No one ever told me the price for my soul
Could never be bought back with diamonds or gold
Lay the hands that dealt me that others would fold
I spent all I had chasin’ dreams I was sold
I’m losin’ my control, my friends all turned foes
I’m haunted by pain I don’t show

I can’t never could be understood
Dance in the rain’s all I do good
So many flames on bridges I stood
I pray for change but don’t think I would
Now all that I gave was never enough
I reckon our ways are all catchin’ up
Can’t never could be understood
Can’t never could

~Savannah Dexter & Jelly Roll

Yesterday afternoon, as I drove home for my lunch break, I had a sad revelation. I wrote a blog post, somewhere around a year ago, and in it I wrote of the things that mattered most to me. What I hoped to be remembered for. What I was most proud of. Being a daughter, a sister, a wife, a mother, and a friend were things I cherished. I’m not my mother’s daughter, anymore. I changed my inner dialogue, some time ago, to say it that way rather than saying “I don’t have a mom”. I don’t belong to her. Just as she’s not mine, or in my life, I’m not hers either. Just like she made choices that separated us, and severed our relationship, I realized I had power too. It’s so hard to see it, when I’m covered in grief and aching over the loss of someone I loved. But, they don’t have ME, either. Maybe that doesn’t make them hurt like I do? I can’t ever know. That’s not the point, anyway. I’m not someone’s daughter, anymore. I’m not someone’s sister, anymore. I’m not someone’s friend, anymore. And, I’m not someone’s mom, anymore. I am still someone’s daughter, sister, friend, and mother. Not theirs, though. I do still matter to some someone’s. I can’t run and hide, even if sitting where I’m at right now hurts like hell. I can’t leave, because I have people sitting right here alongside me. They need me. They want me. They love me.

I can’t get into it, yet, but I’m going to try to describe what’s happened. What’s happening.

Imagine someone you cared about climbed up into a tree and refused to come back down. There’s a storm coming, with lightning, rain, and tornados inside it. You spend time trying to talk sense into them. You buy, find, or build them a variety of ladders they could climb down on. They refuse. You try a slide. You build stair steps. Nothing works. You bring in other people, who you hope can get this person to come down. Nothing. You beg and plead with this person. You get angry with them. You try everything you can think to do. You ask all of your closest family and friends for advice. You’re repeatedly being told you have GOT to get them down! And then… the storm hits. Lightning strikes are narrowly missing this tree they’ve perched themself high on. Strong winds are blowing debris all around. The rain’s making the tree slippery, and you’re so damn afraid. Finally, in your desperation, you climb to them, grab hold of them and jump to the ground. You know landing is going to hurt, but at least you’ve gotten them out of danger…

Or so you thought.

The next morning, the headline on the front page of the paper reads, “Innocent Person Tossed From Tree” There’s an entire article that makes it appear there’s a clear victim and perpetrator. It says YOU forced the victim into that tree. This victim was only in the tree because they saw a kitten that needed rescued. Then, YOU showed up and began harassing the poor victim for climbing the tree. There’s no mention of your repeated attempts to help that person. You’re described as a rage fueled villain who just wanted to punish that person for being in a tree. Nevermind the fact there was no kitten. No mention of the storm. Nevermind all the other people who witnessed the whole thing from the beginning.

And then, you discover who wrote the story. Who published it. Who it was sent to. Who read it. Who believed every word of it. There are many people who stand with you. Some even surprise you with their trust and loyalty. Others shock you with their ability to turn away from you, refusing to so much as consider there could be missing parts that make a big difference here. Or to at least reserve judgement until they’ve gotten a clear picture and much needed context around it. A few people absolutely break your heart, because they are unmoved by your pleas for help. They’re content to allow and even contribute to the torrent of hateful and cruel things being said to and about you.

