Why I’m Done…

Recently I read an article on scarymommy.com titled Why I’m Done Asking My Husband To Help Me Out and it was a good eye opener. I’m going to add something to that:

Why I’m Done Telling My Husband When I’m Angry

Today my husband is playing Yugioh. So I start the day angry. He knows this. He tries saying things or showing me things to “cheer” me up. Nothing works. Sorry, but nothing you can do will cheer me up on this day. I despise his hobby that much. But guess what? I don’t have to fucking like it! I don’t have to support it. I do not have to. Period. I don’t stop him from going, but that does not mean I have to be happy about it. 

My husband knows damn well the mere mention of the cards is enough to send me into a hellfire fueled rage. So I’m done telling him. My husband knows being stuck in his grandparents basement often puts me through a near psychotic break. So I’m done telling him. My husband knows damn well that being the only one changing the shitty diapers of our two toddlers breaks me of all sanity. So I’m fucking done telling him. 

If he doesn’t fucking get it by now, I’m just wasting my breath anyway. I’m sick of feeling like I’m whining and complaining and it not doing a damn bit of difference. So I’m done. He’s a grown man. A grown man who completely lacks empathy and has no desire or capability of gaining that sense. I should not have to ask him or tell him to help me with the kids because they’re his kids too. 

I’m also done asking if he’s angry or upset. If he feels the need to tell me, he will. A lot of the time I know he is because I’ve done or said something I know touches a nerve. This post (if he reads it) will touch a nerve. If he doesn’t tell me and I’m none the wiser, that’s on him. Not me. Same goes the other way around. I’m sick of having the responsibility of caring too much what others think. I’m sick of telling people who don’t really care about me what’s going on with me. I know who’s there for me, who cares about me, and who doesn’t. Or I’ll figure it out soon enough. 

It must be nice being the one who makes the most money. Being the one who has the schedule everyone else has to work around. Being the one who doesn’t have to worry about what’s going on at home because you depend on family and the mother of the kids to take care of everything. Because I’ll tell you what, it sucks being the one whose piss-poor, minimum wage, part time job has been diminished, it sucks having to balance everyone’s schedule which includes, but is not limited to Husband’s, kids’, mother-in-law, grandparents-in-law, and my own. And it pretty much goes in that order because I have to depend on my in-laws for their vehicle because hubby and I only have one and he always has it. 

I have a lot to be angry about. I have a lot to be hurt and upset about. Nothing is changing around here. I do what I can, but I’m extremely limited in what I can do. 

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A Moment of Peace

I feel the wave of crazy subsiding. I feel the haze melting away and I’m able to see things more clearly even when it’s at a bit of a distance. 

I’m not in the clear. I continuously make the mistake of becoming to relaxed when the crazy goes away. I tell myself I’m fine now and go about my daily life, not seeking help, and then another wave hits and I never seek out help during those episodes. Well, I’m not going to do that again. I can’t keep doing this, these waves of insanity, fighting my own self, alone. I’ve been doing it for 15+ years. I’m too tired to go another year. It will kill me. 

What happens to me during these insanity waves is I become convinced I’m a filthy whore whose only purpose on this earth is to be used by others. It’s been my role many, many times and a part of me learned to enjoy it. So when these waves hit I have a very strong and sometimes overpowering urge to seek out people that will use me or situations that will lead me to those kinds of people. I love the broken things in this world and I want to bring them happiness when no one else will. Again, it’s a role I’ve been given numerous times. 

I’m also a naturally fickle person and I bore easily. That combined with the feeling I’m a worthless wench drives me to run away, push away those I love, and just be alone. I fight very hard to appear as normal as possible, to keep my craziness contained in a neat little box, but it eats away at me and leaves me as an empty shell. 

I beg for my mind to finally snap, I beg to legitimately go insane so I don’t fight it anymore. I wish I could just let go of it all, but a small part of me finds a way to barely hold it together long enough for me to make it through another wave. It’s exhausting. 

I seclude myself (or at least I try my best to) so I won’t be tempted to seek out trouble. That’s usually when I lay in bed and watch YouTube videos. Not the happy ones either. I watch conspiracy theories, documentaries about Suicide Forest or just suicide in general, videos on serial killers, and (more recently) the Deep Web. Awful, awful shit to be found there. I don’t know why I’m so drawn to those things, but I am. 

I’ve gone and rambled again. Tomorrow I will be productive. Tonight I sleep. 

A Dose of Uncomfortable Reality

I confessed to my husband (and myself) that I more than likely would have killed myself by now if I didn’t know (or care) about how my death would impact those whom I love. I’ve considered all forms, but have either dismissed them for lack of means, level of pain, mess, and who would more than likely find me.

I don’t want to die, but I also don’t want to continue living like this. Everything is so overwhelming. Everything. But I can’t kill myself. I don’t want any risk of my kids seeing me like that. My in-laws have experienced the pain of another’s suicide and I don’t want to put them through another.

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. But what do you do when the problem doesn’t seem to have an end? This shit is exhausting.

Fighting a Losing Battle

I wish everyone would give up on me. That way I could walk away. I don’t know why anyone wants me around. I hurt my husband and children with my angry words and impatience. I’m no good for them. It’s almost like no one wants to admit that. My husband told me last night that I am awesome. I scoffed and asked him, “how am I awesome?” He responded with very vague answers like, “I see your potential” and “I see things.” When I asked for specifics he said, “there’s too many to pinpoint just one.”

All I could think was you fucking liar! I didn’t believe a word he said. Whether he said it to be nice or because he actually believes it I may never know, but it felt like a load of bullshit because everyone has potential. Potential doesn’t mean shit. My husband may have had good intentions, but all it did was cut me down when he couldn’t actually give me a specific answer. 

I asked him why he chose to stay with me. He could have taken the kids and left me to destroy myself and build a happy life for them. He never answered me, he only asked why I stayed with him. 

“The kids,” I responded “a sense of duty. I suppose to learn how to live the right way.”

“What does that mean?”

“I fall in love easily, but as soon as I get bored I leave. I’m fickle. I don’t like it, but that’s how I’ve always been.” We had a discussion about how we’re stuck being boring for a while, but it’s not like it was. 

This life is not for me. All I’m doing is hurting a good man and those precious, innocent children. I’m not a bad person, but I am not a good wife or mother. I don’t want to miss out on my kids’ lives, but I don’t want to ruin them just so I can see them. 

I don’t deserve them. I need to be locked away so I can’t do anyone any harm. I can’t handle this any more. I can’t keep fighting. I’m too tired.