“People assume you aren’t sick unless they see the sickness on your skin, like scars forming a map of all the ways you’re hurting.
My heart is a prison of ‘Have you tried’s? Have you tried exercising? Have you tried eating better? Have you tried not being sad, not being sick? Have you tried being more like me?” Have you tried shutting up?!
Yes, I have tried. Yes, I am still trying, and yes, I am still sick.
Sometimes monsters are invisible, and sometimes demons attack you from the inside. Just because you cannot see the claws and the teeth does not mean they aren’t ripping through me. Pain does not need to be seen to be felt.
Telling me there is no problem won’t solve the problem.
This is not how miracles are born. This is not how sickness works.” ―Emm Roy
Fact: I am seriously contemplating ending my life. No one knows what’s going on, or cares, but I feel it’s important to talk about.
I walked away from self-harm at least a dozen times last week, maybe more. I have no strong desire to actually carry it out, but we cannot “cure” the thoughts that go through our minds.
It’s not any one thing in particular, it’s a multitude of things, all of which are out of my control. Ultimately, I often feel that lack of control is what makes us feel so out of control. I believe it leads to a lot of rational irrationality.
I’ve never hidden the fact that I come from an abusive background. If asked, I am quite vocal about it. Hell, I’ve written about it many times. My father was the bane of my existence from age six until about 2000 or so, when his health began to rapidly decline, culminating in his death, a 15 year battle with cancer that ended in late 2007. I cannot put a Band-Aid on my upbringing, but I try very hard not to allow it to define me. For the most part, I am successful. I don’t dwell on it. It’s done and it’s in the past, but lately it’s other forms of neglect, abuse, disrespect, & abandonment that have just plain left me in tears. What’s worse? This behavior makes my father, G-d rest his soul, look like a fucking angel by comparison. That’s probably what affects me more than anything else.
Nothing I do is ever “good enough”. I know that’s ridiculous, but when that is what is projected to you constantly, you either walk away or you tell someone to go fuck themselves. For the past 4-5 years, I have worked very hard on my anger issues. I’ve talked about that quite openly. Therefore, so as not to act like my father, I try to curse less and not tell people exactly what I think of them and their behavior, even if they deserve it. I don’t accept or allow it, I just disengage with the crazy. I cannot talk to a psychopath, to people who don’t hear me out thoroughly, or to anyone who believes everything they say is right 100% of the time. It may be right in their mind, but their mind and mine are two completely different places/worlds. That’s true for everyone, or we’d be living in a very bizarre utopia.
No matter how hard I work, it’s not “good enough”. How many times a day does someone need to be insulted, talked down to, and/or disrespected? How many days of the week, month, year, before they snap? The term “going postal” isn’t meant to be cute. It stems from things building and building in the workplace (or in some cases, ones’ home life) until someone finally loses it. The same thing can happen in a person’s daily life, and it doesn’t have to involve murder and mayhem, it might just be a verbal argument. One can hope, any way.
There is an immense difference between constructive criticism and venomous hatred and resentment. I am educated enough to know the difference in how people speak to me, and I am sick and tired of being told that everything I think & feel is wrong. Statistically speaking, it’s impossible for me to be wrong 100% of the time, just as it is impossible for someone else to be right 100% of the time. I don’t aim for perfection, but I will not have anyone question my perception of others. I’ve got two words for that mind-set: FUCK THAT. You can agree to disagree with me, but don’t deign to tell me you’re right and I’m wrong. No. Unacceptable.
Voicing thoughts, feelings, and opinions isn’t wrong, but I am constantly being told I am wrong. After a while, even a person with the highest I.Q. starts to lose their mind. After a while, any sane person is going to get tired of hearing such nonsense.
The only thing that is saving me is the love of Kitten. During the worst of my dark thoughts, when I wasn’t sure if I could bear another second, leave alone a minute, she’d crawl into bed with me, give me kisses, bring me toys, & watch over me with great affection. Cat followed, both of them refusing to let me out of their sight. How is it that two little creatures understand my pain better than actual people? I find that sad and pathetic for the human-race, but a real win for the animals in this world who are superior in terms of compassion, empathy, and love. My cats know more about love than 99% of the people I know, and that is truly saying something. They know me better than most people, and I’ve had them such a short period of time compared to the relationships in my life, yet they know me better, inside and out. People are emotionally harming me, but my cats? They wouldn’t even scratch me intentionally. Again, it speaks accolades for them. Clearly I did something right, and that “something” was adopting and raising them. They love me unconditionally. It is a special relationship, and not something to ever be taken for granted.
Words have power, and sometimes that power is destructive and extremely harmful. Be self-aware. Realize that you sound like a vile human-being and dial it the fuck down.
When someone is visibly suffering, or even silently suffering, they do not need your drama, venom, hatred, or negativity. Don’t pretend you don’t see it or sense it. Put it away. Stash it in another country, because I do not mean shelve it for a week, and focus on showing them that they matter, because eventually, all your shit might push them over the edge and the only person who will be left with grief isn’t them, it’s you.
I know so many people who, after years of far worse than what I deal with and have dealt with, simply took matters into their own hands, leaving people wondering why. People have actually said” Nothing is so horrible that you have to take your life.” Oh, really? Try living my life for a year, I’m pretty sure you’d feel otherwise. In other words, don’t judge what you don’t understand. It is okay to admit you don’t understand the various forms of depression and other forms of mental illness, but it’s not acceptable in 2016 to be ignorant about it.
I’m one of the “privileged few” who inherited it on both sides of my family. My paternal Grandmother suffered from her early teens until the day she died. The things she was put through during her life in terms of “treatment” were truly horrible, and I am not a candidate for certain treatment methods because of that. No doctor would allow me to go through what she did, despite the advancements that have been made I am considered too high a risk factor, and here’s a fact; I wouldn’t sign myself up for it either.
