The girl I used to be
She was confident and free and happy
I don’t recognize myself
Or this person in the mirror
Staring back at me

I’m fighting voices in my head
Voices in my head telling me that I’m not enough
I’m not pretty and I’m broken, I’m not worthy of love
Voices in my head telling me that I should give up
I’m fighting voices in my head

Words, they can cut so deep
Why do I care so much what people think?
I wonder who I’d be if I didn’t have insecurities
I don’t know what to think, I’m losing all control of reality

Stop it, I can’t take another minute
I’m going crazy with these voices that are spinning in my head
Tell my head to listen to my heart
And my heart says

I’m done with voices in my head
Voices in my head, I know that I am enough
I am pretty, I’m not broken, I am worthy of love
Voices in my head I know that it’s time to give up
With all these voices in my head

~Jana Kramer

This evening, I talked with a therapist.

I went to work, this morning. When I closed up, I drove home, and waited for Mikayla to finish getting ready. Her and I had made plans to go do a little shopping. We went to Victoria’s Secret. They’re having their semi annual sale, so that was fun.

I’d scheduled my appointment, days ago. I hadn’t decided for sure whether I’d actually attend. I showed up, though. He wound up spending over 20 minutes past our allotted time, with me. Honestly, he was pretty great. He wants to build on learning some version cognitive behavioral therapy skills as we go forward. He asked me to name 3 things that describe my “safe place”. I did, but for the sake of brutal honesty, I admitted my thought process that followed. But that’s gone. That place doesn’t exist anymore. I don’t exist, that way, anymore. It isn’t that I consciously just “decide” to have those thoughts. They’re the truth, as my mind tells it.

He also helped me to understand why I’m struggling so much to eat. I know it’s not normal or healthy, but I literally go days, sometimes weeks, without eating any real food. It isn’t at all because I’m concerned with my body image. I know I’m too thin. 84 pounds isn’t healthy. I’m almost never hungry. In fact, the very thought of eating usually repulses me. If I attempt to force myself, I instantly gag. The textures, the tastes. I may as well be trying to eat glass. He explained, when our bodies remain in “fight, flight, or freeze” mode for too long, our brains are so focused on that, our mechanisms that control and announce things as basic as hunger simply shut down. Our bodies are so focused on what we continue to perceive as imminent danger, the typical signals we’d be receiving just can’t get through. I like to at least understand why I’m feeling and doing the things I don’t seem able to control on my own. None of this will be magically cured, or fixed, just by knowing. It does at least give me comfort, that this isn’t all only because I’m too weak, or lack the willpower, to control and change on my own.

My “core beliefs”, or the things I tell myself, are things like I’m not worthy. I’m not enough. I don’t deserve to feel better. I’ve failed the people who mattered most. Not because I woke up one day and decided to feel these things. Because nothing else makes sense, to me. Why else would I be here, lonely and miserable? Betrayed and abandoned by so many of the people I loved the most.

I guess, I’m searching for the truth. If I’m not seeing something, show me. If I need to hear something, tell me. I’m looking for some direction. Which way is up? How do I begin to trust that to take even the smallest steps would be to move forward, and not wind up discovering I was once again, in fact, racing further backwards in my clumsy attempts to escape this awful place I’m in? Maybe I’m not good enough. But, is it possible to learn how to be? I used to think I was good, and aspire to be better. Great even. Now, I’d really like to be enough. To be able to give my family something besides these empty plates I keep serving them. It’s as if I’m doing everything I know how to feed my family’s hunger for the things I once was able to so readily serve them. Or, believed I was. No matter what I do, the plates come up empty, though. All I can give them is…nothing. I want more than anything to have something good and right to give to them. I don’t want someone else to do it for me. I want to learn how to do it myself, for them. I will admit, somewhere inside, I’m craving for the deliciousness that life once was for me. First, I need to know my family is fed. Then, I might be able to contemplate how I could satisfy that hunger that still remains deep within me.

I know this journey will be a long one. Fraught with difficult and painful roads I’m going to have to travel through. Mountains and valleys that will require a strength I’m not yet convinced I’ll be able to muster. I do believe I took the first step, tonight. That’s not nothing.

