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Posts Tagged ‘stress’

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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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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So I have alot going on right now, and I am extremely tired and very VERY stressed out.

I may be about to change career paths.  I have posted before about the “mean girl” but that does not even begin to explain the bosses at this stupid hospital.  I don’t want to get into it right now, but I don’t think I will be here much longer.  I have given my all to the L&D floor for the past year, and have not had anything but negativity come from the higher-ups.  I’m DONE 😦

On a much happier note, I get to see the Cable Guy tonight! 🙂  It is a forced date, on my part… but Hey! It’s a date! AND after 6 weeks of waiting.. I finally get sex again! 🙂

Wish me luck! 🙂

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