Approximately ten years ago, I was diagnosed with “treatment resistant depression”. It means that while I suffer abysmal highs and lows, my brain chemistry does NOT respond to medication. I’ve tried everything and all they’ve done is make me really sick. Therapy works, if the therapist isn’t a piece of shit, but with Fibromyalgia, there are times I cannot drag myself in on a weekly basis in order to “go deep”. I walk into therapy in a relatively good mood, positive about what may be accomplished by going, and I walk out feeling like the biggest piece of shit on the planet, so it’s important to find someone who knows when and when not to push your last nerve. I’m not shy, I have a voice and I know how to use it. Since moving, I have noticed that I have become ten times more internalized than ever before and not only is that completely unhealthy, it gives you some insight into my environment and how I don’t feel comfortable discussing important things because I don’t feel understood, cared about, loved, and the list goes on. It hurts so deeply to type that, that the tears are pouring down my face. I’m hurting so much and certain things were said to me today that can never be taken back. I can never un-hear them.
Unfortunately, I haven’t been to therapy in three and a half years and after putting myself back on medication last month, it made me too sick to function. If you’re able to take medication, wake up each morning, and go to a normal 9-5 kind of job, well, G-d Bless you. I cannot. I knew very young that I’d never have a “normal job”. Not because it is beneath me, it’s not, but because I don’t play well with others. There is not a single thing about me that says “team player”. I am glad I knew that about myself at such a young age because it propelled me in the right directions as a creative spirit. I’ve never NOT worked (I’ve been working since I was 12, no joke.) and not created something out of nothing, but for months now I have felt sick, weak, dejected, and the absolute opposite of who I truly am. There is nothing keeping me here. Nearly every day is the same; completely monotonous.
My creativity ebbs and flows. It always has. I do nothing on command. I’ve always liked that about myself, but it can be tricky when you are involved with creative projects that need 100% of your commitment, or they’ll fail. But how does one stay “on” when they’re predominantly “off”?
Today I reached my boiling point in reaching out to people I felt I could trust for help. Five times today I got off the phone in hysterical tears because in the grand scheme of life, people don’t care about my struggles or my pain, but they do care about being selfish, hostile, cruel, and hurtful. The final call which I did not want to make was the last straw.
Some things are out of my control, just as they are for many of us, but I’d like to think that if someone called me crying, truly upset by something happening to them, I would do whatever was within my power to help, even if I’d helped them 100 times before, I don’t keep score. In fact, I HAVE done that (helped others) and I will never stop being the person that I am because to not be me is to be lesser, and I refuse to let experiences like this alter the person I am. I refuse to change to suit other people because then they win.
My mother raised me to be a strong, independent woman, but she also told me that sometimes we all need help and not to be afraid to ask for it. However, I was terrified to ask for the help I needed and my fears were warranted because in asking for help, I got hurt. I am sure the other person does not see it as I do. Of course, I didn’t threaten or insult them.
Here’s something important I think some people need to understand: It takes great courage to ask for help. Especially for someone like me because I have a lot of pride, but definitely feel that I have fallen from Grace. 😦 When a person asks for help, and they’re upset and you know things have been bloody awful for them, don’t make it worse with cruel, hateful words. Discuss things with them at a later time, in private, when each of you is calm, and assure them that you do indeed love and care about them. It’s okay to have boundaries and to place limits on things, absolutely, but it’s not okay to be hurtful or say things in anger that cannot be retrieved.
For now, I have no idea what tomorrow brings, but I’m hoping it doesn’t involve me “going dark”. I’m writing this in tears, because the pain is just too much to bear. I am also weighing my options quite heavily because I am too sick to deal with such harsh negativity being directed at me in such an ugly manner.
We all have physical and emotional triggers in life, whether we’re aware of them or not. Certain words and tones will turn me from a caring, kind, loving, helpful person with a genuine heart into someone incredibly inclined to poison your dinner.
Choose your words wisely. Do not make assumptions. Don’t insult loved ones, for they can be gone in the blink of an eye. And absolutely do NOT trigger someone when you KNOW their history. Some people really should know better, but they don’t. Maybe anger is a better place to reside for some? I’ve been there and it’s unhealthy.
Tonight, I am going to try to accept the fact that no one else is like me and the other people cannot be what I need them to be, because it’s simply not in their genetic makeup. My brother recently paid me the finest compliment by saying that no one could spend five minutes with me, or speak to me for five minutes, and not come away realizing how incredibly genuine and unique I am. I damn near cried, because it’s truly the NICEST thing he’s probably ever said to me, and it was such an incredibly astute observation. It almost makes up for the crappy things he’s said to me in the past when he was angry (at himself) and frustrated (with his own bullshit) and took it out on me simply because I am the closest person to him.
I learned a valuable lesson today. I learned that no matter what people say, their actions and words don’t always mesh, and I am wary of people like that. Life isn’t perfect for anyone. Life isn’t always fair, either, but I refuse to kick someone while they’re already bleeding on the ground.
To the people who kicked me today when I was desperately upset by a situation completely out of my control, please don’t ever think I won’t remember the attack. To the few that reached out later on to raise me back up off the ground, I won’t soon forget that either.
Wishing you all a far better day/week/remainder of the month than I just had.
2015 has been many things for me, but it’s hard, at the moment, to say it’s been kind. That would be a lie. Granted, there are pluses and minuses to every day, week, month, and year. It hasn’t all been bad, but it’s been hard times a million. We’ve all experienced this in some capacity or another, and if you haven’t, I assure you that you will, because that’s life.
This year my faith in people has been shattered. It wasn’t completely in tact to begin with, so you can only imagine what I’ve been through to say that and feel so strongly about it.
I’m done with people in the sense that they say one thing, do another, and lack the ability of being reliable and genuine. Not all people, but enough that I am disgusted on an incredibly large scale. I have a life to live. I have no time for ignorance, lack of empathy/compassion, and those who are intentionally uneducated in the sense of “Have you met my new friend, Google?” (Have Internet access? Good, then don’t be an asshole.) If you’re unsure of something and can research it, then I highly recommend doing so. If you’re simply being a vile person because you are ignorant of the world and the people around you, simply move out of my way. I have no time for crap, and I will roll over you. I might do it twice, to ensure my point has been made.
