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Posts Tagged ‘depression’

 

Love is not something that always stays, no matter how hard you try to tether it, hold on to it, keep it safe, It can still slip through your fingers like sand.  Slipping slowly through these fractures of time and distance. The more you try to keep it from tumbling away… the faster it seems to flee, catching in the breeze, and disappearing into places unreachable.

This love that is leaving, is not the love that He has for me, it is, in fact  the love I have and feel for him that is slipping so surely and steadily away.

The longer he continues to place these restrictions on my heart, on my words, on me as a person, the more surly my love will slip away.  He does not mean to hurt me, he is never vicious in his dismissal. Ignorance and selfishness are his only true crimes.  His way of loving simply differs from mine. My words reach his ears in a foreign tongue that, no matter how hard he tries, he will never… quite… get.

Cracks and gaps are created by words he has said in thoughtless moments of haste.  Gorges of dark pain carve their way through my heart with every uncaring word.  Dry craters form with every dismissal, every change of subject, every day I spend in forced silence.

Pain should never be dismissed, no matter how trivial it may seem. The person that is in pain is trusting you enough to bear their secret, admit their weakness, voice their pain.  Once that admittance is out there it is the receiver’s responsibility to tenderly acknowledge that pain.

If the pain is not acknowledged, if that pain is mocked, dismissed, ignored or silenced… then the receiver has broken that sacred trust. Any further thoughts one might have in trusting this person, after this invalidation occurs, will simply be met with a resounding “BANG” in their head.  Doors are shut, mouth is sewn closed, and heart cracks become just a little more prominent.

Can these cracks be mended? I am sure they could, with the right apology, a certain amount of caring and, of course, no further damaging actions.  Is he willing to rectify these cracks? Is he willing to build up my trust in him? I don’t really see this as something he has even entertained, as of yet.  He has apologized.  He even felt bad for almost 20 minutes.  What more do I need?

It’s one thing to be dismissed by a friend, or a family member that keeps a distance. It is a whole other level of pain when that dismissal comes from the one person that supposedly knows you better than any other person on the earth.

When they do betray your heart, ignore your pain.. it is just as lethal as any poison.  Festering and killing you slowly from the inside out. Sure, you can build up a tolerance over time, but, who wants to build up a tolerance to something like that?

So, does this damaged heart start the daunting task of finding a whole new person, a person that may better understand them? I can’t do that, fear is a whole other problem in itself!

Maybe I can learn to repeatedly overlook this flaw of his. Simply, try to love my offender regardless, seeing as I have already invested so much time and know I love him. I will work diligently to not show this tender heart of mine. The heart that’s always silently cracking, beating irregular, pained, beats over and over and over again.

Can I stop owning up to the pain of this secret, inner struggle? Could I really stop giving a voice to my turmoil and eventually learn to keep mute at these times?
Could I really mirror his actions and simply learn to dismiss my pain, keep my words trite, and just live out my remaining years, comfortable and safe and in a veritable Love Coma, repeating to him… to myself… reiteratively with every beat of my aching heart, “I’m fine” “I’m fine”, “I’m fine.”

Broken-Heart-Backgrounds-Wallpaper

 

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Mom, doing something nice :)

Mom, doing something nice 🙂

 

It’s hard to belive it has been 2 months now since momma passed.

I have been so busy just trying to muddle through the day-by-day… I have let the time slip by.

I went to a Christmas program with my boss Saturday night.  I thought it would be awful, but it was really pretty pleasent, for the most part anyways.  It was very hard to sit through the show without thinking “Mom would have loved this!” or “Oh, mom’s favorite song!”

I did even tear up a time or two with the sadness that mom would have really enjoyed that music so much more than I was.

I allowed myself to miss her for the rest of the evening.

I think I have been sooooo very busy being angry with her, I have not been allowing myself the time to remember, grieve and actually MISS her.

