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Cracks in My Calm

I smile like it’s fine
Keep it light for the crowd
But there’s a riot underneath
Begging me to get loud

You want polite, you got it
You want peace, I bought it
With years of my voice buried in my chest
Now there’s nothing left
But a bomb begging for the test

You don’t see the cracks in my calm
The grin I wear right before I’m gone
That twitch in my jaw when I’m holding my breath
Like I’m trying to bury what’s begging for death
I’m a breakdown looking composed
A loaded truth that nobody knows

Don’t trust the steel, I’m the calm before
The war inside that you can’t ignore
They say I’m strong because I don’t show the break
But I’m strong ’cause I ain’t snapped, not yet, for my sake
If I let one scream out the rest will follow
And there won’t be nothing left by tomorrow

~War Torn

I’ve got a fairly long list of letters yet to be written. Letters meant for family and friends, past and present. People I need to share much more than I have with. There’s a few letters, for a few people, who most likely won’t ever read them. Because I’ve no real intention of mailing them. Those letters are for me. A way to speak my peace. To pour my heart out to those who only ever existed, as I knew them, in my imagination. What I wholeheartedly believed was reality has been shattered into unrecognizable pieces, incapable of being resurrected or restored. There are people I’d genuinely opened myself up to, along with all that mattered to me. People who ultimately, it turns out, didn’t value any of it the way I had. People who pretended to be someone they just aren’t. People I trusted, while choosing to ignore evidence that hinted at all the reasons I shouldn’t have. Hell, sometimes the evidence screamed at me, and still I remained blind and deaf to it. Since the biggest upset of my life (to date), I’ve held all my “cards” up even more closely to my chest. It hurts too much, all the betrayal. I’ve stayed guarded from everyone but my husband. Even then, I don’t always go to him with my worries, my anger, pain. Not every time, and not all of it. Everyone I know has sort of a “ceiling” to if, what, and how much I share. A limit on how close I’ll allow them to get. I reckon my fear of rejection has become one of my tallest hurdles. Nothing hurts more than being told I don’t matter, by those I love and care about. Having someone I’d regarded so close to me, accept any false narratives about me. Discovering just how quickly and easily lies became the only truth they believed, in spite of every reason I’d expected would prove otherwise. It’s hard enough, when someone I’ve welcomed into my life is capable of telling vicious lies. I think it’s an even deeper wound though, when anyone I’ve trusted hears a lie, and doesn’t even question it. Won’t give me a benefit of doubt, but instead decides I’m no longer worthy, and wants to punish me for being the deceitful villain that someone else’s story claims me to be. Nothing they themselves had known to be true, prior to the lies, matters at all. No amount of testimony or evidence makes a difference. Even when opinions start to sway, by that point it’s too late. My trust’s broken. Your verdict’s pointless. What reason is there to attempt to build bridges back to somebody I can’t imagine I’ll be able to rely on, again? I can’t share my life with someone who’s shown me how willing they are to discard it like trash, the moment they decide to trade me for something I couldn’t or wouldn’t give them.

This post isn’t about the past. Not that part, anyway. I say all this to help explain my current struggle. My inability to find faith in others, that I’ll be trusted, believed, accepted, loved. To give my own perspectives, as well as provide insight into how and why, I’d have to open myself up to the possibility of being rejected. I just haven’t had the courage to do that, yet. I don’t mean here, in my blog. I’m referring to the real and tangible parts and pieces I’ve wished to sort through, outside of myself. It’s felt as if I’ve been hanging on by a tiny thread, and if someone pulls it, I’m afraid I’ll never make it back upright again.

