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I Fall Down

I fell down many times…

I fall down. I fall down. I fall down.

Stressin’. Depression.

Prescriptions, liquor, pain and bad decisions.

Cryin’, shakin’, my mind is a prison.

Locked inside my head. I’m about to lose my shit.

I fall down. I fall down. I fall down.

I hit rock bottom all alone. I cry so much, I can’t cry no more.

Mixed emotions. I’m feelin’ lost. I got bad dreams and broken thoughts.

I’m breaking down. I’m full of shame. Darkness all around and I’m filled with pain.

Self-possessed. Feeling stressed. My heart been broke. Full of regret.

Calamity damage, loss and pain. I’m so fucked up. Not right in the brain.

I got deep rooted problems, and I can’t find peace.

I can’t hear over demons in my ears. Don’t know who I am when I look in the mirror.

I don’t know who I am anymore. These vices got me feeling low. I think I’m about to lose control. The darkness sometimes feels like home.

I fall down. I fall down. I fall down.

Oh, won’t you help me now?

~Willy Kay

* For the record, I have not used or taken any form of alcohol or drugs. When things were normal, I could drink a few beers with my friends, but not now. I recognize the danger anything that can alter or numb my mind poses. I haven't even taken any of the Valium prescribed to me. I cannot use any of these things as a "crutch". What begins as "Just this once... Today's been a HARD day... Just one pill... One drink...", becomes a full-fledged mind and body addiction to the substances that numb the hurt. I have not, and will not, accept one single opportunity to soothe myself with drugs and/or alcohol. A lot of the songs I post here reference drugs/alcohol. While I absolutely relate to every mention of addiction's struggle, that's from a long ago past of mine. I've grown wiser, and know better than to let that particular demon grab hold of me again.

I think some clarification is needed. There are still many things I just CANNOT speak or write about. Things that would give much needed explanation for these broad clarifications I’m going to attempt to write here. That’s the toughest part of sharing any of it. Without including every why, where, when, how…things appear as only twisted pieces of the truth. The twists only reveal some of the worst parts, without any excuse or explanation for them. Unfortunately, I would be risking our future, if I was to discuss too much of our past. It’s our past revelations that could best create a complete and accurate picture of these why’s, where’s, when’s, and how’s. There will be a time and place for my entire story to be told. It’s just not today. It won’t be tomorrow, either. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us, Adam and I, and our family. The things that happened in May were not the beginning. They were actually the end of a beginning that I hadn’t ever mentioned here.

Well, here goes…

My husband is looking at a MINIMUM of THREE YEARS in PRISON, if he’s convicted of the shit he was charged with. Three fucking years. Adam had never once been in trouble with the law. He’d never been handcuffed, arrested, charged, or convicted of a crime. Because of this situation, we’ve both had no choice but to expose deep dark secrets we’ve kept to ourselves, until this. Secrets that help to protect Adam and provide clarity to the reasoning behind his actions that awful night. Secrets that hurt us both to have to share. Over the past couple of months, even deeper and darker secrets have come to our attention. Ones that both horrify us, as well as break our hearts.

Our babies don’t know but a fraction of what’s been happening, but even the tiny bits and pieces they are aware of are causing them fear and worry and pain. Mikayla knows more, because she’s not only an adult, but she’s intimately aware of most of these secrets and was involved in the evening that started us down this path that feels like hell.

We have also spent well into tens of thousands of dollars on this shit, already. Fear of draining our savings accounts, as well as the very real possibility of my husband ending up in prison, have been another added concern. If Adam is convicted, he would no longer be able to provide for our family. In the midst of this chaos, I’ve been applying and interviewing for jobs. I just recently got hired onto one of the positions I’d applied for. I will be working Monday through Friday, as a loan specialist, beginning this coming Monday. I actually think I’ll enjoy the work I’m doing, but I can’t help the sadness I feel about saying goodbye to my career as “just” a wife and mother. A “homemaker”. I loved that job, most of all. No paid position could ever compete with the joy and satisfaction I’ve gotten in taking care of my home and family. My kids are forced to grow up real fast, now. It feels as if we’ve stolen the innocence they still had left.