For everything bad I say about her, I can now say a good thing just as fast.  And you know, she really was a good person in so many ways.  She tried so very hard to create a perfect, christian world for us.  I think her human side, her mental state, just did not ever allow her to be “happy” with her results.  I think she might have been just as hard on herself, on the inside, as she was on us.

Today I am going to “TRY” (big emphasis on the word “try”) to put up Christmas decorations and the tree.  I am going to try to get through December the best I can.  Then maybe I can look forward to kissing 2013’s Ass… GOODBYE!

This has been one Hell of an awful year.  I’m just going to try.. that’s all I can do, right?

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I’m feeling quite shaky, a little panicked and a whole lot anxious today.

I’m not sure if it is the copious amounts of coffee I have indulged in this chilly morning, or the fact that I bared my soul for over 2 hours yesterday.  I figure it’s the latter.

The new counselor seems very nice, exactly who I need in my life right now…  BUT… It is still a very difficult, painful thing to sit there and run a dry-eyed monologue about every terrible thing that has happened over the past 39 years.  A diatribe of “poor me’s” falling out of my mouth like rocks.  I found myself uncovering fragments… exposing just a few seconds of the pain just to quickly cover it back up.  Scuffing dirt over it with my foot, as if too long exposure to the air would somehow start to drag me back under my personal ocean of emotions.

She wanted to go back to the very beginning.

She wanted to know everything in just a few minutes.

Each crucial moment, each pivotal second of my life came out in a rush of non-emotion.

“Yes, I was abused and manipulated as a small child… next.”

“Yes, I was bullied by classmates, teachers, mother, sister, grandmother…Next”

“Yes a boy I was secretly friends with killed himself after I had refused to talk to him in the library when he asked for help…NEXT”

“Yes I married my husband to get away from my mother… NEXT”

“Yes, my dad blamed me for my daughters mental illness, stating I was “TOO SINGLE” to raise her properly… Next…

“Yes, I aborted a baby because my mother told me I had to, Yes my son is special needs and drains me dry every single day… Yes, my mother died and I miss her, Yes, My mother died and I hate her for leaving me….Next, Next, Next!!!!”

Every door, every single cupboard of my life left hanging open, exposed to my internal light and judgement.

She did try to close some of the doors before I left.  She also seems like she will help me to close all these doors after time… but as for now, they are still ajar.  Dinging and alarming like an obnoxious car door.  “Your Door is Ajar” is the constant mechanical voice in my head… reminding me that I am still wide open.  The cold air rushing in and making the cobwebs and spiders, that were once still and unmoving,  wave and sway in the breeze.

I went grocery shopping after I left her office.  Probably NOT the best idea.  Walking around I kept feeling like maybe I had a scarlet letter on my chest.  Maybe a “C” for Crazy… or just a “W” for Wounded…. I still felt like everyone around me could smell my sorrow, my damage.. maybe like smelling slightly rotted meat or even just garlic, obvious enough to smell it, but not quite sure if it’s pleasant or offensive.

I felt very anxious, very stressed, quickly finished my shopping and rushed home to my safe little haven.

Now I am shaking and nervous, weepy and exposed.  I am curious if I will feel this way every single Friday?  Will THIS be my new normal? I usually stamp these feelings down and cover them.. now they are growing and fighting their way around these doors, and I am supposed to let them.   The bind weeds of my emotions got a taste of the light yesterday, now to see which direction they choose to crawl, Back to the darkness… or towards the light.

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I’m on the edge, the cusp, the jumping off point of my start to recovery and healing…   It’s off to the counselor I go.

I think she will be really good for me.  She seems like a very nice lady, from her emails.  I am anxious to meet her and get started, but yet am extremely nervous.  I hope this helps me. I am not used to telling a total stranger all my dirty secrets face to face… so pray my typing skills carry over into my verbal skills 🙂

There are so many areas for us to work on. So many areas I need to have fixed, like, immediately…

I’m glad I am seeing her today, it’s already started out pretty bad:

The boy was angry, VERY angry…. temper tantrum angry, not sure why… maybe he was sleepy, maybe he was Aspie-ing out on me. (I know that’s not a word, but anyways)

The girl is needing a med change, desperately.  She is clingy and needy, weepy and violent.