I recently talked with my doctor, about weaning off my antidepressant medicine. I don’t want to be on it forever, and I already hate that without taking it every single night, I can’t sleep. I don’t want to be dependent on any substance or medication, even if it’s not necessarily addictive. My doctor assured me, I’m on the lowest dose of my antidepressant, and he’s never had any patients struggle to get off it. While I really do feel much more competent and capable of doing life without it, I’m not so confident in my ability to handle getting hit by another one of life’s significant blows. Not yet. My recovery feels pretty fragile, and I absolutely cannot let my mind go back to the dark and scary places I’ve come out of. I spent hours sat on the floor of our shower, hugging my legs to my chest, sobbing and pleading with God. I remember once, Adam sat beside me. His arms wrapped around me, and the tears also streaming down his own face. The only words I was able to form were, I don’t see it, anymore. I can’t find it. It’s gone. I didn’t see a way out of the awful place I was trapped inside. I couldn’t find an ounce of hope to hang onto. My past didn’t seem to belong to me, anymore. The present was unbearable, and as far as I could tell, there was no meaningful future. I was without purpose. I was useless. Not just that, I was a monster. I couldn’t protect my family. No rescue would come. All that was left, was the pain and misery I carried and brought onto everyone I touched. I didn’t even trust the person reflected back to me, in the mirror. I couldn’t tell which thoughts and emotions were real. I wasn’t sure whether my memories, intentions, or the love I’d had for those I believed I did, were actually true. I questioned my own motives in everything, with everyone. It was impossible for me to decipher facts from fiction, even and especially when it came to who I was. I wondered, am I who they said I was? Could it be, I’m just not a good person, and I hadn’t seen how bad I’ve been? Am I a heartless, selfish, hateful person? Was I trying to accomplish opposite objectives, to those I’d told myself were the intended purpose for my thoughts, words, and actions? Did I do despicable things, but somehow convinced myself I hadn’t? Am I crazy? Am I terrible? Is this my fault? Is my family in more danger, with me remaining a part of it? Maybe the solution to saving them, is by ending my life? Could things get better, for my family, or would I only manage to make things even worse? I can’t do anything right. If I pull the trigger, steer my car into this ravine, or take all these pills, will that be just another selfish piece of shit move? Maybe they’re supposed to despise me. If it meant an opportunity to give my family a better life, I’d gladly sacrifice my own. If I could spare my husband, my babies, everyone who’s been here trying to save me, from experiencing further heartbreak, I’d accept all the blame. I’d take the hate, the shame, the wrath.

I was quickly losing my grasp on reality. Spiraling through despair, down an endless portal to hell. I could conceive of no other possibilities, aside from descending deeper into that dark place. I grew increasingly uncomfortable in my own skin. I was desperate to escape. Part of me wanted to run. To get away from the tormented existence I saw no hope of getting out of. Whatever that meant. Whether it was getting in my car, and driving far far away. Saying goodbye to the life I’d worked so hard to build, and finding somewhere, anywhere else, to hide out in. Or, whether it meant giving into those incessant urges to permanently end my life. I just so badly wanted respite. This is the place I absolutely cannot go back to. I’m afraid, next time, I won’t make it out alive.

I’m not there, anymore. Thank God. I’m also uncertain about where exactly it is I’d like to be. I’m not sure what my goals or expectations could, or should, look like. I haven’t quite figured out what it is that I’d like to achieve. Where will I go, from here? What even would be realistic hopes and dreams? I spent such a significant part of my life working to get to a place that no longer exists. So, where will I go, now? How will I get there? Who’ll come with me? How far will I be allowed to get, before the wrong person takes notice? When it’s discovered, that I’m moving towards something, will that mark on my back another target? I don’t know that I’d be able to mend any additional wounds, inflicted upon myself or those around me. Not yet. Sometimes, I think it’s safer to just stay put. To let others remain arrogant and satisfied. Assured there’d be no need to pay any attention, so long as they think I’m staying down. I’m not. I’m definitely not down. I just worry about making too much noise, if I climb too high, and draw attention to myself or my family. I want to be left the fuck alone. On the other hand, I don’t want to be ignored, or hated. It really depends on who’s in the audience, I suppose.