Life is not only already a very screwed up kind of different, but there’s only certainty about more changing, all too soon. We aren’t able to predict which ways things will change, either. I have no say in most of what’s to come. I’m a mere passenger, stuck on this ride, on a trip I never bought a ticket to. I’m not sure where we’re going, or when we’ll arrive. Each stop along the way seems to create new worries about where I’m being taken, and add more to my heartache in reminiscing about the place I used to live.

As time has passed, and truths have surfaced, Adam has garnered a lot of support. Even Justin and Jackie have seen it, now. Despite this, I can’t contemplate forgiveness or healing with Jackie, right now. I’m not sure that’s ever going to be possible. I have so much hurt caused by the betrayals of a person I trusted most in this world. Someone who knew better than anybody about the storm that had been brewing, long before it eventually wreaked this havoc on us. All the conversations we’d shared with Justin and Jackie, in Adam and my desperation to find solutions to these problems (secrets we’d kept close about the other person involved in the altercation with Adam, in May) that we seemed unable to solve ourselves. We trusted the things we said would remain between only the four of us. We trusted them to have our backs, at least enough to validate our intention and motivation behind things said and actions taken. While I’ll be first to admit, I screw up sometimes, I wouldn’t ever, not in a million years, want to cause harm to anyone. That’s not who my husband is, either. Adam is a GOOD MAN. He’s not some aggressive bully, who can’t control his temper. I know my husband. I well understand the intent meant in his actions that he’s being prosecuted for. Those only give a grainy snapshot of one brief moment in time, without the context of circumstances leading to it. It’s awful to be judged or condemned based on only that one part of one sentence from this novel that hasn’t yet been read by anyone else. He’s also not a liar. That’s something any and every person who knows him would vouch for. He shares the title for “most honest human” with my dad. Adam is harder on himself than anyone. He holds himself to near impossible standards, and still only judges himself if they’re not met. He’s quick to forgive the mistakes made by others he cares about. He takes responsibility for our mistakes. He blames himself. Whether at work, or at home. Even now, in this mess, his greatest concerns are for the people he’s responsible for.

Knowing my husband might be taken from me and from our children, means I’ve had to step into a very different role, just in case. In case he won’t be able to do all the things he’s always done for us. It’s the little things that get me the most. I can’t sleep, when I’m alone in bed. Nothing and no one can give me the kind of comfort I feel, when he holds me in his strong arms. It hurts that, even though he’s still right here, I can’t quite find that same assurance in his embrace. I’m always aware of this looming cloud hovering over us. It reminds me, it’s in charge. Adam can’t protect me from this. Neither of us has the power to decide what happens, when the time for judgement gets here. When this trip ends, and I finally find out where we’re going to next. Either way, it isn’t “home”. That place doesn’t exist anymore.

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Take This Pain

I’m a little unsteady
I’m a little lost inside
And my heart stays heavy
I don’t say what’s on my mind

And I think it’s starting to show
Can you tell I’m losing control?
Feel like I’m broken, there’s so many pieces
Don’t know if you can fix me

‘Cause I’ve tried all the smoking and the drinking, wasting time
Yeah, I’ve tried all the running, hiding from the pain inside
I can’t lie, a broken heart is what I find, so I know
That I can’t help me

Can somebody take this pain?
I’m just not the same
I’m so lost and confused, don’t know what else to do
Can you help me? Can you help me?

Can somebody take this pain?
I just wanna change
I’m so done tryna prove that I know where to move
God help me
Can you help me?

~Jake Banfield

I can only imagine how old this shit is getting, for y’all reading this. Believe me, I’m exhausted by it too.