What hurts the most is realizing they didn’t love me like I loved them. Because I could never…

Adam and I were talking, last night. I keep saying over and over again, I didn’t want this. I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t choose who is still here with me OR who isn’t. Everything about where we’ve found ourselves makes me sad. I take no pleasure whatsoever in saying goodbye to people I loved. I miss them. I miss who I saw, when I looked at them. I miss how good I felt, when I believed they could see me. This isn’t about punishing anyone who hurt me. Adam said that if he could go back, he would never have let these people get close to us, possibly preventing what’s happened. I disagree. Like the song says, I pray for change but don’t think I would. If I could avoid where I’m at by changing where I’ve been, and who with, I couldn’t. It was all real for ME. I believed in what and who was around me. Maybe I was too stupid or too blind to see things clearly? What I saw was the most beautiful life I could ever have imagined being blessed with. Whether that was real or an illusion doesn’t change what it meant to me, or the memories I’ll never let go of, because in those moments it was very real, to me. I explained it to Adam like this, “if you got a terrible disease and the only way to save your life was to amputate your legs, would you wish to never have had legs at all? If you could spare yourself the pain of losing something you relied on, would you choose never to experience the memories made while you had it?” I feel like a whole lot of myself has been torn from me, but at least I knew what feeling whole was like.

I know I can’t take one more step towards you
‘Cause all that’s waiting is regret
Don’t you know I’m not your ghost anymore
You lost the love I loved the most

I learned to live half alive
Now you want me one more time

I hear you’re asking all around
If I am anywhere to be found
But I have grown too strong
To ever fall back in your arms

I’ve learned to live half alive
Now you want me one more time

It took so long just to feel alright
Remember how to put back the light in my eyes
I wish I had missed the first time that we [met]
‘Cause you broke all your promises
And now you’re back
You don’t get to get me back

Who do you think you are?
Runnin’ ’round leaving scars
Collecting your jar of hearts
Tearing love apart

You’re gonna catch a cold
From the ice inside your soul
Don’t come back for me
Don’t come back at all

~Through Fire

I decided to use a slideshow of my pictures taken over the last few months. Moving Mikayla into her dorm. Bedroom upgrades. Our new door and cabinet knobs. My house and the outside world around me moving into another new season, Fall. There’s also a random picture of my incredibly swollen foot/ankle taken in early September. I had a bug bite that seemed to heal normally, and then my ankle began to swell. Within a few days, the swelling progressed down into my foot and it began to look very purple. I finally went to the doctor, and it’s good I did, because I was diagnosed with “septic arthritis”. Which is a scary way of describing an infection in my joint. My doctor wanted to admit me into the hospital for IV antibiotics and steroids, but I convinced him to send me home with promises to immediately begin the oral steroids and antibiotics he prescribed, and that I would come back if my ankle didn’t look significantly better within a few days. It’s all healed now, but that was not fun. There’s a video below my slideshow. I had recorded Mj a couple weeks ago, after we found a pair of Adam’s dirty socks on the couch. She can make me laugh so hard! I often take one weekday off work and then work Saturday, instead. I like having a weekday at home, so I can do at least a portion of the things I never seem to have enough time for anymore. I’m going to meet all my targets, at work, this month. I’ve brought in new customers and new money over my target goals. I’ll receive a big bonus for it. At work, I’m known as “the bubbly one”. Everyone comments on my positive attitude, my smile, and my energy. I could most definitely have been a great actress, clearly. I have started crafting again, recently. I hadn’t so much as looked at my craft supplies, since May. I didn’t even really go downstairs much, for months after. I’m gradually trying to find my way back to the things I once so enjoyed. Oh, and Mj also got some eyeglasses, in August. My poor girl’s got terrible eyesight now. I think she looks adorable, though. Finally, there was hurricane Helene, last month. We did have some flooding, here, but nothing like further East Tennessee into North Carolina. Mikayla, in Knoxville, was okay too.