I know who I am. I know who I was before, too. I know who I want to be, and who I’ve always strived to be. I’m contemplating the future. Which is a giant leap forward. I’ve come from a hopeless place, where a future wasn’t even an option. At least, not one I had a say in. I’ve gotten to wherever this is. Maybe it’s some kind of purgatory? At least it ain’t hell. Time isn’t a luxury afforded to any of us for long, so I’d prefer not to waste it on worry and doubt over things beyond my control. However, for the moment, I’m content. Mostly content. I’m comfortable enough to take solitude here, and enjoy the beautiful sights all around me. I’ve got something to cling to. Something to protect. Something worth fighting for. I’m taking my time, before I let most people into this place, but I do long for the company of others. I’d like to open up. There’s so much I want to say, to so many. If only I could trust that I’d be listened to, heard, and not dismissed. That I can tear down some layers of this wall I’ve had no choice but to surround myself with. Brick by brick, without them becoming the very weapons someone else will throw right back into the place I’ve been sheltering inside. I want to be understood, and accepted. I’d like to share who I really am, behind and underneath it all. One day, I will. I’m getting stronger, everyday. It’s not always an easy distinction, between building resilience and putting up more walls. I’m trying to fortify myself, but also to avoid growing “harder”. I don’t want to go to any wars. I believe in the philosophy of peace through strength. Don’t test me, though. I’m not going to keep hidden. My lips are not sealed for your protection. It’s for mine. I won’t sell my soul, abandoning my principles to fight battles which serve no one. I won’t lie, either. I’ll tell as much truth as necessary, to those with whom it’s appropriate to do so. Not on a whim, and not simply to protect some idealistic image of myself. That’s a pointless endeavor. Those who stand beside me, don’t demand these things from me. That’s precisely why they’re the ones who deserve to know. Why those are the people I’m considering, when I speak of removing the barriers that prevent us from drawing closer. None of this is for or about the ones who aren’t around me. It’s about those who’ve stayed. Who believed in me, and who’ve supported me through this hell. Finally, it’s about me. I don’t give a solitary fuck, if that makes me appear selfish. I’m entitled to care about me, too. If anyone’s upset about the light shining on and around me, perhaps it’s time to grab your own shovel, and begin the work to dig yourself out from the hole you’ve created. Find your own sunshine. You can’t have mine.

American Nights

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Pray the morning don’t come
These colors don’t run
Stay up and stay young

American nights

~Morgan Wallen

Yesterday was so much fun! Mikayla always “crashes”, when she comes back home. She didn’t get up, until after noon. She’s been working so hard, and I’m extremely proud of her. I’m proud of all my girls! Brooklyn decided to pursue her associates degree, and has been taking classes during the days, while also working a full time job, overnights. She’s done an impressive job, already saving up a good amount of money for herself, too. I still sometimes just marvel at how much all my girls have grown, but especially my Brooklyn. Brooklyn was born, more than two months premature. She was diagnosed with autism and sensory processing disorder, right after her third birthday. She didn’t start speaking, until nearly a year later. She can be very literal and blunt, in her thinking and her words. It isn’t always easy for her to recognize the subtle cues in how others say things, their facial expressions, things like that. She sometimes misunderstands, after mistaking someone’s intentional sarcasm for genuine emotion. On the other hand, she’s also super funny! She makes me laugh, a lot. We tease that she’s got the same personality as her cat. Whenever a stranger comes around, she disappears. Once she gets comfortable, though, she will open up. She’s a great judge of character, too. She seems to quickly recognize and discern, who can and cannot be trusted. She, herself, is sincere to the point of often being “brutally honest”. My sister’s always said, if she wants to feel good about herself, she’ll ask Mikayla’s opinions. If she wants the truth, she’ll ask Brooklyn. I admire the way Brooklyn never compromises her true feelings or beliefs, for anything or anyone else. She had to learn how to be a little bit more delicate, when sharing her opinions with others, but she’ll always tell you the truth if you ask her for it. During her Senior year of high school, and while I was working outside the home and our family were all going through the toughest season of our lives, she grew into this beautiful and brave young woman. I almost missed the subtle changes in her, for awhile. As that year progressed, it occurred to me just how strong and helpful she’d been. She took on almost all of the daily household chores. She became Mj’s second mama, and really paid close attention to Mj’s struggling. She spent hours listening and talking, with her. She did her best to make life fun, for all of us. In those firsts, like the first holidays without some of the people we wouldn’t celebrate with, she was goofy and wanted to cheer up our heavy hearts. She kept up her grades, in school. Never had missing or incomplete work. As much as I truly appreciate all she did for everyone, including me, I also felt tremendous guilt. This never should have been her burden to carry. Her last year to be a “kid”, should have been filled with fun and friends. Not dirty dishes, laundry, making sure her little sister brushed her teeth before school, and looking after her mama. I should’ve been much more present with her, and aware. I look back, and see just how selfish I’d been. Running from the turmoil, trying to avoid having to look at the damage done to our family. To my babies. When she had to have her knee surgery, I’d already begun to recognize these things I hadn’t been, but so wanted to do again, with and for my babies. Her health challenge was just the final push, that convinced me what and where I needed to do and be. I was not going to let her go through that, without being right beside her. I can’t ever “make up’ for the time I missed, with my girls, but I did do my darndest to be fully present, from then on. I’m still determined to be a better mama. To give them what they need and deserve. Now, Brooklyn is no longer a child, and is carving her own path in life. Although I do miss the hell out of her, I’m also hella proud to of her. I’m hella proud of all of them! Mikayla’s wicked smart. Like, well beyond my own capabilities. She’s doing these absolutely incredible things. Achieving her goals and dreams, like the badass she is. She’s an actual freaking rocket scientist, and she’s proving to be a damn good one at that. Brooklyn’s continuing to challenge herself, leaving her comfort zone so that she can learn and grow, and build her very own beautiful life. Mj’s grown more than hips and boobs, too. She’s maturing, quickly. I find myself having deep conversations with her. Real, grown up type of talks, about big topics. She’s doing color guard, taking after her big sister, Mikayla. She’s got a real good group of friends. She’s become awfully “boy crazy” recently, as well, which her daddy claims is making his beard turn gray. Haha! Mj is a teenage girl. A young lady, who’s figuring out what and who she wants to be. My goal is to support and encourage my girls. To guide them, as best I can, and to be a mama who they’ll always want to include, as they navigate along their own journeys.