Sometimes bad things happen to extraordinarily wonderful people, and other times good things take the place of the bad. I have yet to see truly evil people get what they deserve, but I was always taught that I don’t need to focus on that because G-d has a plan for all of us that we simply do not see, or need to be witness to. If this is indeed the case, I’d like to get a move on because I no longer want to feel stuck, trapped, or tied to the wrong people in any aspect of my life.
This month alone I have experienced unparalleled tragedy, viciousness, & evil, of which I may never be able to speak of out loud, or in any capacity. These are things I would not wish on an enemy, and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have any that I am aware of. People can think and say what they like; I don’t live my life perceiving others as “the enemy” or as competition. I stay in my lane.
I am exhausted (migraines & Fibro pain will do that to you), stressed, quietly introspective, and have been in so much pain that I’ve been at an absolute loss as to what to do about it. I can’t remember the last time I felt like a worthless rag, but it’s important to be honest when I do.
Things are slow as I integrate Cat & Kitten. They’re doing so well together, back to being cuddle buddies, but OGK’s sugars are up, not good for a diabetic, be it a cat or a person, so I am trying to monitor him and his reactions without stressing all three of them out in the process. I want to see progress though, not setbacks. I want to see my brave, strong, smart girls thrive while we are here. Normally they are with me 24 hours a day, Kitten is often my writing companion, and that really helps me emotionally because they’re such good-hearted loves. For the past few weeks, I’ve maybe spent 15-45 minutes a day with them for a multitude of reasons. This weekend I am going to be organizing my clothes, so if nothing else, they will have more “Mommy time”. They’re always so happy to see me and I’m grateful that the diffuser worked for them because the move was a lot more traumatic than I thought it would be. I am very proud of them for traveling well and I’ve promised them that long trips are over for the near future. When I inevitably move again, I am not going more than an hour and a half away. My health simply isn’t that kind, and I physically cannot handle the stress or the emotion that comes with trekking around to that extent. I liked my life in the last state I called home. I loved the area and a lot of what kept me sane there are definitely things I miss, but I did not like these last few years, which took an immense toll on me in every imaginable way. I cannot allow that type of pain to re-enter my life ever again.
At the start of my move, Patient X went into arrhythmia three times and was rushed to the hospital. After 2 1/2 days, he was discharged with a lot more medication than he was given originally, medication I felt was crucial to his recovery, but man is that surgeon’s office fucked up! 😦 He’s healing. The surgical wounds are 90% healed, but all the other wounds he carries with him cannot be my responsibility any more. He visited for about ten days post-move, driving me absolutely insane. We fought more than anything else, enjoying maybe one or two good days the entire visit. The fact that he doesn’t seem to appreciate anything makes me feel as though I am dealing with an ungrateful, spoiled teenager. Neither of us was raised to behave in the manner in which he has been behaving, so as sad as it was, I was relieved when he left. Of course now, I’m worried. I said I wouldn’t be, but it just plain makes me sick to my stomach. Apparently he did not inherit the gene for common sense, so yeah, I’m going to worry. I wish he were 75% more like me and 95% less of an asshole. That is, indeed, a large request, I know, but one can still hope & pray that someone makes a drastic change in their lives and begins to see the error of nearly all of their ways.
I wish there was some kind of reassurance for me, but at the moment, I am doing my best to get through each day without focusing on anything too deep. Keeping my mind focused on the incredibly mundane is about all I can handle now.
My goals for 2016 involve intense creativity & being selfish where certain things are concerned. I’ve never been selfish, but I’m making a list of “No’s”. Normally my “No’s” are: “No doing dishes, no washing windows, no dating actors, musicians, athletes, or anyone in the military.” (Yes, I have legitimate reasons for all that.), but I’ve expanded on the original list. Perhaps I’ll write about it up the road.
Another important goal is to completely regroup. I am unbelievably tired of being in so much pain. Here’s hoping & praying that quality health care and proper treatment is in my future so that I may avoid permanent damage. I want to be able to function at a higher level and I’d appreciate not feeling like a prisoner in my body. It’s bad enough that I do feel like a prisoner. My cell is roughly 5.4″, and I cannot seem to break free. 😦
If I am able to feel like a human-being on December 31st, 2016, then I will have achieved something great, though for now, my expectations are lower than dirt.
I want to explore this new town as soon as the ice melts. I would hate to slip and fall and have to call someone to meet me at the nearest emergency room because I don’t have a single pair of boots here. Sometimes a walk can do so much in terms of clearing your head and heart of negative thoughts, but since 20 degree temperatures and I don’t exactly mesh, I might have to wait for it to warm up a bit. I’m hoping people will be patient with me and understand that while I do have my priorities straight (Believe me, I wish I didn’t.), I’m not willing to sacrifice anything more that helps keep me sane. I don’t care how ridiculous it seems to you; let me live.
It is difficult not to feel damaged, bruised, and broken. I am reminded that I am strong, yes, but every woman reaches a point when she’d simply like to sit in a corner and cry. Not because she’s weak, but because she needs to get the rage out of her system. It’s healthy, cleansing, and allows you to move forward. I detest weakness in myself, so it’s either have a good cry or trial by fire. (I’m kidding…slightly.)
Whatever 2015 has or hasn’t given you, maybe you be blessed moving forward. If it was a painful year, much like mine, cleanse yourself now and don’t carry the bitterness with you any longer than is necessary. Set a goal, however little or much, and do your best. If anyone has anything snarky to say about your goal(s), by all means, tell them to bite you. That’s about as inoffensive as I get for now.
Whatever you plan to do in terms of celebration tonight, please be safe. If you’re going to be drinking, be certain you have a designated driver or plan to take a cab home. It is better to be safe than sorry. Also, put your phone away. Do NOT text and drive. (It’s one of my biggest pet peeves, but it is also incredibly dangerous.)
Wishing you all a fantastic, happy, and safe New Year! 🙂 Let the blessings commence. So mote it be!
