I Am Not Okay

Tonight the monsters in my head
Are screaming so damn loud
But I built walls so high
So they never even make a sound

It’s a mask, it’s a lie
It’s the only home I’ve ever known
‘Cause being who I really am
Has only left me more alone

I am not okay
And I need you to see it
I have so much to say
And no one to hear it
The reason I keep quiet
With so much at stake
I always feel like a burden, let it silence me
You’ll never understand
Why it’s so hard to say
I’m not okay

I’ll never have the words, I can’t explain this hell
But what if it kills me
If I keep it to myself?
To myself

~Citizen Soldier

A few days ago, last Thursday to be exact, I was very much not okay. It’s so fucking hard to explain the reasons why, inside my blog, when I can’t talk about the biggest “pieces” that make up this ugly and terrifying “puzzle”. It involves my kids, in a big way. While Jackie isn’t entirely responsible for this shit, she sure as hell contributed everything she could to it. I drive myself insane, trying to understand why. Not only this, but she recruited (or attempted to recruit) everyone close to me to participate in harming my husband and children as much as possible. She did manage to gather one of the people I’d never have expected would abandon me, or even be interested in listening to “my side” to this chaos. I’m so consumed with worries for my family right now, I have no more room inside myself to fight for relationships with anyone who can’t see or doesn’t care about what this is doing to me. It really is true, when life gets tough, you find out who actually does have your back. Who genuinely means it, when they promise they’ll always be here for you.

It’s almost impossible, to find words to express how I was feeling, last Thursday. I spent the entire day desperately trying to find something, anything, to believe in. I began to fantasize about my handgun that’s currently stored at my dad’s house, because we can’t have guns in our house until after Adam’s case is finished. He was charged with “domestic assault”. We’ve got attorneys who assure us the worst case scenarios that play over in our minds are almost certainly not going to happen. Still, the fears take over me. I made Hawaiian hot ham and cheese sandwiches, for supper. I knew I wouldn’t be able to eat anything. I attempt to force myself, and gag almost immediately after I put food inside my mouth. I lost 7 pounds in a week. That accounts for more than 7% of my entire body weight, which is becoming downright dangerous. My hot ham and cheese sandwiches are Mj’s favorite meal. I thought about making this supper for my family, and then finding an excuse to leave the house, so I could make my way over to my dad’s house. I knew he wasn’t home. I pleaded with God, please help me to see the things I used to. Where is the light? How do I begin to crawl out from inside this hole I’m stuck so deep inside? I didn’t want to ask Adam for help, because he’s struggling with just as much as I am. More, in fact. I don’t want my babies to see the pure hopelessness I’m battling. It’s such an intensely lonely place to be. I’m trapped inside a private hell, and I can’t tell anyone about it. My kids were smiling, and sat in the kitchen with me, telling me all about their days. The evening passed by quickly, and I never left the house. Instead, when Adam and I got into the shower, I experienced an absolute breakdown. I sat on the shower floor, and I yelled and sobbed uncontrollably. I got angry. All of these emotions I’ve fought so hard to keep within myself came flowing from me like water from a fire hydrant. There was so much built-up pressure behind them, once they started to come out, I was helpless to stop it. I told Adam, “I can’t find it. I don’t see it. I just want OUT!” Adam wrapped me in his arms, and begged me trust him, when he promises we’re going to be okay. He insists, he has contingency plans for every possible scenario. He asked me to please stop trying to pretend I’m alright, because I think I need to protect him. He sees my hurt. He feels my pain and worry. I see his, too. He’s carrying the weight of the guilt he feels, because we’re all going through this hell. He accepts all the responsibility for his family’s struggles. He blames only himself, but I don’t. I believe every one of us, who were involved, has a part they contributed. Some were bigger than others, but we all helped to create this mess. I know both Adam and I would give anything to be able to go back and do it better.

As Adam held me, on the floor of our shower, I looked into his eyes. Despite the shower water running down our faces, his tears were evident. His eyes were red, and full of concern. This only added to my own guilt and sadness. I’ve never seen my husband like this. Of course, he’s never seen me this way, either. We spent over 90 minutes, talking, crying, and clinging to one another inside our shower. Adam suggested maybe I should go talk with my doctor, about these physical and emotional symptoms I’m experiencing. I shook my head, and I told him I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to have any kind of pills that might slow down my body and brain, right now. He knew what I meant by that.

On Friday morning, something had changed within me. Although our circumstances were no different, the heaviness inside me seemed to have lightened significantly. I put music on, for the first time since this mess had been made, and I began to tackle the mess inside my home. I cleaned my kitchen. I got myself dressed. I made our bed. Mj and I made some monkey bread together. I washed, dried, folded, and put away four loads of laundry. When Adam got home from work, I smiled at him. He lit up and told me that was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He hadn’t seen me smile, in way too long. I made it through the entire weekend, without waking up only seeing and feeling darkness. I’m still afraid. I’m still hurting. I still can’t quite figure out how to get “me” back, or whether that’s even possible. Maybe I’ll just be different? As if a part of me has died.

I am consoled by the pact I made, with myself. I will not do anything to remove myself from this fire I’m fighting, unless. Only I know what that unless is. I listened to another song, whose words spoke perfectly the way it can feel, sometimes. It says,

“There’s a house that’s on fire deep inside of my mind. I’ve been stuck in the wreckage. I was taught I should hide. There’s an open window. Smoke is getting high. It’s gonna tear me to pieces, being forced to decide. Do I jump like a failure? Let it burn me alive? Should I feel guilty for running out of time?”

I say none of this for sympathy or attention. My writing here is the one and only place I can be brutally honest, without consequence. I can’t share my personal truths anywhere else. Dr. Phil says our “personal truths” are what we tell ourselves, when we’re all alone with ourselves. When we take off the “social masks” we wear, in front of everyone else. When we’re forced to look at ourselves honestly and reveal all the ugliness we attempt to keep concealed. This is simply mine. It’s not pretty, or socially acceptable. It isn’t what I’m supposed to say or feel or think or do. So, I write about all of it, and then I go put back on my “mask”. I want nothing more than to get back to a place where I don’t feel required to hide my ugliest parts from even the people closest to me. For now, I suppose I’m just doing my best to “fake it til I make it”. I hate that all I can write about is this sorrow and utter despair I’m fighting with. I wish I could be saying, feeling, thinking almost anything else. This is me, authentically, though. I’ve said from the start, I write about my real life. The truth is, I do have people who want to be here for me. I just can’t seem to let most anybody else “in”, right now. I trust almost no one. I have faith in nearly nothing. Words of encouragement seem hollow. Stop telling me it’s going to be okay! Please, just acknowledge these things that are plainly obvious to me. It isn’t okay. This isn’t right. How in the fuck can you tell me to “look up” while I’m still falling? All I can hope for is to finally find the bottom. Only then, can I possibly even begin to contemplate climbing back up and out of this.

Believe it or not, this is me in a much better headspace than I was, just a few days ago. So, there’s that. I’m going to go put some clothes on. I’ll do my hair and makeup, and I’ll do my best to cover up all these things I’m not ready or willing to let the rest of the world see. I imagine they’d all recoil in horror, anyway.