's going on with my body that I can't even recall right now.  It's weird and random and as I find each weird thing, I think "that's weird, that can't be normal." and I fucking move on and try to forget about it.  I have too much to worry about now to worry about myself.

Not to mention I have this odd premonition that I don't have much time left.  I really am worried but I don't want to know.  I really don't.  What if it's true?  What if I'm not being overdramatic? What if my mind is telling me to make everything as right as it can be with God and everyone else?

I remind him as we are fighting that I begged him for comfort the previous night and he denied me.  I can't handle it.   I still don't love him.  That emotion got buried as my hatred ignited.  He tries to comfort me, but it's too late.  I don't want his comfort any more.  I shouldn't have to beg for it in the first place.  I shouldn't have to cry and start arguments with him in order to get him to ask me what's wrong.

We've been together over six years.  I'd like to think that he pays enough attention to me to know when something is wrong, I mean our dog knows for fuck's sake, why can't a he?

I spend the day away from him and my mum keeps trying to find out what's wrong or what happened during our fight.  She knows because my eyes are so puffy from crying that I can barely see out of them.  I don't tell her anything.  She just knows that I hate my husband and that is all.

Well, after he picks me up from my parents house, I still don't like him.  I still want a divorce.  He tells me he will stop drinking.  I'm not asking for this because I don't want him resenting me as he goes through withdrawals. I know it won't work.  Alcoholics can't stop drinking.  They can't.  It's in their brains that they crave it.  I don't want him to turn into Fun Bobby from Friends after he stops drinking.  I want him to just know some fucking limits.  Stop before his eyes turn hollow and he has to walk like an old man for balance.

I tell him that when this fails, he can't just leave me.  He needs to allow me time to get on my feet so that I can continue my journey without him, because pretty much, if he's not going to be there for me when I need him, I may as well be alone.

I'm still iffy about how I feel toward him.  I love him. I know I do because he's the only person I've ever wanted to be with forever.  He's the only person I miss when we are apart.  He's the only person that I try desperately to get to love my God because I need him to be with me in the afterlife.

My anger however, is still denying that love.  My pain is making me keep him at bay because I need to be able to make a clean break when this all fails.  I need to be able to turn my love off and when you love someone as deeply as I love him, it's hard to do.  It may seem like it's off now, but it's not.  It's just scarred and battleworn and not really up for doing it's job right now.

My heart is still broken as I write this out.  I don't know what to do.  You can't listen to a broken heart, because it goes into survival mode and in survival mode, you want to get away from the one who broke it.  My mind  tells me that I need to listen to my broken heart, but something beyond all of this tells me to heal quickly and love him more than I've ever loved him before.

Time will tell.

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

my happy switch is broken.

As a creature of habit, I've created this awful habit of never allowing myself to"let it all out" but rather, I tend to shove most of it down until my emotions are so full that they erupt like the largest volcano could possibly imagine.  

I hate myself for it because it hurts.  Not just me, but everyone around.

I keep saying that I'm tired of wearing a mask and I am, but it's almost as though the mask I wear has become a part of me.  It's like a security blanket that I keep with me to shield me from myself.

I wish that I could effortlessly be happy.  I wish that I could erase a lifetime of memories.  I wish so hard that I was someone else. But I'm not.  I'm me and it fucking sucks to be so most of the time because even all the amazing things about my life can't seem to reach that place in my mind to turn on the happy switch.  Sometimes I'm afraid it's been disabled and will never work.

There are things that make me feel happy for a moment or two, but they soon become buried under all the shit that's made me so fucking sad for so fucking long.

I should have never gotten married.  I wish that I would have never fallen in love.  My emptiness makes me a terrible wife.  My depression makes me a terrible person.

Tuesday, June 24, 2014

One family's trash is another family's treasure

I know I've never been a fan favorite in my family.  I'm moody, outspoken and I'm tattooed.  This mainly applies for my paternal side of my family.  My maternal side of my family doesn't mind my tattoos because most of them have some.  They also think I'm quite funny.

That being said, although I knew that speaking out against my cousin molesting me would cause some breaks in the foundation of my family, I never thought that they would completely alienate me.  I never thought that I would feel like an outsider.  I never even imagined myself completely breaking away.

It had to be done.  I hurt silently for over 25 years.  I could no longer repress my tears.  I could no longer wear the mask that hid my shame.  I'm not sorry that I lost my family because in my eyes, they aren't my family any longer.  A family wouldn't choose to associate with someone who could hurt a member so badly.  A family wouldn't make me feel like I was nothing.

I try not to make myself the victim, but sometimes I can't help but remember that I am a victim.  A victim of incest.

I wish that I could change what happened to me from the age of 4 to 12.  I wish that I wouldn't have these random flashbacks that make my heart want to crumble up and die.  No matter how hard I try, I can't wash all images from my memory.  The things that were done to me as a child make me want to vomit.  I get infuriated every time I hear of another child suffering as I did.  My heart has this huge scar that will never heal.  It will always be tender and I will never be able to get a replacement.

I thought that I would have support.  I thought that I would be given love.  I thought that I was a link in the familial chain that was crucial and people would want me around.  I never ever thought that I would be tossed aside like garbage that ruined that gleaming facade.

The day that my family allowed me to be treated like an unwanted untouchable, was the day that everybody died.  I still have a couple of great aunts, one cousin and my grandmum that survived the holocaust of my heart but everybody else is buried.  I had to mourn the loss of an entire family at once.  It sucked and sometimes I'm still not over their deaths, but you can't always control who will love you and who will treat you like you are nothing.

I want those who are "family" to be those who love me.  Blood means nothing.  I've had an infusion and my blood is no longer theirs.

No, this is all my paternal family that I am talking about.  I don't want there to be any confusion of who is dead to me and who is still alive and kicking.

Although I have lost my family, my heart still cries when someone is actually hurting.  I feel bad and I want to fix things.  I'm not sure why since no one cared/s about my well-being.

My therapist told me that I never have to forgive.  Forgiveness has to be earned and not one fucking person has even attempted to earn that by treating me like I'm an actual human being.

I've gone way off course of what I intended this blog to be about, so I will say now what I originally wanted to.  My "uncle" is having issues with his heart again and although he responded to me with, "what do you want me to do about it?" in a crass tone when I told him about my cousin molesting me (when I was coming clean to everyone about why I didn't want to be around my cousin).  I still feel bad.  That is my dad's brother, my grandmum's son and at one point, I considered him my uncle and someone I loved.

Although he hurt me, I don't think he deserves to suffer.  I will pray for him.  I will pray for his family.  I will even shed tears for him because I am not the monster that everyone makes me feel like.

One family may have been lost, but when I married my husband I gained another.  It's a lot smaller than the one I had before, but they never make me feel unwelcome and they never make me feel like I am nothing.  I also have my friends that have become important family members to me, including a best friend who is my sister.  My parents and I have also become so much closer in the last 2 years (I know it's hard for some to imagine us being closer, but we are).  All is not lost in heartache.  There is a light at the end of the tunnel.

I just hope these people don't mistake my kindness for forgiveness in keeping them in my prayers.