I’m going to address my reasons for the song I chose as my title, this time. It has come to my attention that there is at least one someone accessing my blog, and this person (I’m actually not talking about Jackie) sent me a text message a week ago specifically mentioning they’d read my post, and that they wish I’d consider therapy. First of all, who do you think you are!? Why does my well-being matter one bit, to you? And Jesus Christ, who the fuck would be doing any better than I am, in my shoes? I get out of bed every single morning, and I do everything I have to do to take care of myself and my family. I don’t need some stranger to teach me how to be okay, because I’m not supposed to be okay. This hell that I wake up and go to sleep inside every single day is my reality, and no amount of therapy is going to change that fact. The only way out of this is through it. I have no way of knowing what lies ahead. Things are very likely to get harder, along this journey I’m traveling. I have been hurt, betrayed, in so many ways by so many of the people I’d have expected would’ve been the very ones who’d be here to help me through this shit. There are days when I’m so incredibly overwhelmed with sadness. There are also days when anger seems to consume me. Somehow, that anger becomes fuel for me. My rage at this situation, for the people who’ve so badly hurt me, propels me forward. I’m motivated by it. Determined NOT to allow this and them to erase me or the shreds of hope that I cling to. How am I possibly going to accept help in gathering up all of my broken pieces, and putting them back together, from the same people who so easily became the hammers used to break me? Am I really expected to trust y’all to give a single solitary fuck about how, when, or whether I can become whole again? Even in my fiercest anger over this, at no point have I ever considered using the “ammunition” I’ve accommodated over these years knowing people I loved. I hold secrets capable of breaking apart relationships and hearts alike. Many secrets that are probably obvious to those who know what they’ve trusted me with. But also, secrets that no one even knows I keep for them. Some of them are unknown to the very ones they’re about and would seriously damage their relationships, career, and/or their hearts. Still, they’ve stayed locked away. Despite all the utter betrayal I’ve felt, my loyalty and genuine love for people who’ve mattered to me remains. I never have or would intentionally inflict this kind of unyielding pain on anyone, let alone those I cared about. I am first to recognize my own imperfections, and I own my mistakes. I’m not a bad person, though. Flawed, of course, but not anywhere near the monster some were quick to believe in. As I stood right there in front of you, and bared my soul for you, all you could see was an evil portrait of me, painted by someone intending to inflict the kind of pain only the most vicious of monsters could deserve.

I forgive all of you.

I can’t trust most anybody anymore, though. So, you know who you are, please stay out of this space I’ve created for ME. It’s the one place I can come to and be brutally honest with myself. I can’t control who reads my words here, but if you ever truly cared for me, get out of my head. This is mine. I maintain control over near nothing. I’m forced to move along like a leaf that’s been blown from a tree in the Fall. The wind decides my path. I stare helplessly at the obstacles before me, begging to just please land somewhere safely. What I see, how I feel, and who I choose to tell my story to, are things I alone should own. I honestly can’t know whether or why some people even care if, when, or where I’ll land. I’m terrified of being tossed to the mercy of the wind like this again. As much as it hurts to admit out loud (or in writing), you are dangerous. I cannot trust that mine or my family’s safety is what motivated you to search for me. Invading my personal space is not how you help me, if that’s what you intended. It’s equally possible that reading about my struggles to survive give you a twisted satisfaction in knowing I’ve been sufficiently torn to pieces that barely resemble the person I used to be. As unrecognizable as I must seem, from me to you, ditto.

I’m going to go take a shower with my husband. Then, I’ll call Mikayla to tell her goodnight, tuck my kids here in bed, and slide into the comfort of my husband’s embrace. I’m strangely finding myself craving the pleasure only Adam’s body can give me. I suppose I’m hoping to escape my heartbreak that’s been poured out here, even if it’s only for a few moments.

Goodnight, y’all.