Court is in session, a verdict is in
No appeal on the docket today just my own sin
The walls cold and pale, the cage made of steel
Screams fill the room, alone I drop and kneel
Silence now the sound, my breath the only motion around
Demons cluttering around, my face showing no emotion
Shackled by my sentence, expecting no return
Here there is no penance, my skin begins to burn

So I held my head up high
Hiding hate that burns inside
Which only fuels their selfish pride
All held captive out from the sun
A sun that shines on only some
We the meek are all in one

I hear a thunder in the distance, see a vision of a cross
I feel the pain that was given on that sad day of loss
A lion roars in the darkness, only he holds the key
A light to free me from my burden and grant me life eternally

I cry out to God, seeking only His decision
Gabriel stand and confirms, I’ve created my own prison

Should have been dead on a Sunday morning, banging my head
No time for mourning
Ain’t got no time

~Creed

About 16 and a half years ago, I met my husband, Adam. What I’ve never said here, is that I also met his infant son, Wyatt. He was just 8 months old. Wyatt’s birth mom abused drugs and alcohol, even during her pregnancy. Adam and I alone have raised him. His birth mom has spent the entirety of Wyatt’s childhood giving birth to babies who’d also be raised by other people, while she bounced between crack houses and halfway houses, never really giving up the junk she insisted on putting in her body. I made every birthday cake, gave him his first haircut, and took him to his first days of school. I keep a lock of the blonde curls from his first haircut and his first lost baby tooth inside my hope chest, alongside my girls childhood memories I hung onto. I loved him always. As fiercely as I ever loved my girls. Wyatt is 17 years old now. He has consistently made choices that have spiraled into a chaos that is beyond our abilities to manage. He has an enormous sense of entitlement, and his arrogance is astonishing. I chose never to write about how unbelievably cruel and violent he had become, most especially toward his sisters. I literally couldn’t trust him alone in the pool with Mj, because I was truly afraid he could drown her. The harder we fought to save him, the more he dug his heels in. Unbeknownst to us, he spent the better part of a year planning and preparing to set us up, so that he would no longer have to deal with Adam and I preventing (or attempting to) his fall from the cliff he insisted on dangling from. He was abusing substances. He was sleeping around, having unprotected sex. He was stealing, cheating, fighting. For him, lies were much more beneficial than truth, and his lies are a big reason for the turmoil we’re grappling with now.

Jackie was very well aware, and both Adam and I often had confided in her and Justin. We were desperate for answers. For some ideas of what to do, where to go, how to get a grip on this. I don’t know if it was alcohol? Our mutual friends tell me it was motivated by jealousy. Whatever the reason, one night in May, Jackie chose to not just claim to suddenly believe his lies, but she chose to encourage them. To reinforce them. And finally, to use them to attempt some sort of fucked up coup in an effort to oust me from my own family. She secretly recorded a conversation she initiated with me, as she accused and blamed and shamed me, all while knowing the answers behind every “question” she asked. After I had shared all I ever had with her. My family. My babies. My fears, my struggles, my secrets…It didn’t work as she must’ve anticipated, except for a small minority of people who were willing and eager to just accept the bullshit being fed to them. That the fiction being told was even plausible for anyone who knew me just devastated me. I guess I’m numb over it now, though. That, or my heart’s already broken into so many pieces, it’s impossible to notice which ones once fit together so easily.

I may have already said more than I should, but I needed to say it tonight.

Wyatt isn’t coming home. Jackie and Justin, Adam and I, will never be friends. It’s not about forgiveness. It’s about protecting the precious few good things left over from this storm we never ever could’ve saw coming. Maybe we should have? But, we didn’t. And now, we’re all doing what we can to make our “prison” feel like home. I really don’t want to hear any opinions or suggestions about how or why we should be doing more, have done more, for Wyatt. I haven’t even scratched the surface here, really. We cannot continue to be fuel for his ego driven trip to a hell we are powerless to prevent. All we are capable of is watching and waiting. Clinging to the tiny strands of hope we managed to hang onto, and praying that maybe just maybe, one day. One day, he will make the choice to do better. To be better. And, the moment that happens, of course we would do everything possible to support him. It simply isn’t up to us, now.

This has been the most painful experience of my life, and it isn’t over. Even without the parts Jackie contributed, I’d have still needed my best friend more than ever. Instead, I found out I just wasn’t worth what I believed I was.

This is my pain. The wreckage I live inside, every second of everyday. This is the truth. This is who, what, why, and where I am today.