Monday was a rough day. Additional and very complicated pieces were added to this puzzle we’re so desperate to solve. It’s like having a box completely full of seemingly random puzzle pieces gets handed to you, and you need to, have to, find where each one fits into a picture you also can’t see. Some days, I just don’t have the energy to work on this god damn puzzle. That was exactly how I felt, yesterday. Adam got home from work, and immediately wanted to sort through some of these new puzzle pieces. I just was not having it. I kind of went off on him. At first, I attempted to simply keep quiet. I sort of ignored him, as he spoke to the air between us. I pretended to be distracted by some stupid podcast I’d had playing on my phone. I’d been listening to a narration about a tornado referred to as “dead man walking”. I’m sure it was probably interesting, but I wasn’t really comprehending any of that story. It was just a convenient excuse for distraction, in the moment. I can’t remember quite when or how things between Adam and I escalated, but they did. I told him I didn’t appreciate him literally walking in the door, and immediately diving into this pile of shit I’ve been stepping around all fucking day, because I CAN’T DO THIS TODAY. I explained how “heavy” I was feeling, and that his persistence to do these things, to talk about these things, on his timeline was as if he’s throwing even more boxes filled with bricks on top of the already “heavy” ones I’m carrying. At one point, he began to say to me, “If the shoe was on the other foot…” I didn’t even let him finish that sentence. I told him to “shut up“. Even I couldn’t believe those two little words escaped my lips, but it didn’t stop me from continuing on. I said, “Don’t you dare try to tell me you’re the only one wearing these ‘shoes’! I’m standing inside them right here with you, and I’ve got a whole fucking outfit that’s been put on me. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t want this.” I continued, growing progressively louder with each sentence, “I cannot do this today. I can’t do it. I can’t do it. I can’t do it! You don’t understand. I’ve tried to explain this shit to you. There are days where I contemplate every single possible exit out of this. Things from divorcing you to driving my car off a bridge. Or pulling the trigger against my head. Or taking an entire bottle of pills.” (As I pointed toward where my medicine is kept.) Adam replied, “I don’t make you happy anymore, do I?” His words only made my frustrations grow. I answered, “Are you kidding me? No. You don’t make me happy. Nothing makes me happy. Nobody makes me happy. I remember what happy is. I can pretend to be happy. I recognize happy, in other people. How in the fuck am I supposed to find happy, though? Sometimes, I try to. Some days, I think maybe I already died. Who I was is dead. She’s not coming back. I’m gone. I can’t ever find me again, and you can’t bring her back, either. But, I’m not the only one. You’re gone, too. We’re both dead. Our family, as we knew it, is dead. The life we had is over. Finished.”

The silence, following those words I’d never spoken out loud before, was deafening. I’m not sure whether the girl I used to be was murdered, or whether I’m actually the one killing her. It can be difficult to know the difference. I think it’s a little bit of both. The girl I was, has been gravely injured. Rather than sit idly by, as she slowly and painfully fades away, I’m choosing to let her go. Attempts to revive her are futile, anyway. So, I’m killing her in an attempt to relieve her suffering. Adam is, and always has been, my “life support”. He refuses to “unplug”, from me. Worse still, he doesn’t seem to realize I’m also stuck watching helplessly, as the man I knew and loved deteriorates before my eyes. That hurts as much as seeing myself disappearing. What’s left? I need a reason to fight these urges to let go. I once lost a pull-up contest by a mere few seconds. I kept my arms curled, as my hands clung to the bar I fought to keep my chin above. I finally gave up, and the host of this competition informed me that if I’d held on for 3 more seconds, I’d have won. If only someone had told me, or counted down for me, I know I could’ve held on just a little bit longer. Long enough to win that competition. That’s what I’m lacking now. I don’t have a countdown timer, promising an end to this. A successful end. Could I really beat this? Every once in awhile, the underdog does come out ahead. Every time I seem to make some real progress, I get knocked down so hard. I get tired of getting back up. I start to try not to care at all about the stupid race. They can’t laugh at me, as I cross the “finish line” in dead last place, if I quit now. Not winning this race means losing everything. Everything. If I just get rid of all that can be taken from me, and remove them on my terms, no one else can get the satisfaction of having ripped all that I’ve held precious out from under me. That’s the logic behind my thinking, anyway.

