My Weakness and My Strength

I almost wrote a suicide note today. I don’t know if I would have done anything after writing it, I didn’t want to tempt fate. I almost relapsed this morning. Apparently I’m still a recovering cutter. I am so close to my 10 year mark. As of right now, 11:45pm on July 5th 2017 I have 46 days left since the last time I self harmed. 46 fucking days. I never thought I’d actually make it 10 years, but here I am. So god damn close I can almost taste it and I nearly threw it away. 

But why? Why did I nearly abandon my desire, my dream to better myself? Because motherhood is shattering me. Living this life is killing me. I can’t imagine my life any other way. I sometimes try to, but it’s never better than what I have now. 

The only reason I did not relapse,  the only reason I did not write my suicide note or make any plans to end my life is because of the very children who are breaking my sanity. As I sat on the edge of my bed, sobbing uncontrollably, all three of my kids sat around me, hugging me and pat my back in an effort to comfort me. I cannot betray them. The only thing they are guilty of is giving me a purpose when I didn’t want one. 

My family does not deserve the burden that I am. I wish I were a better mother and wife. I try so hard to be, but I fall miserably short. 

I am so sorry.

The Cup of Shame

I introduce you to this struggling mother’s shame. It is a large coffee mug (one of my favorites) filled with ice cream (today’s shameful flavor is chocolate chip) which is smothered with both chocolate and strawberry syrup and hot cocoa mix (yes, darlings, powdered cocoa) sprinkled (dumped) on top. 

Fuck my figure, fuck my care, because it feels like my life is going to shit. Bills are overdue, car took a shit on us, money too short, month too long, and marital spice is a bit more on the spicy side and lacking on the zest. My saving grace for the day is the fact that my three kids were good for a majority of the day. Even when I had my ridiculous meltdown because the stupid burger patties were frozen in the middle and refused to pull apart and instead they crumbled so I just threw the damn things on that fryer as I screamed because, fuck, I can’t even cook burgers right!

So I cried and bawled over broken patties and my kids, all three of them, heard my pleas and came rushing to me and hugged me and rubbed my back and told me everything would be ok…. They saw me in a way I wish they never had, but they loved me even in that moment and I thanked them and told them to go play and dinner would be ready soon. 

The truth is, I don’t think everything will be ok. And, frankly, I’m tired of hearing “everything will be ok.” It’s nothing personal to the loved ones who have said that to me, but in this moment nothing feels ok. Let me feel this moment because your words of encouragement do not reach my core. You don’t actually know that everything will be 100% ok. You have faith that my husband and I will figure it out, but you don’t know. 

I’m sure you’re right (you typically are), but I need factual assurance in times like these. Best wishes (while appreciated) don’t help me in the moment of a mental breakdown. I barely hear it. I need to feel my moment of hopelessness thoroughly before I crawl out of that pit (with help or on my own). 

And, darlings, I am feeling it. Every calorie, every ounce of sugar and fat and crap, oh yes. I am feeling all of it and I don’t care if this cup kills me. It’s delicious and it’s filling the cracks in my breaking heart. 

Tomorrow (or possibly Monday because the banks are closed tomorrow) will be better. I’m 75% sure. Which is really good because I’m typically a lot less sure about these kinds of things. Soon I will have solutions, game plans, and a sense of purpose I didn’t give myself before. Yes, changes are coming.

…And possibly another cup of shame because I still feel pretty shitty. 

Another Sleepless Night Torturing Myself

As I write this it’s nearly 3am and I’ve given up the idea of sleep since I have to be awake in three hours. I’m feeling consumed by my emotions. I see and feel art in nearly everything. I’m simultaneously overjoyed and deeply saddened, both to the point of tears. It’s making me lose hold on reality. 

I need to work tomorrow morning and this weekend I get to look forward to two double shifts. While I need the hours and I am willing and able to work them, double shifts are an emotional breaker. Moreso than a physical one. 

Now, as much as I understand my responsibilities and what’s expected of me, I can’t shake the overwhelming desire to scream like a wild animal, run for the hills, and demolish anyone that gets in my way. 

I’m tired of trying to run away from my life, but I’m also tired of fighting to live when all I want to do is crawl into the earth and never resurface. 

Some days I can’t seem to be able to handle the simplest of tasks like getting out of bed or eating let alone going to work or caring for my family. These last couple of days have been exactly like that. I can’t stand moving or dealing with screaming, needy children or a husband begging for affection. 

The thought of going to work tomorrow and serving customers makes my skin crawl. I’m tired of serving ungrateful people who seem to forget that my coworkers and I are people too. 

I’m so tired of this madness. Literal insanity. Taking hold of me, ripping my being to shreds, yet leaving no outward trace. My composure is too great (thank you military) to let just anyone know of my suffering. 