We celebrated the Fourth of July, swimming, talking, giggling, baking, eating, and shooting fireworks. It only rained briefly, shortly after we got started with our fireworks. We sat and waited for the rain to pass, and then were able to get right back to it. Adam and the girls had a blast. I had the best Fourth of July, in years. Maybe, the best one ever, actually. I loved seeing my carefree, smiling family. I wasn’t plagued by the same sadness, that had clung to me, for the past two July Fourths. I feel “lighter”. I’m more free than I’ve felt, in a long time. I can acknowledge the aches and pains, that might bubble up from time to time, without being consumed by them. My shine is no longer dimmed. My sparkle’s back. I’ve been able to allow my present joy to fill in the spaces, where I’d held onto past hurts. Change doesn’t require that nothing stays the same. It often happens without even noticing, until more time passes. Hours become days. Days become weeks. Weeks become years. Before you know it, you’ve gotten a little bit older. A little bit wiser. A little bit stronger. It seems that I too, have grown.

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4th of July

And I’m looking at you
With the world in the rear view

You were pretty as can be, sitting in the front seat
Looking at me, telling me you love me
And you’re happy to be with me on the 4th of July

~Shooter Jennings

We were supposed to be going out on a pontoon boat, with some friends, yesterday. Unfortunately, the weather decided not to cooperate with those plans. It stormed, alllll afternoon, into the evening. Since that also meant Adam couldn’t grill our supper, he fried us some bacon. We ate BLT’s, instead. After supper, we sat around and played games. Although not the way we intended our day to be spent, we had a lot of fun, anyhow.

Today, we’re hoping to be able to spend time, outside, weather permitting. This will be our first time spending the Fourth, at home, since we moved to this house! We’ve got lots of fireworks, this year, and our neighborhood also has a big party. I’m excited to do some swimming, play some cornhole, eat some yummy bbq, and watch the fireworks.

HAPPY 250th BIRTHDAY, America!

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I Was Lying

I wish I could reconcile, cause deep inside I’m dying So I put on a smile, and I pretend I’m fine
I’m just another screw up, baby don’t waste your time I told you we’d be different, but we knew I was lying

~Burden

Ok, so not exactly as dramatic as these song lyrics, but I told Adam a lie.