Some days, I just need a damn break. I can’t heal these wounds, but even a few moments of reprieve from the pain they cause me. Anything to distract me for awhile. I so want to remember where “normal” is, so I can find my way back there one day. Or, is it too late? Am I hopelessly lost already? Am I too broken to get back, anyhow? Normal. Hah. Back inside normal, I’d never have told Adam to “shut up”. In normal, if I had been that reckless, I wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably. When we were in normal, I knew what to expect. This strange purgatory we’re stuck in gives no predictions. What comes next is only a guess. I really, really, really miss normal.

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Used to the Fall

Leave me alone, just leave me alone…

Trying to stand here, pretending that I’m really okay
When I know inside that the hope is gone
Is like sitting all alone at 5:00 a.m. in a hotel room, when the coke’s gone
I hold onto pain sometimes, lit up by the faith of my fire
Too old to be chasing these highs, when a first line is the only good ride

‘Cause soon or later, all the curtains gon’ close, and the stage gon’ fade to black coal
And everything that you ever dreamed of will be running right out the back door
Wake up at sundown, hands up, get gunned down
By myself I’m my own worst enemy
A victim to the chains of my own stupidity

Life seems like it’s just about me losing everything that I never wanted in the first place
‘Til I slip and get attached, then the devil takes it back, and it hurts in the worst way
I’ve been stabbed in the back so much that I can’t ever trust nobody
I’ve been cut to the heart so many times that I can’t love nobody

Maybe I’m damaged goods
Half the time, misunderstood
All the shoulds, all the coulds
Can’t stop the hatchet when it hits the wood
And you can talk up a fit, you can cuss, you can spit, you can dig my grave
But you ain’t putting no debt on a [woman] that done spent life beneath these weight

One day, life’s bitter like Xanax
Next day, tastes sweet like an Adderall
Maybe I hurt myself, ’cause I’d rather feel pain than feel nothing at all
I hate coming down
Touching my feet on the ground
But man, I’m used to the fall

But don’t put your trouble on me
I got enough of that weighing on me
Already got enough demons I feed
Man, leave me alone to just breathe
I hate coming down (leave me alone, leave me alone)
Touching my feet on the ground (leave me alone, just leave me alone)

Just leave me alone
Just leave me alone
Leave me alone (leave me alone, yeah, leave me alone)
Just leave me alone

~CRUCIFIX

I haven’t written here in nearly a month. The truth is, I couldn’t. It’s not that I physically couldn’t, so much as I mentally and emotionally couldn’t. A few weeks ago, I was standing alone in my kitchen. As I attempted to rinse some dishes, and load the dishwasher, I began to feel a crushing weight bearing down on my chest. It was as if an invisible force was pressing against me, stealing my oxygen. I recognized what was happening. I’ve had panic attacks before, but this time was more extreme than ever. I held onto the counter, as I tried to focus on taking slow and steady breaths of air. Despite my best efforts to regain my composure, things only got worse. The room began to spin, and then my vision completely disappeared. All I saw was black. I fluctuated between brief periods of seeing my kitchen reappearing, but still blurry and disoriented, and then the dark nothing taking over my sight. Throughout all of this, I continued to feel as if all the oxygen in the room had been sucked out. Frantically gasping for air, as my vision faded into black. Moments later, I found myself crumpled on my kitchen floor. I laid there, sobbing uncontrollably. I’m grateful none of my kids were home to witness this. It truly is as if something very significant happened to me, that day. The tears seemed to have exhausted my hurt, worries, fears, anger, frustration, and sadness. All of these things that had consumed me and my thoughts were replaced with a coldness that, in a strange way, felt comforting. I grabbed my purse and car keys, and I left. I didn’t know where I was headed to, but I needed to escape. I drove for hours, listening to music that says what I can’t, or won’t. I played these songs so loudly that it made any thinking impossible, which is exactly what I was aiming to do.

Later that evening, after I’d returned home, Mikayla asked me if I was okay. I lied and told her I was just tired. She told me I seemed sad. I did my best to reassure her I was fine. My kids not only see that things are certainly not “fine”, but they feel it too. There’s a heaviness that seems to follow me everywhere I go. I really do try hard to shield them from these struggles, because they don’t deserve any of this. It is incredibly unfair to burden them with things they didn’t create and can do nothing about.