I know, I know, sounds like a bunch of whining. Maybe it is. I don’t fuckin care. Half of you readers probably stopped reading a while ago. I wish I could say I don’t fuckin care, but I do. I care. I’m well aware of the fact that I don’t shower many deserving blogs with likes and comments, but sometimes it’s hard for me to read about the joy/success of other when I feel like a broken down, beat up loser. 

I am trying so hard to change, I just don’t know how to while I’m in my current frame of mind. 

Feeling Crushed

For those of you who know me or have read through enough of my blogs, it comes as no surprise that I am a sad, angry, and generally miserable human being. This does not make me a bad person even though I feel like I am, in fact, a monster. 

I am keenly aware of my complaining, whining, and other annoying behaviors. Honestly, I feel like my life is one shit show after another. I feel as though the universe in completely against me. I’m wounded (emotionally, psychologically, and spiritually) and in tremendous pain. I know I’m not isolated in my feelings and situation, but I feel very alone. I can think rationally, but my mind gets overpowered by illogical thoughts no matter how hard I fight. It’s like I’m on the outside looking in. 

Everything feels like one long nightmare. I’m trying to make positive changes, but I feel like every effort is thwarted by unseen forces. And that’s not an excuse. It is exactly how I feel. I’m not some angsty teen anymore, I’m a struggling, broken woman trying to hold it together even though I don’t feel like trying anymore, but some part of me still fights on. 

I feel hopeless. I’m running out of fight and I want to give up, I really do, but I can’t seem to give up. No. Actually I don’t want to give up, I want to want to give up. Part of me wishes I could. I can’t bear the thought of leaving anyone behind. 

The point I’m trying to make here is I’m struggling. Tremendously. I am fighting a battle no one can see, hear, or feel, but it is a very real fight. Unfortunately these battles come with some nasty side effects:

  • Misplaced emotional outbursts
  • Depression
  • Anxiety
  • Irritability
  • Erratic behavior
  • Difficulty sleeping
  • Nightmares
  • Isolating self 
  • Pushing loved ones out

Just to name a few. These are specific to me, but that does not mean someone you know isn’t suffering the same symptoms. 

I’m sick of this world. I’m sick of the nastiness people inflict on one another. There seems to be no peace anywhere anymore. I try to be a positive impact, but I feel crushed by the darkness. 

One day I hope I can achieve true happiness and inner peace. I hope I can look back to this time in my life and remember it as a distant nightmare. But, for now, I push on to fight another day. 

Everything Was Fine. Until it Wasn’t.¬†

One minute my sons and I were having fun. Eating chocolate. Watching The Last Unicorn. Playing with snapchat filters. 

  
  
And then it hit me like a stampeding elephant. I couldn’t stand the feel of them touching me. The sound of my favorite movie was like nails on a chalkboard. The overwhelming feeling of my children’s dependence on me was too much for me. They shouldn’t depend on me. I’m not stable enough for them. 

I retreat to my bed and listen as they wreak havoc in our chaotic living room. I can’t do anything to stop it. I just listen to make sure they’re not hurting themselves. 

Then my three year old comes in and I can smell the shit he took in his pants. I’m beyond fucking done dealing with this kid’s lack of desire to be potty trained. I’m done with shitty diapers. I’ve been changing diapers for six straight years. And of course the cycle of insanity wouldn’t be complete without my youngest following suit and shitting his diaper. 

I text my husband asking him when he’ll be home. Hoping it will be soon so he can change the boys. Nope. No such luck. Then he calls. Trying to figure out what’s wrong. Bless him. But I’m in no mood to explain this shit to him. He doesn’t understand it. Never will. I’m a broken fucking record trying to get him to get it and I’m sick of that too. So I snap. Wrong of me, I know, but I don’t even care. I don’t care about anything right now except for my failings. 

We hang up and he texts me a few minutes later. 

  
 
I read it in my banner on my lock screen, but I didn’t open it. So it didn’t show I had read it. I cried. I just stared at my phone and cried. His next few messages were nonsensical. Just trying to elicit a response out of me. It failed. He called. I ignored. He called again. I ignored. Again. 

I was trying to gather the motivation to change both my sons and I knew if I answered the phone I’d let that distract me from doing what I needed to do. I also did not feel like talking. My mother could have called and I would have ignored her. For the first time I can think of, I felt no obligation to answer my phone. 

When he called a third time I answered it, but put the phone on speaker and handed it to our two year old. He immediately began chatting to whoever it was, and when he realized it was Daddy on the phone he really began to chatter away. One of the things he told my husband that I could clearly understand was, “Mommy sad.”

I began talking to my three year old, who’s ass I was reluctantly wiping, so my husband could hear I wasn’t in a different part of the house. And that I was alive. I didn’t acknowledge my husband directly though. 

I didn’t know how to. 