The babysitting baby is here early, she is a good baby, but just adds to the mess.

I spent the whole day at work yesterday  with “Mary Sunshine and Christian Happiness”. (She is a whole other blog on her own. )

I am ready for some of this load to be lifted.  Some of this burden to be, at least, redistributed at best!

I still am on auto pilot, on life support, exhausted and drained.

So, Wish me luck… Cross your fingers and say a prayer for me and my new counselor.  I hope she is “The One”.

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I knew it was sitting there.

I could feel its weight pressing down on my brain. I could feel it as if it were fire.  I was not touching it, but I could still sense the weight of it in my purse.  There was a little over $4 thousand dollars, right there in my purse.  Blood money, free money, will money, payment for 39 years of being moms “perfect child”, her “sweet baby”.

The stress is getting worse.  The kids are compounding everything I feel.  Just like a crushed tomato tied back together with string, I still ooz and bleed with every touch, jab, word. Ready to fall apart, easier than before.

The weight of depression, hopelessness, growing faster than a storm cloud in my mind. “Why can’t we just have one day of peace? Why can’t I have just a moment to think? Why can’t we just spend a day together without the fighting, the anger, the competition for my affections and favoritism?”

I am exhausted. Just thinking of a simple task like cleaning house or making the bed seem to weigh 500 pounds on my bruised brain.  I want to hide. I want to run away and hide.

The money, it’s right there.  It’s ready to burn my hand the moment I touch it.  I’m supposed to use it for bills, Christmas.. the kids, not me… not for myself, the kids.  Don’t touch it.

I slowly pull myself up in the bed.  I glance at the alarm clock, 2:30p.m.  I had fallen here just moments ago.  My bed a rescue raft, floating in my room for me to grab onto and wail into my pillows until the hopelessness and suicidal thoughts pass on by.  My raft is still shaking, threatening to sink.  I’m screaming inside, “It’s not going to get better! It is NEVER going to get any better!”   The kids will never get “well”.  Neither one has any illness that can be cured.  I will just be stuck in this life for the remainder of mine.  The same violence, the same temper tantrums, the same emotional drainage of mom day after day.  It. Will. Never. Get. Better….

I slowly drag my aching heavy limbs out of the bed and start pulling on clothes.  The argument that had just occurred between my children and I still ravaging my brain like it’s on repeat. The same depressing mantra on repeat:  “Its happened before, it will happen again, again, again, it will happen again.”

I look around the house. It’s a disaster. You would think that my teenage daughter, seeing her mother is drowning, would at least help with the housework.  I start pulling together dirty clothes, I make separate piles of colors and observe how they look like piles of dead leaves.  I will do the laundry, I can at least do that.

I quickly start to come out of the fog, suddenly I’m on fast forward.  Laundry, sweeping, dishes, clutter… each task tackled in a mindless rush. I can at least get these things done. I can at least leave a clean house.

The kids are in the background, sighing, stomping, slamming, sniffling… each, in their own passive aggressive way, are driving the nails into my back.  “You deserted me!”  “You took her side”, “you took his side”, “It’s not my fault!” “It’s all his fault/Her fault/YOUR fault!!” Each silent accusation a dart going into my skin. I ignore each dart with a disinterest, a tear slipping out silently instead.  “Don’t treat me like that”, I cry inside.  “I’m the one that loves you more than life!” “I’m the only one that understands you, but I’m tired!! Don’t yell at me, don’t hurt me! It hurts to be used like an emotional punching bag” “it hurts, It hurts, I HURT!!!”