Another night of barely present sleep has me sitting here stressed. I should be boxing things up in my bathroom or going through my closet, but it’s cold, even with the heat on, the wind is insane, and I think I have to give myself a break today. From the neck down, everything hurts. If I don’t rest through this flare, nothing will get done as I lose a week to bed-rest, so I need to give myself a day here and there and cut myself some slack. Rome was not built in a day. I cannot pack up my entire life in a few days either.
I’ve been contemplating breakfast for several hours. Is it weird that I want mashed potatoes? LOL. Hot, comforting, and fast because they’re already in the fridge and all I have to do is heat them up. Alas, I came upstairs to write instead.
I will organize laundry next, as the store I bought my mattress from is finally sending someone out to inspect it on Tuesday, “sometime between 4 and 7”, and while I always change the linens on Sunday, this time I want to make sure that everything is good to go for that. Hell, I might even make my bed. It would be the first time in a few years. Don’t judge me, no one cares what it looks like so long as it’s clean.
The person who was originally working with me in regard to this issue is “no longer with the company”, so I am afraid that this hole in my mattress will be blown off, as opposed to the person being able to feel the spring popping up and authorizing a replacement. I am going to ask him outright if this thing is a lemon (which I suspected less than a year after sleeping on it. It shouldn’t have gone from the best thing EVER to “I want to replace this.”) or simply defective. I informed the store that I was moving and because it’s a regional store, as opposed to nationwide, if they do replace it, they’ll have to get it to me before the end of the month. At the very least, if they deliver it the day I leave, it’ll be wrapped and good to go into storage for a while. My bed is huge when you factor in the entire piece of furniture, so I will have to get them to send me instructions on how to take it apart since it took two men to get it in here and put it together. It was expensive or I wouldn’t be so concerned about taking it apart and storing it. It’s special to me and while it’s no longer pristine as it was when I first bought it, I’d like to be able to keep it for the foreseeable future. If not, a trip to IKEA is in my future. It’s been so long since I’ve been to IKEA that I look forward to going, which should be sad, but I think it’s a good idea. If nothing else, I might find some great ideas moving forward.
Tomorrow I notify my final editing client of the year that I will be taking the next two months to move. Technically I don’t need all of November blocked out (I will buckle down and finish her manuscript once I’m settled), but I won’t have Internet access immediately because the company that runs everything where I will be moving knows nothing about customer service. I’ve spoken to them twice and I can assure you that they’re drunk on their own Kool-Aid. The fact that I said I didn’t want a two-year agreement nearly sent two agents into a tizzy. “You will be so satisfied with our service, we are certain you will want to keep it for years to come.” Yeah, whatever. When Verizon moves in, and inevitably, the demand will secure their position, I am GONE. I will do whatever I have to in order to leave you and return to the company that has been amazing to me from day one. If I didn’t need the Internet, I’d let it fly, but I can’t work without it. If I’m going to be without it for more than a week on my laptop and tablet, it means I’m on the vacation of the century. Verizon is more along the lines of “We can be there tomorrow; would you prefer a morning, afternoon, or evening appointment?”, but these assholes told me installation would be 5-10 days from the time I place the order, but that I can choose the date to coincide with my arrival. How kind of you, since you’ll be sucking money out of me every month like leeches. The whole thing annoys me, but ultimately, having Internet access is important. It’s how I get shit done.
Ultimately, I am trying to make peace with my decision. The more negativity I deal with here, the more I want to be gone. I want to get back to being the woman I used to be. I deserve to be able to be myself without having to mask 99% of what I think or feel, or be told that it’s wrong. Overall, the things I will miss about being here aren’t as large as missing chunks of myself. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt or that I’m not upset about it. I am. However, there comes a time when you have to stop sacrificing pieces of your soul
When my mother had her accident, she worried that she was holding me back because I stayed put to take care of her. I would not change that decision for anything in the world, even though I was completely burned out in the end. I would not have been able to look at myself in the mirror if I didn’t know exactly what was going on with her. I would not have been able to enjoy anything in my life knowing that I wasn’t a good daughter, the kind she deserved, the person she raised me to be. I may not have been able to keep her alive in the end, but I remember a time when my Mom wasn’t strong enough to leave a bad situation and I was her strength. Now, I have to be my own.
I packed for nearly eleven hours today. That’s a record for me with Fibromyalgia, because the last time I had to make a big move, I flat-out shut down emotionally (and physically) and hired a moving company. This time, I am doing every damn thing by myself. You know where you stand with your friends and family when everyone scatters the second they hear the word “move”. This is precisely how people get cut from my “When I win the lottery” list.
However, packing drills home the fact that this is a really big house and while half of the house is already packed, I’m more concerned with the day-to-day stuff and the things that make me emotional. Family photos, art, DVD’s, the books in my living room that are organized in alphabetical order (They don’t call it OCD for nothing!), everything in my kitchen that I’m attached to, hell, even my nail polish collection makes me weepy.
I’m tired. This is my body’s way of saying I need a break, some food, and maybe more than the three plus hours of sleep I got last night. Despite going to bed early, I woke up at 1:00 a.m. and I’ve been on a roll ever since. The plus to all this: I tossed a TON of crap without glancing twice at it. Do I need the bridal magazine from 2009? NO. Can I donate these books to the library? YES. Do these craft items need a better home? YUP!
I packed one of my suitcases and ended up cleaning out four of the drawers in my armoire (They were FULL, this was no easy feat.). I had no idea I had so many things, but my closet is next and I suspect that will be 20 boxes of “How long have I owned this?” I’ve already donated a ton of clothing to different charities between last year and this year, but I found a local place that will buy new and gently used clothes from me, including shoes and boots that have never been worn that I was unable to sell on eBay, so I might as well make a few dollars while I have the chance and see if I can turn that into a new work outfit or something I need to get me through Winter. If I can move with significantly less crap, that’s one less stress in my head. Hell, I threw makeup out, you know I mean business!
Unfortunately, I’ve overdone it. I can barely keep my eyes open and I can’t have another conversation about whether or not to keep something, sell it, donate it, or throw it away. I’d sell a bodily organ if someone would pack everything for me, transport it to my destination, and do all of the unpacking, thus allowing me to sit in a corner and watch a spot of paint on the wall.