The next morning, I paid a visit to my doctor. I briefed him on current events in my life, and I was brutally honest about where my thoughts have led me, on my worst days. My weight had plummeted to under 90 pounds. I wasn’t sleeping, either. He spent well over an hour in that patient room, with me. I left with prescriptions for medications to help me to sleep, increase my appetite, and help me to manage my thinking. He also prescribed “Valium”. I have the full pill bottle stored in my linen closet. I haven’t taken any of those, but they’re there if the panic attacks return. I am sleeping better. I’m also eating. Not as much as I should be, but the feeling of being hungry has returned. So, I’m able to sit with my family and eat some supper on most nights. I haven’t felt the intense need to urgently “escape”, since that day, either. My thinking has changed, although I’m uncertain about where I might end up. It’s like being on a familiar road. One I haven’t taken in a very long time, but remember well. It feels “safe”, but its security comes with a price tag. It becomes dangerous, but it really depends on whether I’m willing or able to find my way back. This road calls me further and faster down it. What starts out as a barely audible whisper, grows into roaring and thunderous shouts. “Stay here, where it’s safe! Turning back is too risky! They lie, you can’t trust anyone but yourself! They’re just going to hurt you and let you down, anyway!” The loneliness of traveling by myself hurts so much less than it ever does when I trust and believe in another person to hold the steering wheel, and wind up being taken to places I never expected they’d leave me stranded. Places I almost forgot even existed. Trusting leads me into naively ignoring all the signs and signals I’d have easily recognized otherwise. So, I gradually find myself quietly shutting everyone out. I flee from anyone who gets too close. “You made me smile, so fuck you”, I say to myself. I tell myself that every attempt to make me feel something, even happiness, is malicious. It’s not safe to let them get into my head or especially, my heart. The desire to completely cleanse myself of everyone who could possibly harm me becomes near impossible to ignore. I dismiss anyone who tries to assure me “they would never…”, because I’ve got fresh scars to remind me of the hurt created by my own stupidity, believing someone else who easily broke their promises of “I would never”. Trust no one becomes my mantra, which is exactly why this road I’m on can be dangerous. I recognize all of this, and still, I can’t help but ignore every exit ramp that presents itself.

I’m not sure where I’m going, right now. I alternate between clinging tightly to Adam, and then pushing him away. And I can push hard. Some days, I don’t want to talk to anybody at all. I don’t even want anyone to see me. I search for independence, while reminiscing about the best times in my life, when I felt content and assured, knowing it was safe to depend on people. I clearly can’t decipher between what’s real and what’s just smoke and mirrors. If I could trust myself to at least recognize those things, maybe things could be different? This is all my fault. Everything. Life doesn’t just happen to us. We make choices, and those decisions create our todays. Today bleeds into tomorrow, and tomorrow spills into every single day after that. The tiniest of choices can lead to the biggest mistakes, hardest hurt, worst regret. Though we can’t ever be certain of everything tomorrow might bring, whatever happens still comes as a result of choices we make. It’s impossible to understand darkness, until all that’s light disappears. Cold is simply the absence of warmth, but when you’re wrapped inside a cozy blanket sheltered from the chill of night, cold and darkness are merely something you are abstractly aware of. It isn’t until you find yourself stuck inside absolutely frigid and pitch black misery, that you can begin to understand why I so fear allowing anyone besides myself to provide light and warmth. So long as it’s only me, relying on myself to find safety and warmth, I won’t have to worry about it being ripped from me again. I’m grieving the loss of so much that I held dear. I suppose it seems less painful to torch what’s left, than to have to wait and wonder when someone else is going to. Still, I love my husband so much. This is my conundrum. This is my struggle. The absence of pain isn’t pleasure. It’s indifference. It’s feeling nothing. I don’t know if pleasure is even real anymore. I find myself welcoming the hurt, because it assures me. I’m still here. I haven’t destroyed everything that made me human. I can still feel, and pain hurts less than feeling nothing at all.