I’m very good at circling truth, sometimes. Adam calls this, sidestepping. Sort of leading him to the conclusion I’m intending, but without explicitly ever speaking an untruth. One thing I just never did, was tell my husband a lie. I did that, last week. For the first time, in literally more than a decade, my lips spoke a blatant falsehood, to him. When the subject was first mentioned, I didn’t lie. I sidestepped, no doubt, but I allowed him to conclude a lie, based on my statement of facts.

To further explain, we have to go back in time, to around two weeks ago. We were about to make our trip to Knoxville. I was busy, the day we were leaving. I’d run errands, got us all packed up, and made a couple tedious phone calls that needed to be taken care of. There was one more thing, Adam expected me to have gotten done, that day, but I’d completely forgotten about it. Fast forward, to Monday. Laying in bed, Monday night, I suddenly remembered what it was I’d forgotten to do, on Friday. It was late. I told myself I’d do it first thing, the next morning. Unfortunately, Tuesday came and went. I had not, in fact, remembered to do so. It wasn’t until that Wednesday morning, I’d finally taken care of it. I hadn’t mentioned any of this, to Adam. If I’m honest, I don’t think I planned to. Except, the very next evening, he specifically asked me if I’d gotten that done. What I said to him was, that I’d actually forgotten, on Friday. I told him, I remembered, on Monday. As predicted, my response was satisfactory…until a few more days passed. It’d come up, once again. Only, he was asking me to clarify that I’d handled it on Monday. I tried to dance around the truth, and asked him, Don’t you remember, we talked about this the other day? I told you I’d forgot on Friday, but remembered it on Monday. Had he drawn the same conclusion he had previously, I’d be guilty of simply sidestepping the truth, again. That’s not what happened, though. He came out, and asked me to verify for him that I’d gotten it done, on Monday. In that split second, I made the choice to lie. I told him, YES. I lied to myself, too. I wanted to believe it was just a harmless fib. I nearly fooled my own conscience, but not for long. The harder I tried to push down the guilt that bubbled up, the sicker I began to feel. I simply could not ignore it.

I spent more than a day, wrestling with my own guilty conscience. My stomach was in knots. I knew what I was going to have to do, as much as I hated to have to admit to Adam the stupid lie I’d told him, and for a stupid ass reason. I felt, at the time, that confessing my absentmindedness had gone on for more than just one business day, would seem much more irresponsible. Instead, what I wound up doing was making multiple irresponsible decisions, in my effort to conceal an insignificant mistake.

I felt so ashamed. I couldn’t hide the truth from Adam for one more day. I vowed to come clean, about all of it, that evening. Which was just last night.

I’d been more quiet than usual, while we showered. Adam was noticing this. We’d finished showering, and I began to wring out my hair. He reached for the faucet, and asked me if I was all done. The tiny pause before I replied with a weak, yes, removed all remaining doubt in his mind. Something was up. He looked at me, and asked if I was sure. I looked down. That’s when he asked me what it was I needed to tell him. I fought the urge to lie, again, and insist there was nothing wrong. I was downright disgusted, with myself. The shame and embarrassment made me want to hide. I wasn’t going to allow myself to evade accountability, though.

I laid it all out. Like one very long, run on sentence, the truth poured out of me. I watched his face, as my words landed in his ears, expecting to see the same disgust I had over what I’d done reflected back to me in his eyes. His expression was soft, though. He looked down at me, listening to every single word I was saying. I made no excuses, for myself. I made no efforts to lay any part of the blame on him. He’d done absolutely nothing wrong. When I’d finished my tearful confession, I looked back into his eyes, and told him how sorry I was. I meant it, too. I can’t remember feeling more sorry.

His hands clasped my face, as he leaned down and kissed my forehead. The first words out of his mouth were, I love you. He insisted, I have to stop thinking I have to be perfect. There’s nothing I can say or do, to push him away. He reminded me of how much we’ve been through, and that he’s not going anywhere. He told me he appreciated that I’d come clean, and that I apologized. He said he probably never would’ve found out, and although it did hurt that I’d lied to him, he was glad my lie had made me uncomfortable enough to admit it. He acknowledged that he understood that wasn’t easy to do, told me thank you, and then informed me I was getting a spanking.