Happiness has an expensive emotional price tag. Putting myself first for the first time in my life means I am walking away from my life and starting over. To one person involved in my decision, it means “abandonment”, but that isn’t the real truth, it’s their perception of the situation. It’s their intent to make me feel guilty, thus lulling me into changing my mind, which in my eyes, means dealing with a form of tyranny for God only knows how long. I feel torn between demons, and I’m not 100% sure of that analogy, I just know that I want and need PEACE.
I need quiet when I am sick, as opposed to someone barging in and waking me when I’ve only been asleep for an hour. I need privacy. I need to be able to say “I’m going to bed.”, and have someone respect that, even if that means they don’t see me for two days. When I am dealing with migraines and Fibro flares, I don’t need to be told that I’m “using it at a crutch” or “You’re just being lazy because you don’t want to do something.” (I once had someone vacuum while I was on vacation in the middle of a migraine. It was 7:00 a.m. and I contemplated murdering them, but ultimately hoped they’d finish quickly, before I went into the living room and threw up on the rug.) And when I’m in a dark place, I don’t ever want to hear “Just kill yourself already, I’m tired of hearing about it.” That is NOT what you say to someone who considers suicide regularly, or even just once a week. And NO, I feel no shame in being honest about that. I’d be more ashamed if I pretended my life was perfect and that I had no emotions, or pretended to be strong every single day of my life when the fact of the matter is, no one is strong 100% of the time. We all have moments of doubt. It’s called “being human”.
Insensitivity and hatred directed at you when you need to focus on your health and rebuilding portions of your life is unhealthy. I want better, I deserve better, and I cannot allow myself to be guilted into the stupidity of others. (FYI: I am not discussing a romantic relationship. I would NEVER allow abuse in a situation like that. Perhaps some day I will discuss what I’ve been through, I started writing about it months ago, but today is not that day.)
So, on this rainy, windy Saturday evening, I hope that everyone has had a happy, productive day. I overdid it and I’m already feeling the aches and pain, my back is sore and I HURT, but I have to keep believing that it will all get done. Ultimately, me being okay in the end is probably more important than anything else.
It’s utterly surreal how much my life has changed in the last eight years. I set out on a specific course, reached a major fork in the road, chose a direction, a dream, and now I am starting over with a dream I’ve somehow managed to keep hidden in the back of my mind, all the while making movements towards it. “Everything happens for a reason…” Sometimes that sounds like horse-shit and other times, it’s the absolute truth.
In the last eight years I have lost, loved, lost, and continued to love. Every single time I think I am shut off and that my capacity for love is gone, I am proven wrong. On this day last year, I brought an angel home. Today that angel is officially a year old and while there are a great many types of love, this one is pure and special. I feel blessed and honored to be in the presence of this love. This is the kind of love that keeps you alive and gives you purpose. It reminds you to keep fighting and keep living, even when you truly don’t want to. Even when you say “No more!”, that love is present and let’s you know that it’s okay to feel the way you do, and that you’re completely accepted.
Once or twice a year, I do a Celtic Cross Tarot Card reading for myself. I don’t do readings for anyone else because it makes me uncomfortable, but my own readings are so accurate that they bring me to tears. My most recent reading was dead-on accurate and I remember being slightly in denial at the time, but now I realize it was a message, and it was telling me exactly what I’ve been telling myself for the last few years. I liken it to a loved one treating you badly in public and a stranger stopping you to tell you that you deserve better. You KNOW you deserve better in your heart of hearts, but sometimes hearing it from someone else’s mouth is the push you need. Many of my readings are like that. In fact, all of them are. I’m really quite disturbing with the metaphysical.
Today would normally be a celebration of something else, but this year I celebrate love and new beginnings. That is the right direction, that is the answer, and I needn’t attempt to dissuade myself when I know the answers.
My mother wrote a letter to me before I was born. I found it after she died. It said “Sometimes you have put yourself first, but it doesn’t mean you’re being selfish.” She was a supremely unselfish woman and she raised me to be pretty unselfish as well. Of all the people I have lost, it’s my Mom’s voice that I can’t always remember, until I read something she wrote or a memory comes flooding back and I hear her say my name the way only three people in my life ever did. Looking at photos this morning, I realized just how much I miss my family and how I’ve never given myself time to grieve.
Thankfully, I know that there are all a part of who I am and that they’re not truly gone. Bits and pieces of each of them live on inside of me, and so, with every ending comes a new beginning.
This phoenix is ready to spread her wings and fly. She’s already been through the fire.
I’m a pretty dark person. I have a wicked sense of humor and I’ll say anything goofy to make someone laugh, but when it’s my life, there isn’t a lot I perceive as humorous. I’m not the kind of person who laughs at someone else’s pain or who enjoys hearing about someone’s breakups, divorces, illnesses, a death, etc. Laughing at other people’s pain is evil, in my eyes. When someone mentioned losing their Mom last week, I sat on my couch and cried. I’d already endured a rough week and hearing the words “My Mom passed away, but she’s at peace.” made me ill. I felt SO bad for this person. I was relieved that they had support from a spouse, friends, and family. That made me feel better for them, despite the fact that losing a parent at any age is one of the worst things one can go through. I should know; I’ve already lost both of mine. I’d give a lot to have even just one of them back. I spend every day of my life feeling like an absolute orphan.
I am good at listening to others and giving exceptional advice, but I’m not very good at listening to myself in an advisory capacity. The last thing I want to hear is the sound of my own voice. I spend a lot of time trying to shut the inside of my head up. I don’t do drugs, so that means I pull the covers around me (usually because I’m cold) and close my eyes. After a few minutes, kitten comes to check on me and she’ll cuddle in, which always makes me feel cared for. She’ll look at me with such loving green eyes and I know that she is conveying her concern for me. “Why are you sad, Mama? Don’t worry, I’ll stay with you. ” And she doesn’t leave my side until I leave the room. She is the epitome of loyal, and it is gratifying to see so much love from such a little person.