Instead, I just keep cleaning, tears running down my face.  I want to run and hide, back onto my raft, back into my cave, I want to cling to the safety of the bed and hide. I keep doing the dishes.  I look out the window into the backyard.  Birds, a dog, a squirrel… things that usually make me smile instead make me feel the exhaustion of my own inner darkness.  There is such an anger in being depressed, like, how dare the sun shine when I feel such pain? Does it not care that I can only feel, can only see darkness?

Dishes, concentrate on the dishes.  Concentrate on the work.  Feed the bird, feed the dog, mop the floor, change out the laundry, feel the weight of the money in my mind, count it.. weigh it… smell it.. finish the dishes.  Finish the Dishes.

Freedom is in the weight of that money.  Freedom from everything weighing me down in this house, in this life.  It will never get better, so why stick around?  Why should I stay here and watch it all fall apart?  Why should I be the one to always have to fix, mend, tape, glue, wipe, heal… Why should I be the abused one? I can’t think, I can’t heal, I am supposed to be “momma’s STRONG girl” but my strength was obviously buried along with my mother.  It’s holding her hand in the cold darkness, it is certainly not holding my hand as I struggle to stay afloat.

I finish the dishes, I continue to stand at the sink, the moment has come.  The moment that entered my thoughts as soon as the money hit my hands.  Turn around, walk out the door, fill up the car and just go… just GO…. Walk out the door… WALK OUT THE DOOR…

I can’t seem to move.  Whats the problem?!?! Why am I not doing what I should, what I want, What I know will keep my children safe.  I am the problem, I am the reason their life is so chaotic and horrible.. I should leave, let them move on, let someone more stable and healthy deal with their needs.. I Should Just Leave.

I slowly turn around, away from the sink, away from my old life, away from the accusations and the pain. I turn, I turn away and find myself looking at the alarm clock, the alarm clock beside my bed… 2:35 p.m.

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The days that have passed since my last blog have not been any easier, really.  However, I am not the sobbing, quaking, mess that I was last week.  What has changed? What has caused me to feel I could cope, rather than want to run, hide or die?

Well, for one, the Cable Guy finally told me he “loves me”.  Not in any huge flowery display of romance. Just a plain, simple statement that felt more real than anything I have ever felt before.  I laugh now, because it ONLY took him 35 months to say it, but he really has shown it in every way possible. Namely by not dumping my pathetic ass during these past few months of hell!

Another thing that happened, is I finally was fully vindicated.  My stepson now knows it was all his mother, that I never said those awful things about him, and I know he never said those things about me.  We are fine now. Still regard each other with caution and shyness, but better.  He knows I don’t wish to control him, I know he doesn’t want another “mother” but will always need a friend.

So… Am I better? Maybe.  Am I feeling better… somewhat.

I may be getting better at hiding, but I also may be healing.

I’m not allowing myself to talk to my mom. I’m not allowing myself to think of her, miss her, hate her… I am indifferent.  Seems to be the only way I can function normally.  Is it healthy? probably not, is it ok… for now I feel it is.

I can’t sit and dwell on my anger and expect to take care of an Autistic child and a mentally unstable teen! I have to keep some sort of wall up or I will be back to the mess I was in last week.

So, until I find a counselor, until I find a safe place to lay it all down, I am just going to keep shoveling the manure of “I’m Fine” and “Nevermind” over it…

Kinda stinks, but so does life.

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You know something is very, very wrong… when you have to force your foot onto the brake of your car…. rather than plow head first into a “Dead End” on a dirt road.

I sat there for probably 10 minutes… dirt catching up with my car and flying on passed into that big black and yellow sign. I cried, screamed, hit the steering wheel… chastised myself for being such a coward. Told myself I wasn’t even good at killing myself.. I am a complete failure at being a failure. I probably wasn’t even going fast enough.. I would have just damaged my car and never have hurt myself.

Such a loser at being a failure.

I am a mess. I am  a complete book of undiagnosed psychological disorders. I would be a case study for at least a small junior college psychology class.
Depression, Grief, Bi-Polar, Anxiety, Suicidal, Co-Dependant Survivor, Sex Addict, Control Freak, Insomnia, PTSD, Abuse Survivor, Shop Lifter, Liar….
And probably some schizophrenia… in there to.