When he came home he basically ignored my existence. He made dinner for the kids, started a load of laundry, and got himself ready for work. The more times he came in and out of our room, ignoring me, the more guilt and fear I began to feel. After he was done shaving, I called his name and reached out for him, wanting him to sit on the bed next to me, scoop me up in his arms, and hold me as I bawled into his chest, but he didn’t hear me and he didn’t even glance in my direction so he didn’t see me reach out to him. 

So I cried. 

Alone. 

Eventually I got his attention and we started to talk. I tried my best to explain to him that I didn’t even know what happened. “Everything was fine. Until it wasn’t.” I didn’t know how else to explain it. Nothing set off this reaction. 

Normally something, large, small, stupid, valid, etc. something happens to cause a reaction like this, but everything was going really well. And then something happened inside of me that had no reason to happen. And it ruined me. 

I’m able to function now. Hours later. Kids in bed. Husband at work. Now I can function, but it’s still ruining me. I can feel it working silently. As of right now, I’m helpless to stop it. 

Something You Should Know About Me Before You Judge Me

First and foremost, I love my husband and my children. Second, what I say here may paint my husband in a bad light, but it is not my intention. My husband is a good man, but he is human and makes mistakes. His good intentions can be misguided at times, but he is a good man and he cares very deeply about our kids and myself. 

That being said, I need to vent about the fact that I’m being judged for my short temper with my three kids that I chose to have. 

Growing up I made the decision that I never wanted to have kids. I am the oldest of five kids, nearly eight years older than the second born, and I learned very quickly that motherhood is not for me. I’m not patient enough. Screaming and crying children make my skin crawl. 

When I became pregnant with my first child, my daughter, my husband (then fianc√©) and I were practicing safe sex, but the condom broke. I was 21. 

Before I became pregnant with my second child, my first son, my husband pressured me into having another child. He and I weren’t doing so well in our relationship, but he and I had talked in the past about children and I had (foolishly) mentioned to him that if I ever had kids I would not want an only child or a middle child. My husband used my past words against me and bullied me into having another kid. It didn’t take long before I became pregnant. I was 24. 

Immediately after giving birth to my son I was fighting doctors to get my tubes tied. No one wanted to do it because I was under 30, I “only” had two kids, and my pregnancies weren’t high risk. I told my husband I was not comfortable having sex until I was on some kind of birth control. Well, he and I were still rocky, becoming evermore distant, sex was our only form of intimacy, and so I felt pressured and obligated to fulfill my wifely duties. As a result,  despite (yet again) having protected sex, when my son was only six months old I became pregnant with my third child, second son. I was 26. 

I could have “chosen” abortion, but it is not the kids’ fault I didn’t have enough of a spine to stand up for myself. For me, abortion is not an option. I would not want to put myself through the psychological turmoil I am 99.9% positive I would go through. 

The fact of the matter is I know I’m not a good mother, I know I lack a lot of things, but being told I “should have thought of that before having kids” will make me want to be a very violent person. Because the fact of the matter is I did think about these things before having kids. I tried to prevent having children, but life has a funny way of fucking you over. 

I get so angry and ashamed for being able to easily become pregnant when I deserve to be sterile because of all the wonderful women who should be able and deserve to be able to have children. I become angry and ashamed when I take for granted the thing they desire most. It’s not fair. It’s not right. I wish I could change it. 

Part of my worst struggle is knowing I’m no good for my kids, but I can’t stand the thought of living without them. I hope one day they will understand I’ve always loved them, I’m just not good at being a good mother. 

Midnight Fracturing

I’m trying so hard to be happy. I have brief moments of success and I’m happy, smiling, and laughing. They are so short lived. Soon I am dragged back down into my abyss. I know I don’t belong here, but I feel like I do. It’s my home. My miserable comfort zone. 

Tonight I can’t relax. Every time I close my eyes I see monsters. Piercing, red eyes, vicious, razor sharp claws, saliva covered, gnashing teeth… They are all waiting just around the corner to consume me. My heart may explode tonight. I can’t keep it at a resting pace. 

I feel like I’m on the verge of drowning. I’m barely able to keep my nose above water. I’m panicking and trying to get air all why trying to keep up the appearance that I’m not in fact drowning. How do I tell you that my mind is fraying when my composure won’t allow me to show you what’s really going on?

This is deeper than a change of perspective or a positive mindset. I’m actually a very hopeful person and have too much faith in humanity. That’s why I’m dying inside. I see the good in so many bad people. I see the potential in so many including myself. 

But my mind works against me. It twists every positive thought and turns my hopes and dreams into my worst nightmares. 

I know what I want, what I think will make me happy, but I don’t know if it will actually make me happy. And even if it does make me happy it will hurt my loved ones. I can’t keep being stuck in the middle of my family, friends, and my own self.