Once bitten and twice shy
I keep my distance, but you still catch my eye
Tell me, baby, do you recognise me?
Well, it’s been a year, it doesn’t surprise me
“Happy Christmas,” I wrapped it up and sent it
With a note saying, “I love you,” I meant it
Now I know what a fool I’ve been
But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again

A crowded room, friends with tired eyes
I’m hiding from you and your soul of ice
My God, I thought you were someone to rely on
Me? I guess I was a shoulder to cry on

Last Christmas, I gave you my heart
But the very next day, you gave it away You gave me away
This year, to save me from tears
I’ll give it to someone special

ll give it to someone, I’ll give it to someone special
Who give me something in return
Hold my heart and watch it burn
I’ll give it to someone, I’ll give it to someone special
I thought you were here to stay
How could you love me for a day?
I thought you were someone special
I gave you my heart
I’ll give it to someone, I’ll give it to someone

~Wham!

My birthday is exactly two weeks before Christmas. I had that day off, and spent it at home. I did some crafting, some baking, some cleaning, and I made a really yummy supper for my family. The following weekend, Adam and I took the kids out to eat, and “celebrated” my birthday. As for birthday wishes, I had only one. Though I can’t see it, don’t know where to look, or really even believe it’s possible anymore, God all I hope for is to find pure joy in my family’s eyes again. Looking at those I loved most in this world, and seeing genuine happiness reflecting off them, was always the source of my own joy. Believing without question that I’d done something right, and that contributed to the comfort and peace shone in the laughter that once filled every corner inside our home. I stare into the eyes of those left beside me, and their pain permeates. I see them doing their very best to smile for me, for each other, but even the occasional moment of spontaneous laughter is still soaked in hurt and grief. We all feel it. We all see it in each other’s faces. I just don’t know how to give them these things we all so desperately need and want. The new televisions, Apple Watches, iPhones, and all the other crap I carefully picked out and wrapped up for them simply can’t fill the emptiness inside any of us. I’ve spent the last seven months pleading with God, heal these wounds! It seems that prayer isn’t meant to be answered. Not yet, anyhow. As these days turned into weeks, and then months that will soon be an entire year, my faith He’ll hear me is dwindling. I wonder, why? What did I do so entirely wrong that this punishment is making everyone close to me bleed? I replay every mistake, misstep, and bad decision I’ve made and I wonder, is this the reason?

My sweet Mj is struggling. I don’t know how to make it better for her. She’s damn near unrecognizable. Her temper is short. Her tears come easily. Her laughter is increasingly more and more rare. I feel tremendous guilt, and partly because I know I’m not here for her like she deserves. I’m not here when she comes home from school. I’m not here when she doesn’t feel well. I’m not there for all her concerts and parties. Besides that, I’m not around emotionally, either. It’s just not possible to pour from a cup that’s bone dry. On some level I’m hyper aware of this, and it stands to reason I should be doing everything I can to fill my empty cup, so I could pour out something for my family again. It also seems selfish and wholly undeserved, to consider doing so. Why should I be allowed to feel better, when it’s me who’s to blame for giant pieces of this damage? If I caused this, or even contributed, it’s ridiculous to assume there should be anything other than what is.

I made a wish, anyway.

Merry Christmas, everyone ❤️

I lost a friend
Like keys in a sofa
Like a wallet in the backseat
Like ice in the summer heat

I lost a friend
Like sleep on a red-eye
Like money on a bad bet
Like time worrying about every bad thing that hasn’t happened yet

I know I’ll be alright
But I’m not tonight
I’ll be lying awake counting all the mistakes I’ve made
Replaying fights
I know I’ll be alright
But I’m not tonight

I lost a friend
I lost a friend
I lost my mind
And nobody believes me
Say, “I know that [she] don’t need me,
‘Cause [she] made a little too much money to be twenty and sad.”
And I’ll be fine without [her]
But all I do is write about ’em
How the hell did I lose a friend I never had?
Never had

I’m on the mend
Like I’m wearing a neck brace
Like I’m sleeping in my own place
Like I’m pulling all the stitches out of my own face

I’m on the mend
Like I’m icing a new sprain
Like I’m walking on a new cane
Like it’s been a couple days since I slipped and said something sorta like your name

I know I’ll be alright
But I’m not tonight
I’ll be lying awake counting all the mistakes I’ve made
Replaying fights
I know I’ll be alright
But I’m not tonight

I’m on the mend
But I lost a friend
I lost my mind
And nobody believes me
Say, “I know that [she] don’t need me,
‘Cause [she] made a little too much money to be twenty and sad.”
And I’ll be fine without [her]
But all I do is write about ’em
How the hell did I lose a friend I never had?