Yeah, time just slips away

I live life like a renegade drifter
Losing myself on the open road
Running from the pains of a sinner
‘Cause ain’t no Band-Aid for a broken soul

The Devil’s steady tearing out the best of me
Screaming “fair game” but he must’ve lied
‘Cause now there ain’t too much left of me
But I ain’t slowing down until I’m justified

‘Cause I done been steady swingin’
At the bottom of a hangman’s rope
Maybe it’s a sad plan dreaming, I’m a madman screaming
But I can’t stop believing there’s hope, oh Lord

Like a dead man walking back from the grave to find where I went wrong
Everything I love is dead and gone
Every night I sing this dead man’s song
I got hell on a trigger, got a bottle of Jack and I’m right where I belong
Stuck in between heaven and being dead wrong
So from here until I’m dead and gone
I’m a dead man walking

This life has got me barely holding by a single thread
Gripping on my pistol, squeezing triggers until my finger’s red
A lot of folks they like to judge, nudging then they hang their head
Hypocrites that don’t give a shit
No common sense don’t bring the dead

Name calling and pointing fingers and laying blame don’t bother me
As long as y’all don’t touch me, my family and my property
My prophecy wasn’t prodigy, in the ground I’ll probably be
But I’m standing up and I’m raisin’ hell so won’t you come and follow me?

I’m a cornered up, pissed off, cracker in a cage
Get you one coin missed call, take it to the grave
I guess I’ll take the mask off and let you judge me
But the looking didn’t last long ’cause bitch I’m ugly

I can’t blend in, eyes cut you to the bone
Now my covers been blown, I’m supposed to be alone
Like a hairpin trigger kill, I don’t know we’re wrong
But I keep singing this song and I’m stuck under a stone

Like a dead man walking back from the grave to find where I went wrong
Everything I love is dead and gone
Every night I sing this dead man’s song
I got hell on a trigger, got a bottle of Jack and I’m right where I belong
Stuck in between heaven and being dead wrong
So from here until I’m dead and gone
I’m a dead man walking

~Crucifix

It’s been an absurd amount of time since I’ve written. I’m sitting in our basement, trying my damndest to write with these long ass acrylic fingernails. I’ve never done more than paint my nails. Now I’ve got fake ones, painted a pretty shade of my favorite color, pink. I suppose it’s a perfect symbol of what my entire existence feels like, these days. Fake. At work, I fake happy smiles, as I make small talk with customers and coworkers alike. I’ve made lots of “friends”. They tell me all about themselves, and their lives. I don’t share myself, though. In fact, I don’t let anyone in. Not even my husband, really. He sees more than anyone else does, but I can’t seem to fully open myself up. The only way I make it through each day, is by compartmentalizing. I hold all of my secrets, my worries, my struggles inside. And, I keep them neatly tucked into separate spaces in my mind, because that’s what keeps me sane. That’s how I make it through the day. It’s the only way I can show up to work and be the person they’re expecting to see. It’s how I’m able to come home, fix supper for my family, and be the wife and mama they need me to be. I wouldn’t call myself depressed. It’s more like I don’t even know who the hell I am. I’m not me. This isn’t my home. Those aren’t my kids. That’s not my husband. I’m in some fucked up alternate universe, where things look familiar, but aren’t the same at all. We’ve redone our kids’ rooms. Adam and I got a new bed. We replaced all our old ugly doorknobs with new ones. They’re “antique bronze”, what I’d been wanting. We also replaced our kitchen cabinet handles with fancier black ones. We moved Mikayla down to her dorm, at the University of Tennessee, in August. She comes home every other weekend. She facetimes me most every day, too. She has a real hard time leaving, every time her weekends at home come to an end. It breaks my heart to see her cry so hard. I LOVE that she wants to spend time with us, but I hate how difficult it is for her to leave. MJ is in therapy, now. She has had a hard time with all these changes, too. All of my babies are hurting. They’re struggling, same as I am. Same as Adam is. So, I have to be strong and brave.

In June, I spent three and a half hours alone in my car, parked on some back road in Kentucky. I sat there sobbing, clutching my Smith and Wesson handgun, and fighting with myself about whether to pull the trigger. I had turned off the location on my phone, because I didn’t want it to be my family who had to find me. Obviously, I didn’t follow through. That was the moment that pushed me to begin my job search. I told myself I needed purpose. On my very first day at my job, I learned the password to our computers. It’s “YouHavePurpose”. Kind of ironic, huh? I sometimes think, maybe in an alternate universe, I DID pull the trigger that day. What if I actually did die, that day? Is the person I was gone? How do I wrap my head around this new version of who I am, who my family is, and what my life looks like?

