Tell Me Something I Don’t Know

A couple weeks ago I got a call from my insurance company and they told me I’ve been accepted into their Depression Management program. It’s not meant to be used by itself, it’s meant to be used along with proper treatment. The kind of treatment I am not currently getting. 

I will receive a call once a month to asses my progress. Today I received my first call. I was assessed and I was not surprised by the results. Severe depression. Severe anxiety. My borderline personality disorder is beginning to spin out of control. If I continue down this path I will end up in the hospital as an inpatient or dead. 

So now I have to forget about the stigma or the fact that some people (like dear grandmonster-in-law) refuse to believe that the mind can become sick, sick enough to warp one’s thoughts so profoundly, it’s time I say, “Fuck you! I’m taking care of me!”

I will always be grateful of my hospital stay, but I never, EVER want to go back into a place like that. And I’m pretty sure I don’t want to die yet. At the moment I can’t say that with complete honesty, but the last thing I want to do is hurt others and I know my death, especially if by my own hand, would bring many people avoidable heartache. I don’t want to be responsible for that. 
So! Maybe tomorrow will bring forth a brighter chapter. 

Breaking into PiecesĀ 

I had a pathetic breakdown last night. It started at work. I got in and, for the third night in a row, I was the dish bitch. I do dishes at the hell house, I do dishes at the other grandma’s house, and I often get stuck with the dishes at work. I’m sick of doing dishes. So I was in a bit of a pissy mood. It got a little better near the end of my shift. 

I got off a little late, but it wasn’t too bad. My husband was asleep, but he woke up and we managed to spend some quality time with each other. I later watched a few episodes of American Horror Story: Freak Show  (I love AHS), next thing I know it’s three in the morning. I turned off the tv and shut my eyes. Thoughts raced, guilt swelled up in my throat, guilt from my attitude at work that night, guilt from something I’d done around the age of five or so, and guilt for every age in between. Rage from being fooled so many times. Sorrow from losses. Regrets. Regrets hurt so much…

I went on Facebook to keep my mind from going all over the place. Whoops. I came across this video in my news feed: http://youtu.be/GmerFuzRNZ4

This broke me. I have no father and, as pathetic as it sounds coming out of a grown woman’s mouth, I wish I had a daddy who loved me. I cried in the dark until exhaustion overcame me. 

Tonight is not much better except I don’t have enough care within me to cry. 

Sorry, Mommy Can’t “Mom” Today

It’s a bad day. No particular reason. Surprisingly. Grandmonster-in-law and I have managed to be civil even when my husband has taken our car to work leaving me stranded here. 

I fucking hate this tiny ass house though. I’m constantly running into someone or something. She’s constantly changing the house too. It drives me bat-shit crazy. I like to rearrange furniture too, but only twice, maybe three times, per year if that! She does it once every week or two!

But enough of that, today sucks. All I want to do is sleep until I have to go to work tomorrow night. I fed my kids cereal, but they fought about who was going to sit next to me so I chose to wait to eat breakfast until they were done. After 20 minutes my daughter slurps down her milk from her bowl and happily exclames “I’m done!” I now get to sit down to my own bowl of cereal. I take a bite, then my littlest wants a bite. I take another bite, then my two year old wants a bite. I’m about to take my third bite when my daughter tells me she’s still hungry. I lost my shit, shoved the bowl in her direction, and told her to finish it. We live paycheck to paycheck and barely have any milk and I now don’t have a car to go get milk. Grandmonster hates being low on or, God forbid, running out of supplies. 

I am just not up for being “Mother of the Year” today. I just want to be out of here. I need my own home. I just want to be left alone. 

I know my kids don’t understand. They’re just trying to make sense of a confusing situation and they’re clinging to me because I’m what’s most familiar to them, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me to deal with. 

I hate these times because this is when I feel most self destructive. This is when I feel a desire to get myself into trouble. This is when I feel like cutting, trying a hardcore drug, fucking a stranger, walking on the highway and seeing where I end up, etc. I can’t explain why. Some call it a wanderlust or a phase, but it’s not. It’s a sickness. A disease. 

I don’t have the strength today to fight my own mind so here I sit, in the fucking basement, with all three kids, in the bed, watching tv. 