I’d apologize 
If I thought it might 
Make a difference 
Or make you listen
I’d apologize 
If it was black and white
But life is different
Just try to listen 
To me now

I know I’ll be alright
But I’m not tonight
I lost a friend

How the hell did I lose a friend I never had?

Never had

~Finneas

I’m down in my basement, surrounded by gifts I need to finish wrapping before Christmas. Every single part of everything I do by myself now leaves me with this empty and hopeless feeling. I ache as I look at pictures of my family when we were all happy. When life was simple, smiles weren’t forced, and happiness was a given. The holidays are hard, now. I’m not wrapping gifts for people I should be. I don’t hear the sounds of laughter around me, as I plan and prepare everything for Christmas. There’s no pictures being taken with genuine grinning faces of those that I love. It hurts real bad. I’m trying so fucking hard, too. I want to be me again. I want to see my husband and children filled with joy. I feel as if… Actually, scratch that. I know I’ve failed my babies spectacularly. They will forever be haunted by pain and trauma that leaves them spending their adult lives desperately trying to heal. My greatest goal was to give them a childhood they would never have to recover from. I always wanted so much to give them a home and family filled with love and memories of an amazing time growing up with people that never let them down. So much of what’s happened to them is because of me. While I can’t control anyone else’s actions, it was me who made the choice to allow people into my children’s lives. It is a serious mind fuck realizing how much of my family’s pain is my fault. How much of my own pain is caused by my inability to protect not only myself, but most especially my family, from the very same things I wasn’t protected from. I can’t rewind or undo anything, although I spend a lot of my time replaying things and wonder sometimes, if I could, how far back would I actually need to go? What could I have changed? What should I have done differently, exactly? As wrong as I was, I didn’t ever mean to be! I never intended to land here, or to have brought the people who trusted me down right alongside me. All I wish for now, is to know how to be the person my family deserves, and to give them at least something good and right. I don’t trust myself, though. It’s almost as if this whole time I believed that down was up, backward was forward, good was bad. And if that’s the case, is wrong right? Would hurting help? So, if that’s the best things for them, how do I do that? Maybe it’s me? What if the only consistent thing that underlies every one of their heartaches is…me?

I bought an obscene amount of gifts for my family, this year. I understand I’m trying to fill voids that won’t ever be replaced with expensive new things, but I do it anyway. I haven’t seen my husband or my babies truly content and “whole”, in as long as I myself have been broken into these tiny unrecognizable pieces. Everyday I fight to suppress the voice inside my head whispering, I’m miserable. I’m miserable to be around. I’m worthless. I’m a failure. I’m not a good person. If I almost forget these things for even a moment, and I almost begin to allow myself to find the smallest amount of hope, the voices in my head echo with urgency these “affirmations” of things I must remember so that I could maybe avoid letting my family down again. I want more than anything to contribute something positive. Positive for my family, and for everyone. I honestly believed I was capable of changing the world. I never cared to have my name or my face remembered, but that I could impact others in even the smallest ways, and that would create a chain of events that made the world a better place because I had been here. I was a narcissistic moron, to have thought I was actually that special. That important. I’m left with sort of an existential crisis, wondering where I belong. My intentions matter little, when my children are paying the price for my choices. However well intended, I was a fool. I made mistakes I fear one day they’ll all realize, and understand I am to blame for. I’m responsible for these consequences they have and will spend their lives paying for. I pray they can heal, and find their own paths that lead to something much better for them. I pray they can forgive me, when they learn how miserably I’ve failed them. The job I cared most about, that I put all the best of me into, was being a wife and mama. My best was not even close to good enough, though. For Christ sake, how many people had to leave me before I realized that?

I want to go home. I miss even people and things that are still here. Nothing’s like it was. None of us are who we used to be. It’s like we’re all strangers just existing alongside each other everyday. Pretending to be the people we were as much as possible, but fooling no one. I want to be a wife again. A mom again. A daughter, sister, friend. I want to live, not just exist. I have absolutely no idea how to do that, though. I want my life back. I want me back. I want my family to look and feel like mine. I want to belong. I want to matter. I want to believe it’s possible. To be able to see some sort of road map that might guide me towards finding my way back home. I’m not sure that place even exists anymore? My entire being yearns for the comfort that never failed to embrace me inside my favorite places, with my favorite people.

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.