Adam is very aware that I’m hurting, and it’s clear that I haven’t been myself. Whoever that was? He lets a whole bunch of stuff slide. Except, once. There was one morning, about a month or so ago, when even this new me crossed too far over the line. It was early, and we were arguing in the kitchen, over a stupid coffee cup. I got so frustrated, I told him, “fuck you”. Later that morning, when I was at work, he had text me. His text mentioned consequences for talking to him that way. I won’t pretend I wasn’t nervous. I wound up getting stuck at work for nearly an hour past close, which made Adam worry. I imagine that worry did soften him, at least a little bit. His anger had melted away, as had mine, by the time we arrived home. Still, I got spanked pretty hard. Adam sat with me first, and really listened to MY side of what went wrong that morning, though. He genuinely wanted to understand, and took the time to do so. Then, he spanked me. After, I had slid off his lap, down to the floor. My arms wrapped tightly around his legs, and I rested my head down into his lap for awhile. He played with my hair, as he spoke softly to me. He did understand what he had said to upset me, and apologized, but reminded me I didn’t need to have been disrespectful. I looked up at him and told him I felt HE had been disrespectful to ME! In his calm and gentle voice, he insisted he hadn’t cussed me. He was right. He has never once said “fuck you” to me, or yelled at me. I was left with no further arguments to make regarding that morning’s ridiculous incident. Just a couple weeks ago, there was one other instance that typically would’ve earned me a sore behind. I had forgotten to do something important, and it cost us. However, Adam recognized I’d been having an even harder time than has become normal. As Summer turns into Fall, it can be a very difficult time for me. Sights and smells throw me back to other buried memories that will suddenly resurface, unexpectedly. Even the most basic, simple daily tasks had become huge obstacles for me. I’d been having a rough time, and he knew it. As we stood together in the shower, I opened up to him. I put words to the hurt and the heaviness I was carrying. I also told on myself, about this thing I’d neglected to get done. Adam held me in his arms, as I fought the tears that streamed down my face. It feels GOOD, letting things out. Sharing myself with my husband. I hesitate, though, because I just don’t want to add any more weight to what he is carrying. I desperately want to find my way back to me. He didn’t punish me, that night. I understood that pass wasn’t because he was afraid or because he didn’t mind my mistake. It was because he loves me, and it hurts him that I hurt. It wasn’t a time to be harsh. I needed him to hold me, to hear me, even if I wasn’t able to clearly communicate what was behind the tears and frustration and upset I had been experiencing. He knew I was sincere, and he knew what was truly needed that night. Adam is a good man. He’s amazing, and I love him so much. It kills me to hear anybody say different.

Still, I’m lonely as hell. I’m trying my best to be okay, without. Without so much of what mattered to me. Without Jackie. I can’t rebuild or replace what we had. Or, what I believed to be true, anyway. Every piece of me aches over what I’ve had to say goodbye to. I’m not sure how to be okay. I just keep faking it, hoping and praying that one day I won’t have to. Someday, I can be okay again. Life is moving on, but I feel like I’m stuck. Hours turned to days. Days became weeks. Weeks have become months. Yet, I’m still trapped somewhere in between then and now. I watch as the seasons change, as my children have grown, as time marches on. Part of me wishes I could rewind, while another wishes to fast forward. I just want out of this grief, loss, and intense pain. My God I want to find my way back to the me I was so content with. Some days, it’s like being forced to stand in the rain, and then put inside a cold room, unable to remove the soaked clothes I’m wearing. I literally feel as if I’m crawling out of my skin. I do have some okay days. I think I do. It’s never going to be the same, and I recognize that. I can’t simply be okay about it, though.

I haven’t sat down in front of my laptop, and written my thoughts in a long while, because it hurts to have to acknowledge them. I want to fake it for the sake of this blog that I’ve built here, but I can’t do that. It hurts to be authentic, but it’s killing me doing all this pretending. If I’m not already dead? I don’t know anymore. Whoever I am, this is “me” tonight.