I don’t know who I am without my mom here to tell me.  I don’t know who I am without that person here to affirm my place. To validate my day-to-day existence. Who AM I??? Who AM I???

She has been gone a month now, and this feeling of “Ok, its been nice… but I’m ready for you to come back now” is overwhelming! I’m ready for her to return from her long trip so she can tell me that I did a good job… that everything will be ok now, that it will all go back to normal, test over.. I, at least, did a fair job… show me the areas that i need to improve. Show me how she would have done things differently, better, how I can learn from this…

I am scared I am going to return back to old ways. Everytime I pulled away from mom… I went spiralling out of control. I became this dirty, horrible, ugly person that did bad, ugly things. I stole things, married a jerk, lied, cheated, drank, had sex with random strangers… all to fill that void that was left after having mom say she was “disappointed in me” after we had a fight or argument… After she found out something bad about me… I always filled that void..
Now I can’t. NOW I CAN”T….

I have others to think of. I can’t drink, it bothers my son; I can’t have random sex, that would kill my sweet boyfriend; I can’t steal… I would go to jail… I can’t talk to anyone… or they will all know… they will all know… they will ALL know…
I have kept things inside and hidden for so long. I have always hidden who I am, from mom. I have ALWAYS been her “sweet baby” Her baby… HER BABY… nobody elses… HERS
 She OWNED me.. she pruned me, shaped me… gave birth to me to be HER child, her baby.. her perfect child… and I fell right in step beside her. Everytime I pulled away as a child I was spanked unmercifully with a belt.. everytime I argued with her… everytime I stepped out of line just for a second I was spanked and slapped and hit and told how bad I was… how I would mind her… Mind her, Mind her… MIND HER…

I minded her for 39 years.
 I was a good little girl. I did what I was told, I let her control every little thing in my life… i lied to her over stupid things.. just because I knew she would not like them.. I Lied, I Lied.. I am good at lying.. I am the best. Now I lie to everyone about how I am…
“I’m fine”, “I’m ok”, “oh, you know.. it’s hard, I miss her, but she’s in a better place now”….

Fuck that!!! I am PISSED!
 How dare she micro manage me, guilt trip me, control me, force me, teach me, preen me, build me up, knock me down, belittle me, control me, control me, CONTROL my EVERY MOVE… and then just LEAVE me?!?!?! How dare she do that to me?!?! How dare she leave me to flounder and drown? How dare she teach me to only swim with her help and then take away my life preserver?!?!

HOW DARE SHE???

I need counseling, I know I need help. I worry that opening up that door and telling everything to a complete  stranger will start me back on that self soothing road… that’s where I learned to steal, thats where I started to spin out of control with drinking, how I learned to go to the bar at 4:30 on a Wednesday afternoon and there was always a horny business man ready for a romp in the parking lot. Hot, stinky breath whispering “Who’s your daddy?” “what a beautiful little girl you are”, stupid Mother Fuckers never  realized that if I was just 1/10th less human I would have killed him at the exact moment he came… But I only smile sweetly and tell him my fake name and I will see him next week. Never to return…

How do i go back to the point of being as raw as hamburger meat… a walking, bleeding, wound for a whole week, while someone the same age as me with only 20 more college hours than me, discusses this messed up client at cocktail parties and in bed with her husband… How do I do that?!?! it’s not judgement… it’s a good story… but how do i know that someone else is out there judging my mom? Me?? My mom was a good lady, she did lots of things for other people in the community… But the mom I saw at home was so different, I always had to remind myself how wonderful she was.. If I start tearing her apart in counseling.. will that mean I am no longer a good daughter? Her “Sweet Baby?”

The Dead End sign was staring back at me. I could turn left and go away from my kids and life.
I could turn Right and head back towards everyone who loves and needs me.

Or I could back my car up, and try it again….

I chose Right…. I think.

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