To be continued…

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Sin So Sweet

Hang up your wings, crawl into me
Cover me up under your sheets
Roll back your eyes, sink in your teeth
Show me that side that nobody sees
I’m addicted to you, you’re addicted to me
I’ve never tasted sin so sweet
I’m using you, you’re using me
I’ve never tasted sin so sweet

~Warren Zeiders

On a very different note from the one I last left off on, is something else that’s been on my mind. I can think of a few instances, over the last 6 months or so, when the “old Adam” absolutely would’ve lit the “old me’s” butt on fire. There’s no question that, when he found out I’d continued to keep things from him, I would never have avoided some serious accountability. Especially for repeating my habit of finding excuses to procrastinate, about coming to him, with things I know damn well I shouldn’t try to hide from him. A month or two ago, I confessed more than one thing I’d been keeping secret. One of those things, for nearly two months. Adam never raises his voice, or says hateful things to me, when I go to him. Even on the occasions when I haven’t approached him, and he’s discovered something I’d screwed up, he’s never been mean, no matter how upset he was. However, it is rather unusual for there to be no repercussions.

I’m not running around attempting to find ways to fuck around, or to find out. I hate to disappoint my husband, and never intentionally hurt him. My mistakes are not major ones. It’s small things, like not doing something I needed to. Or, doing something that I one thousand percent know isn’t a good idea. I’m a great big procrastinator. I get distracted, easily. I often “bite off a whole lot more than I can actually chew.” While those things can and have been the circumstances that’ve lead to a trip across Adam’s knees, they’re relatively minor “infractions”. One thing that’s always been unacceptable, is lying to him. That includes not telling him things that he has every right to know. It’s just lying by omission. Unfortunately, that’s something I’m way too good at doing. I am like a professional, when it comes to avoiding the truth, without telling a lie.

In spite of all of my “transgressions”, Adam has chosen leniency. I asked him why, recently. He told me, “Because I want you to always feel like you can come to me.” He further explained his concern over what it is that he needs to do better, so that I won’t be afraid to go to him, about anything. It’s super important to him, that he does a good job of making sure I know how much he loves me. That I can trust him, and that he always makes me feel safe. He prioritizes my own health, wealth, and happiness, well before his own. I know these things, yet I still struggle with fears that his patience and love just won’t be enough to cover me, when I screw up. So, I make weak excuses to put off bringing things up. I tell myself, he’s tired. Maybe tomorrow. Then, tomorrow brings another reason to decide it’s not the day to risk outing myself. Before I know it, weeks will go by, and I still haven’t come clean. Tension builds, because I find myself distancing from him. Not on purpose, or even consciously. It’s as if even the smallest issue is like a weed in our garden, and each missed opportunity to be honest and pluck it out, allows it to grow and multiply. Before I know it, they’ve spread into every corner. I get overwhelmed, and either lash out or shut down. I recognize how unhealthy and damaging this all can be, and I really do want to stop letting weeds into our garden.

If I’m completely honest with myself, I’m not entirely certain that I’m not manipulating my own husband. I don’t mean that I think I’m doing it in a malicious way. On some level, though, I think maybe I deploy certain specific tactics, when I’m looking to escape accountability. Scratch that. I absolutely do, do those things. There’s really no maybe about it. I look for the most prime opportunity, and I carefully choose the way I explain myself, working to effectively minimize my responsibility over my actions. I’m pretty sure that’s a precise example of manipulation.

More than virtually anything else, I truly want to be good. A good person. A good example. A good wife, mama, daughter, sister, friend. I’ve done plenty of things I’m not proud of, and I’m sure there’ll be more. I never take pleasure in someone else’s pain, and unequivocally don’t ever seek to be the cause of it. I genuinely don’t even hope for harm or hurt to come to the man who raped me. Let alone others, who’ve done things I have, am, or will have to heal from. I pray for their healing. For their souls. That they come to repentance for their sins, and that they’re made new. I really mean that.