Loosing my mind. 

In the Midst of a Spiritual Chrisis

I’ve never had a moment in my life where I didn’t believe in God. I went through s rebellious phase where I pretended like I didn’t believe, but deep down I did. 

Even now, I still believe there is a God, but not for the reasons one might think. I believe Lucifer is real and he and his demons spread wickedness in the hearts of men and because I believe he exists I also believe God exists. However, I am doubting the love, grace, mercy, and compassion He supposedly has.  

God has, for nearly two decades now, been a touchy subject. He is called “the Father.” He is referred to as a “He.” Then there is His Son. Walked this earth as a man. He did not gain life experiences through a woman’s body. Women experience this world much different from men. 

No, I’m not a feminist, I’m stating a fact. I don’t hate men, but I’ve been abused by so many. I am the opitomy of “Daddy Issues” because my biological father was a piece of shit and my step-father was just as bad in different ways. 

So, hearing God referred to as “Father” leaves an understandably bad taste in my mouth. 

I look around this world today and, in general, it is ugly. People are ugly. I’m not talking about physical appearances, I’m talking about their own spirits, their essence. 

When something bad happens religious people* say it’s because we strayed away from God or God knows the reason. When something good happens it’s because of God’s will and we are to praise Him. 

Umm, so….you’re telling me God gets all the glory for the shit that goes right, but when shit goes wrong we’re accountable, not Him? What the literal Hell? Nah-uh. That’s not right. I bust my ass and work hard to be better, to provide for my family while living in a house that’s three sizes too small and the owner, my husband’s grandmother, is a miserable, old, alcoholic who more than likely suffers from some mental illness. She puts me down, undermines my authority in front of my children, she’s inconsistent and inconsiderate and God, being the all-knowing being, put me in this situation that He knew would tear me apart all in the name of a life lesson that, apparently, he’s going to deliver me from. Sounds like God has  munchausen by proxy or something of the like. 

He sounds selfish and narcissistic. 

Have I not been through enough? I have been trying to learn about Him and trying to find the ever elusive “true” religion, but the more I learn the more pissed off I get. 

God sounds like an asshole. 
*Varies from different religions

Why I Feel Guilty for Not Allowing My Husband to See a Movie with His Ex

My husband has done nothing to make me question his loyalty, but I do know he is still attracted to this woman. She has done nothing to make me question her intentions, but she still threatens me. 

The other day, while I was at work, he went with our oldest son to her house. She was returning something he let her borrow. While they were there, our son, who is two almost three and sweet as sugar, gave her a flower. She showed her gratitude by putting it in her hair. He was so happy he kept bringing her things to put in her hair; more flowers, leaves, twigs….

My husband said her hair nearly looked like a bird’s nest by the time they left. This did not make me laugh or even smile. It felt more like a piece of me died inside. I wanted to cry. Why had I never thought of doing that? Clearly this woman is a better mother than I. She has a child who’s a little older than my daughter (who is five). He’s a lucky kid. 

Last night, as I was rushing off to work, my husband informed me that she wanted to know if she and my husband could go see a movie. I was immediately enraged and said no. As I drove to work I began to analyze why I had such a negative reaction. Stories he and others have told me about the two of them flooded my brain. She’s goofy in a cute, charming way, she’s confident, she’s chill, she’s basically everything I used to be until I got pregnant, but somehow she was able to hang onto that when I could not. 

I believe she is a better match for him and she would probably be a wonderful step-mother. 

When my husband and I were divorcing it wasn’t because I didn’t love him anymore, it was because I believed he deserved better than me. I felt we were too mismatched and that someone else would be his perfect match. I still believe that. I still feel I am just not good for him and that I will only bring him misery. I begged him to let me go. I was on a path of self destruction and I just did not care. I wanted it. I welcomed it. I was happy about it. But now I’m stuck here, more miserable than ever before and I’m feeling guilty because I told my husband he could not go see a movie with his ex girlfriend. 

What the fuck?!

What the fuck is the point of all this? I feel like I’m just some toy being played with by some giant, cosmic brat. 

Feeling guilty because I might be keeping my husband away from someone who could make him very happy. 

What a life.