Cat also checks on me. These last few weeks she has been very observant of my unhappiness and has spent a lot of time watching me, cuddling with me, sitting on my lap at times, and looking for me. If I leave a room, she’ll trot after me to make sure I’m okay. She stares at me with her deeply knowing little face. I can almost hear her thinking “Mommy’s not okay. I always hear her say ‘I’m not okay.’, why doesn’t anyone listen to her?” I don’t know.
I’ve been so miserable that I’ve struggled emotionally in deep, dark places. Very few people have noticed and even fewer have shown me that they care. That’s okay, because it only proves what I already know; Most people live on their own fucking planet and aren’t aware that other people exist. Good for them, but please, stay the hell out of my lane or I will mow you down for shits and giggles. I have absolutely no tolerance for anyone who has their head that far up their own ass, though I am slightly impressed with their ability to physically aim so high. Since their heads never come out, there is no need to stock up on Listerine for the “great hose down of 2015”. I’ve decided to ignore assholes, douchebags, and vicious souls for the foreseeable future. I don’t care who the person is any more, I don’t need the stupidity and heartlessness.
Oftentimes people forget that all forms of depression can strike them down at any given moment. They can be the happiest person in the happiest place, and suddenly feel as though there are no words for their internal pain. Lying about it, pretending it does not exist, and blowing off the pain of others to make yourself seem stronger doesn’t make you better, it makes you afraid of being stigmatized. It’s 2015. Get the antiquated thinking out of your head and stop being an asshole to yourself, and others. It takes strength to treat a chemical imbalance. It takes strength to talk about it. You should be ashamed if you’re lying about it and hiding it. You should be even more ashamed if you’ve hurt friends that suffer because you can’t handle the fact that they’re stronger than you are. Yelling at someone who is suffering is not helpful. Screaming at them is even less helpful. You either want to help someone because you genuinely love and care about them or you scream because you lack proper communication skills.
I will yell when I’m frustrated, I will tell someone to back off or leave me alone when I am frustrated and need space, but the only person I abuse is myself.
I never know with any certainty if I will emerge from these dark places. Medication isn’t an option for me. I wait for new drugs to be released every few years to see if something new will be the answer. And by new, I mean NEW, I do not mean reformulated with a new name, which is what most pharmaceutical companies do when a major money-making drug is about to go generic. They will re-release it under a new name, having slightly tweaked it. If you’re not proactive in researching these drugs, you will spend years taking the same fucking crap, experiencing the same horrible side effects, wondering why you never feel better.
I am the exception, not the rule. Many people do find medication that works after some trial and error, even if only for short periods of time. I am chemically sensitive and I have been written off as “treatment-resistant”, which means that my brain doesn’t respond to all sorts of crazy chemical cocktails. No drug has ever worked for me on a long-term basis. Every time I “go dark”, it is up to me, and me alone, to try to pull myself out of the deep, dark hole before things get worse. I’m really tired of everyone’s opinions in regard to that. When you’re hurting, you want to be understood. You don’t want to hear hypocrisy or “That’s a permanent solution to a temporary problem.” Um, NO. I will have this for the rest of my life. That my friends, is fucking permanent.
I will never be a perfect, blooming flower for anyone. I wish people understood that depression does not diminish who I am, it does not detract from what I bring to the table. It does not make me less talented, less intelligent, or less anything. If anything, it makes me the more interesting person in the room with a little more vibrancy at times because I hold a lot back daily. I don’t shine all of the time, but when I do, I highly suggest wearing sunglasses.
Once upon a time, in an extremely bizarre reality, I was in a relationship I should not have been in. The warning signs were there, but some people burn so brightly that you don’t seem to notice you’re going up in flames and turning to ash. Immensely large red flares of danger were being sent up so I wouldn’t get burned. Did that stop anything? Not so much.
He was the quintessential “bad boy”, complete with motorcycles, fancy sports cars, tattoos, multiple drug addictions, and a boatload of issues. Maybe the maternal, nurturing aspect of me wanted to fix or heal him. I don’t know, but whatever it is, I’m thankful every single day that it is no longer a part of my life.
Initially there was no reaction or emotion from me towards him. He was just a guy, a guy all kinds of women fell for, but I prided myself on not adding myself to the throng of fools. Until one day, when I was seemingly drawn in like a moth to a flame. Except I wasn’t a moth, I was a butterfly, and yet, I suddenly had to have him. The pull was intense. He was crazy about me; The only person who challenged him, who questioned everything, and who was not impressed by anything. The problems though, they were simmering under the surface, just waiting to come out, one by one.
They started relatively early. I had never been told I was “too skinny” before. Even as a former gymnast that had experienced bouts of bulimia on & off for about two years after realizing that I’d never be an Olympic anything. I did not consider myself “too skinny” or “too” anything, really. I had the mouth of a Marine on leave, a writing career that had taken off in an amazing way, and a guy who told me he loved me, but to this day probably doesn’t know the meaning of the word. You’ll find him in the dictionary, somewhere between the words “Douchebag”, “Hypocrite”, and “Liar”, providing you’ve opted for a Webster’s upgrade.
His career allowed me the independence and space that I like in a relationship. I can’t have someone in my face 24/7, nagging, or standing over my shoulder like a watch dog. It drives me insane. He respected that, until the possessive behavior became more than just one or two phone calls a day. At first it seemed like he was going out of his way to surprise me and brighten aspects of my life, but that wasn’t it. Not at all.
The man could spit out promises just as quickly as he broke them, I just didn’t know he was trying to break me in the process.
The criticism I endured throughout the course of this relationship was harsher than what I dealt with from my family, and even though I had a comeback for everything he said, the words still haunt me…
I went from being vibrant, smart, confident, & 100% in control to depressed, unhappy, paranoid, angry, & jealous. I was reduced to questioning why I was somehow not good enough for him. It was irrational and insane. There was always an inner voice telling me “He’s not good enough for you. What are you doing? This man is poison. Tell him to go to hell and walk away.”
I remember crying one night to my best friend at the time, after a particularly shitty thing he’d lied about. Here I was, the strongest, toughest, most direct chick people knew, asking “Why would he lie to me like that? Why would he lie about something so important? Why am I not good enough for him?” I was devastated by the pathological way in which he’d lie.