I’m far from perfect. Blatantly flawed. I reek of sin. We don’t get any do-overs, in this life. We can’t unmake our mistakes. All we can do, is our best to do better. Apologies help, but they’re also just words. What matters is action. Taking steps forward. Striving to be a better person than I was, yesterday, and to become even better through everyday that follows.

Writing about all of this has made me realize something I hadn’t, until just now. If I were truly worried that my husband wouldn’t still love me, because of something I’ve said or done, and that was my reason for attempting to hide from him…how could I be so confident in my ability to manipulate his love for me, just to get out of a measly spanking? Clearly, I’ve been assured that his love for me far outweighs any of the things I might do to disregard rules and boundaries. I honestly hadn’t thought of that, before. I’m not sure how I managed it, but I’ve snagged myself a husband who’d hang the moon for me. And, we’ve got a rock solid foundation. One that, deep down, I know that I’m positive couldn’t crumble under the weight of all my past, present, or future wrongs. We get a heck of a lot more right, than we do wrong. I can’t begin to imagine a life without my husband. The perfect marriage is just two imperfect people, who refuse to give up on each other. So, right there’s one thing we’ve both been doing, perfectly.

I Don’t Get Tired #IDGT

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Get it

Get fly

I got six jobs

I don’t get tired

~Kevin Gates

I spent today hanging out with my kid, and it was a blast. I woke up full of goofy energy, and it translated into a really fun afternoon, with Mj. Adam was late, getting home from work. From pretty much the first moment he walked in the door, my silly was turnt up to a 10. I suppose my unmedicated ADHD brain could be to blame, but my family laughs with me, so I don’t think it’s a problem.

Mj and I made some fruit pastries, this afternoon.

I made fiestadas, for supper, and recorded a video I’ll share here. The video quickly devolves into utter chaos, but if anyone needs a laugh, you’ll not be disappointed.

https://youtu.be/Gt4rZi9mkkU?si=cZ_s-lezAcc9zMFM

Today was a perfect day, to have a good day, and it absolutely was just that. ♥️

Blame it on The South

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~Dusty Leigh & Brandon Hartt (Feat. FJ Outlaw)

I spent the entire day down in our basement, cleaning, reorganizing, and rearranging things. I hung new curtains. I took one of my cube shelves, and I added wood grain contact paper to the top. I’m really proud of how that turned out!

Tomorrow, I’m taking Mj out for coffee. We’re going to do a little shopping, too. Then, on Friday, we’re planning to take that hike we’ve been wanting to. Last Sunday, it was humid, hot, and crazy windy. That night, storms blew through. We wound up with a tornado warning. The first of this year, for us.

We didn’t really end up seeing much action, though. Just wind.

We woke up, Monday morning, to temps down into the thirties! It was cold, Monday and Tuesday. Today, it warmed back up into the 60’s. Tomorrow, we get back to high 70’s-mid 80’s, for the foreseeable future.

I’m such a night owl, these days. Adam asks me to come to bed by 11pm, weeknights. I usually do, too. Last night, though, it was after midnight before I climbed next to him in bed. He pulled me into his arms, and told me if I’d come to bed earlier, I’d have gotten laid. I asked, what if I wanted to get laid, now? He insisted, he needed to sleep more than he needed sex, at that point. I put on my best pouty face, looked up at him and said, more than you need me?? Adam looked back at me, grinned, and told me to take off my pants. Just as my “rollercoaster” was about to reach the top, the ride was over. I told Adam, I deservvve thisss… and I did, in fact, deserve it. Therefore, I’ll be making absolutely certain my butt’s in bed earlier, tonight.

So, on that note, it’s time for me to go upstairs, get naked, and shower with my husband.

Weeping Willow

Featured

That girl can take a gray sky and paint it blue
She can put the smooth in the 90 proof
She can hang the moon in a sundress
Even put a sinner on a front pew
She can make shining diamond
Out of West Virginia coal
She can put a smile on a weeping willow

~Warren Zeiders

She didn’t even know I took this pic, lol

I drove past my old neighborhood, the other day. The trees, just before its entrance, look so pretty.