My best friend consoled me quietly, basically saying she didn’t know why he had lied or why he would, but months later she told me I was “Too smart, too pretty, and all aroundway too good for the likes of him!” She was furious that he would hurt me in such a manner and then behave as if all was right in the world, and her anger continued to fuel when he showed up at a work event we all attended with a married woman on his arm. “A friend”, he’d called her. More like a drug supplier he’d hooked up with. He was spiraling and wanted to take me with him, but I would not allow that.
For the record, I was already ass deep in alligators when I realized how big an issue the drugs actually were because they weren’t an issue at the onset. It went from being an old football injury to being an all-consuming, problem-inducing, complete lack of grip on reality. It started out small, as many addictions do, and escalated until it had to be confronted. I did not condone it in any way and refused to support the habit. I was not going to be in a relationship with an addict, period. I was the catalyst to get him into rehab, explaining in list formation all that he would lose if he did not get clean. But as most people can tell you, 30 days in rehab will detox you, it might even get you to talk about why you got into it in the first place, but it’s every single day after leaving a protected environment that matters most. If you have people who love & support you, you have a greater chance at remaining sober. You might slip up, recovery is going to be a constant for the rest of your life, but the effort you put forth is SO important. However, if you immediately return to the same lifestyle and friends you had during the height of your illness, it will revert you right back into it at some point, especially if you have no real desire to be clean, no willpower, and no real desire to live. It’s a way of committing suicide slowly, secretly hoping that one day it’ll all be over and you don’t personally have to do the heavy lifting, or deal with the aftermath.
Part of what saddens me about the relationship itself is that I defended, protected, and shielded this man. I was the epitome of devoted and loyal to the Nth degree. My love was genuine, and yet I was constantly criticized, going as far as to be told that I wasn’t good enough to be introduced to his parents, who for years, he told me were dead. I’d later find out he only wished they were. Our differing religions was the reason given when I questioned why I was somehow “not good enough” to meet his parents. Who the hell were these people? England’s Monarchy?! How isolated and ignorant were they to think their religion was the only one that existed in this world?! This was not the first time someone had taken issue with my religion and tried to make me feel guilty for it. I was considered “not Jewish enough” by one guy’s family, and now I was being made to feel like I was somehow inappropriate and shameful. And the worst part? He wasn’t religious, AT ALL.
Suddenly, after years of knowing our religions were different, it became this big issue, and we fought about it a lot. Would I be willing to convert to Roman Catholicism? HELL NO. Would I sign a pre-nup? Whoa, where the hell did THAT come from?! You want to marry me. You’ve asked, I’ve accepted, but now you’re afraid I suddenly want to be with you for financial gain? Are you serious?! Anyone who knows me knows that I’ve always taken care of myself. He knew that. I don’t expect a man to pay for my lifestyle. I’m fully capable of making my own money, buying my own clothes, jewelry, etc. I think you should want to take care of your partner and be a provider, but relationships are give and take. I did not expect to sit on my ass and be given anything, so I waffled back and forth on that little tidbit. It is a deal breaker if it’s not a document protecting both of us.
The ever-present “Would you please eat?!” grated on my nerves. He’d bring me food for several years of our relationship, but not in a loving, caring, concerned way (I do like it when I’m sick and a guy has the sense to bring me soup or Italian food. There’s something very nurturing about that.), but in an extremely controlling manner. As soon as I gained about 15 pounds from this constant influx of food, I was suddenly told the exact opposite. Now I wasn’t thin enough, I was becoming the woman who he didn’t want anyone else looking at. What was so shameful about being curvy? He’d have a fit whenever we’d be somewhere and someone else would check me out. I was not the one doing the looking, yet he was suddenly paranoid that anyone who checked me out was somehow going to end up in my bed. It was eye-rollingly ridiculous.
He’d do something shitty, and I’d be “rewarded” with jewelry or flowers, sometimes both, depending on the situation. It got to a point where I began to loathe the pink & purple roses I loved so much. To this day if someone sends me roses, I cringe inside. He would promise to be somewhere I needed him to be, but was almost always off feeding his drug habit, or as I would later find out through a friend, a habit for other women.
It was demanded upon me that I be 100% faithful. That was not an issue because I’d never cheated on someone and wasn’t about to start, but because he was the one doing all the cheating, he started having people follow me to find out what I was doing every time I left the house. Stalker much?! It was sick. It was also an excuse.
I’d had enough after confronting someone he often had tail me, and I put my foot down. I’m not big on ultimatums, but he needed to hear what his behavior was doing, that it was unhealthy and damaging, and completely unwarranted and unacceptable. It came down to this: He needed to return to rehab, fully commit to it, and he then needed to be clean & sober for a year before I would agree to marriage. It was time for him to prove that he was worthy of me, not the other way around.
He went to rehab for a few months, coming back apologetic, and for a while things were simply tense. We talked, but clearly he was refusing to hear me. He was about to do something he’d probably been considering for quite some time, and simply hadn’t been man enough to say to my face. With marriage promised, it probably made me believe a slew of lies I was too smart to actually buy into in the first place, but there was something slightly blinding & intoxicating about it. But the truth of the matter is, it was just plain toxic.
The problem with relationships slowly turning abusive is that, initially, we think we’re in the right relationship with the right person, until suddenly, we’re not.
For years after this relationship ended I’d hear “Oh, LET IT GO!” whenever I mentioned how hurt, angry, or betrayed I felt; as if emotions could be turned on and off like a faucet. How could I not feel all of those things?! Saying “I love you” is not a cure-all. Actions speak louder than words. His actions were atrocious.
With a ring solidly on my finger, he married someone else, just weeks after saying we were good and moving in the right direction, that he was trying. I had to find out via an announcement his new wife was sending to friends & family. She was pregnant before they even said “I do.” He would go on to have several children with her, each time choosing names we had decided on for our future offspring. That was the icing on the cake. I seriously worried about my ability to be around him in any capacity after that, so I disengaged. I made sure that whenever he’d be around, I would not be present. Hurting someone you claim to love in such a manner is vile, but to then go on living your life as if said loved one never existed is even worse. I started to think I was losing my mind. If it had not been for the fact that I knew the relationship had occurred, and exactly what I had endured, I’d have felt like I was being erased, or replaced.