It’s definitely starting to look and feel a lot like Spring, here. Everything’s growing, blooming, blossoming. The grass, the trees, and my babies. Mj’s having a much better year, this year, than last. She’s growing up so fast, I can hardly even keep up with the changes. She can be a broody young teenager, moods swinging so quick they’ll gimmie whiplash, some days. Most days, though, she’s still my sweet little girl. Just a little bit less little. We got her a ridiculously expensive gaming laptop, for Christmas. She loves playing online games with her friends, but also she’ll often get her sisters on FaceTime, and they’ll all play Sims or something. I love it that they do that. It makes me happy, they’re all still so close.

Last Saturday, Mj had her last flags competition for this season. I did her makeup, and took her there. Awhile later, Adam got a phone call from Mikayla. She was in tears, sitting in the waiting room of Urgent Care. The night before, she’d been working her waitressing job, when the whole place filled with smoke. She told us she’d felt perfectly fine, but just a couple hours later, she was coughing, and it was getting harder and harder for her to breathe. She’d woke up that morning, feeling even worse. She had been planning on coming home, for the week, over her school’s Spring Break. Both Adam and I were very worried about her. We anxiously waited for her to see the doctor, and make sure she was okay. Fortunately, the doc said it was just a coincidence that her symptoms first appeared shortly after the smoke exposure. What she actually had, was influenza. Mj, B, and I all got our flu shots, in the Fall. I’d reminded Mikayla, multiple times, to stop by any minute clinic or pharmacy, and get hers. Unfortunately, she hadn’t gotten it done. Since her symptoms had only begun hours before she saw a doctor, he prescribed a round of Tamiflu, to help fight the virus. He also prescribed her a strong cough medicine, which would make her sleepy. I talked with her, while she picked up her medications. My poor kid was still crying and just plain miserable. She wanted to drive home. As much as I wanted her to be here, I told her absolutely not! She didn’t need to be out on the roads, driving home alone, as sick as she was. Adam had been in a darn near panic, and wanted to jump in his truck and go down to Knoxville to get her. With Mj at her competition, she wouldn’t be back until late that night. One of us needed to be able to pick Mj up. I offered to drive to Knoxville, and stay the night there with Mikayla. Then, I could at least follow her home, if she was up to it, on Sunday. By the time she got her meds and back to her house, she’d calmed down and decided she wanted to just get into her bed and sleep. So, Adam and I checked in with her, that night and all the next day, Sunday. By Monday, she was feeling a lot better. She drove home, that afternoon.

Oh, and Mj’s team placed third, at their competition!

Mikayla left, this morning, headed back to Knoxville. Adam was helping a friend put up fence, today. This evening, he grilled us a couple racks of ribs. I made scalloped potatoes, and cut up cucumber slices in vinegar water with onion. I love it when our meals look so pretty and colorful!

I spent the day working on laundry, and cleaning up around the house. I’ve been getting my Spring decor all set out. I’ve also been spending a few hours, here and there, making new craft projects.

I’ve kinda got a rustic/silly theme for our hall bathroom

I put a matching lampshade on our floor lamp, so it goes with my other one there on the cabinet, in our dining room. I really like it! Should’ve done that a long time ago.

It’s been another busy week, but it was fun having my girls all here. Mj’s Spring Break is this coming week. So, she’ll be home, hanging out with me all week. I’ve got a handful of things for us to do. Some of them she probably won’t be too excited about, like cleaning all the upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms. I think she’ll have fun going hiking with me, over in the caves near us, though. Of course, we’ll surely also be making a trip, or three, to our favorite coffee spots.

On Thursday, I’d been out with my girls all afternoon. Adam didn’t get home from work, until nearly 8:00pm. By the time we all got home, it was too late to really cook supper. I made one of the quick and easy meals everybody here likes, Fritos chili cheese wraps. For anybody interested, I’ll drop the link for them, here.

https://youtube.com/watch?v=xmdbTdD5Iy8&si=4_a4AUv2XsP5W4zW

Xx, Eve.

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.

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.