Up until a few years ago, he & I continued to have mutual friends. I finally got tired of hearing the lies and cut everyone off. “He asked about you.”, “He hopes you’re all right. He just wants you to be happy.”, “He cares about you.” PLEASE! He never cared in the first place, it was a fucking game to him. No matter how many times I would ask these friends not to relay anything he said about me, it would come up in conversation, until I finally changed my phone number and said “No more.”
Not one to eat bullshit politely with a knife and fork, I have gone out of my way to avoid him since all of this went down. I have nothing to be embarrassed about. I didn’t do anything wrong, except believe in a person I shouldn’t have given the time of day to, but hey, we all make mistakes. Avoiding him is my way of remaining a healthy, non-toxic human-being.
I know eventually, at some point, we will run into one another, and I pray that I am not carrying a loaded weapon that day or wearing particularly high heels because even though people tell me I’m not a damaging, harmful person to be around, and that I’d never willingly hurt someone, I cannot promise the desire to harm him won’t be there. Some of the rage goes away with time, but any time the relationship is mentioned or I come across something from that time period, I am flooded with everything I thought I’d already moved past. For me, that lets me know the damage runs deep. It does not, nor will it ever, mean that I care about him. I don’t. I wouldn’t spit on this man if he was on fire.
Once I no longer love/respect someone, my emotions will often turn to pity, anger (at myself & the other person involved), & my anger is a burning rage that can simmer and bubble for years until it is truly out of my system. If the anger is unjustified, it eventually dwindles and the flames put out, but if it IS justified, stay the hell out of my way. I can go from zero to bitch in about half a second.
Unfortunately, there are so many different kinds of abuse in the world, that it’s sometimes hard to pinpoint if you are the abused or the abuser. Sometimes you are simultaneously both, even if you don’t intend to be.
Writing this makes me feel a bit like I’m back in Psych class, but I’ve been revisiting certain things lately, which is why I am writing about such a personal, private matter. If what I’m saying helps even one person get out of a toxic relationship, then that’s important and necessary.
If you’re in any kind of relationship where your words and feelings are being defined in an incorrect manner, where you are constantly insulted and berated, it is time to take a closer look at this relationship. Thinking this person is “the best you can do”, having low, little, or no self-esteem, or coming from a “people pleasing” type of family are all potential signs you’ve probably overlooked. Most people do. When you’ve been taught that everything around you is “normal” and a part of your daily life, you stop questioning things. You begin to lose your inner voice. Once you lose your inner voice, you start to become everything the abuser has defined you as. Your thoughts, feelings, actions, everything is now completely defined by someone else. Moreover, you question yourself and promise yourself you’ll be better for them, that you will do everything right, not realizing that your life is your own, and it is not owned by someone else.
I am a product of abuse. Not just from the relationship I am talking about, but from my childhood. I am very forthcoming about that fact when approached, but generally I keep such things to myself. However, when a person comes to me and needs help, I am the first person to listen, and the first to say something.
For many, many years I handled the abuse (verbal, emotional, and physical) by throwing myself into my writing and my singing. One day I snapped; I’d had enough. I was 100% committed in the fact that I’d kill the other person and spend my life in jail, but I believed in my cause because I was protecting two other people. I took the brunt of everything so they wouldn’t have to. To this day, one of those people denies that 99% of the abuse ever occurred. It must be nice living in such a warped bubble of false memories, but I know what I lived, I know what I saw, and it is sad for me to see this person deny the abuse and become the abuser themselves. If you correct this person, or disagree with them, they will say YOU are abusing THEM. It’s a vicious cycle, however, I know that by standing up and saying ENOUGH, and being committed to putting a stop to it, that I did the right thing. If I hadn’t, I’d be in jail now. Or worse.
People are often shocked to learn that I’ve been through such things. I don’t deny being strong and confident, and I don’t deny that I will say something is wrong when it is wrong, regardless of who is saying it. I will admit to being wrong on the rare occasion that I am. But I will not allow myself to live a life of abuse. I won’t allow someone to define me, to disrespect me, to use me, to tell me what I think, to tell me where to go, or tell me what I am allowed to do. When someone behaves that way around me, I am very happy to show them the door. I know I deserve better.
I look for different things in people now, and I always pay attention to my intuition. It is an immense part of who I am. If someone or something seems too good to be true, then it probably is. If something feels innately wrong, re-evaluate it and follow your instincts. Intuition will never lie to you, but the heart will. If your relationship involves young children, get out NOW. You do not want your child/children to be affected by the abuse inflicted upon their mother in front of them. I know people who have stayed in these relationships because they believed that taking their children out of the home during the formative years was the worst possible thing they could do. It’s not. The worst thing you can do is stay and allow them to think that what they’re hearing, seeing, and living is normal. If you get out early enough, you will save yourself and your child/children a fortune in therapy bills.
Once upon a time, I was a moron. It won’t happen again, because I am firmly committed to not allowing it. No one defines me, except me.
Do not be afraid to search the Internet or the Yellow Pages for additional resources available to you in your area/country. If your abuser uses the same computer, always be sure to delete your browsing history to protect yourself from additional harm, or go to the library if available and search for information there.*
I think it’s really important to listen to others and hear them, even if the subject matter makes you uncomfortable. I don’t like to denounce someone’s feelings, even if I disagree with their perspective. People say that words aren’t harmful, but they can be and it’s important to acknowledge that even the simplest way of saying things, at times, can make a person question who they are, or that it can do severe damage.
Sometimes, I think people say things to challenge me. It’s truly not meant to be harmful, but if I’m already bleeding on the ground, I probably don’t need another kick.
I’m so far from perfect, it’s not even funny, but I will be apologizing to a few people this week to be certain that they grasp the true meaning and don’t take simplicity the wrong way.
Written by LISA MARINO-Molchanova 