I’ll keep the pictures saved in a safe place
Wow, I look so weird here
My face has changed now
It’s a big shame

So many feelings, struggling to leave my mouth
And it’s not that rare for me to let myself down
In a big way
But I had enough time and I found enough reason to accept that

It’s not the same anymore
I lost the joy in my face
My life was simple before
I should be happy, of course

But things just got much harder
Now it’s just hard to ignore
It’s not the same anymore
It’s not the same anymore
It’s not the same, but, it’s not a shame ’cause

I spend a long time putting up with people
Putting on my best face
It’s only normal when you stop things in the wrong way
It’s only four o’clock and still, it’s been a long day
I just wanna hit the hay
People knocking on me like every day
I’m tired of taking stress

If only there could be another way
I’m tired of feeling suppressed
And when they want me the most
I’m tired of acting like I care, but I do
And I can’t wait to hit the bed
But tomorrow makes me scared

‘Cause it’s not the same anymore
I lost the joy in my face
My life was simple before
I should be happy, of course

But things just got much harder
Now it’s just hard to ignore
It’s not the same anymore
It’s not the same anymore
It’s not the same
It’s not the same

I kept the feelings inside
I open up when shit gets built up this high
[They] make it easy to cry
The words fall out of me and there’s no more disguise

I miss the days when I was someone else
I used to be so hungry
Right now, my stomach’s full of air
And I’ve spent many months just hating on myself

I can’t keep wishing things will be different
Or leaving problems on the shelf
I wish I didn’t need to get help
But I do
But I do

I’ve been so hard on myself
Even my family can tell
And they barely saw what I felt
I wouldn’t wish this on my enemy or anyone else

It’s not the same
It’s not the same as before
It’s not the same anymore
And it’s fine because

I’ve learned so much from before
Now I’m not sure on advice
There’s no excuses at all
No point in feeling upset

Won’t take my place on the floor
I’ll stand up straight like I’m tall
It’s up to me, no one else
I’m doing this for myself

It’s not the same anymore
It’s better
It got better

~Rex Orange County

I’ve thought often, over the last few weeks, about writing here in my blog. I’ve wanted to. My days have been incredibly FULL, though. I start my day when my alarm wakes me, at 5:01am. 5:01, because I refuse to set alarms for times in increments of fives. Not 5:00, and not 5:05 or 4:55. All of my alarms are set for random times, like my 5:01 wake up alarm.

EXIBIT A (see above photo)

My 5:01 alarm snatches me from my sleep, and I drag myself into our bathroom, where I throw on a hoodie and some shorts. I know it’s the middle of summer and hot as hell, but I’m literally always cold first thing in the morning. Once I’m dressed, I make my way into the kitchen. I pour some coffee into my travel mug, and then I drive Adam to his work. His pickup truck has been at the dealership being worked on for OVER A MONTH! He’s pretty frustrated about it, and I’m sick of it too. I get home a little before 6am, and go back inside to change into my work clothes.

I do my hair and make-up, while I finish my coffee. I almost always put some music on while I’m getting ready for work. The kids are still sleeping, at least for one more week. School starts soon. My work schedule is very flexible. We have meetings every Monday and Friday, so I need to be in the office a little earlier on those days. I typically leave the house between 8:15-9:15am, depending on what’s on my calendar for that day.

I’m really enjoying my job, and I get along great with everyone. Our branch manager has been training me, and we’ve already become friends. She’s my age, and a single mom to a little girl the same age as my Mj. My training was supposed to take 8 weeks. There was to be 5 weeks of learning through a BUNCH of reading and testing, followed by 3 weeks of actually using these learned skills and practicing them. I finished all of the computer learning and tests in the first four days I was there. Last week, I was already handling loan applications from start to finish. I pre-qualified customers who requested it, and then discuss our lending options with them. I run our credit inquiry once they decide to proceed. Then, it’s time to go over everything again, and have them sign and initial about a zillion forms. Once they’ve got their money and I’m finished with the customer, it’s time to print, scan, fax, e-mail, share, send, and file everything. I’ve got all the passwords and codes memorized now. I’ve assigned and de-assigned our cash drawers, balanced them, and open/closed and balanced our safe. I take care of deposits, withdrawls, and take incoming and make outgoing calls. No part of my job is particularly difficult. I love working both with customers and my co-workers. I love having my own desk and workspace. I also kinda love that I’m doing something that gets me out and takes me from the worries, stress, and sadness I felt at home. Don’t get me wrong, I love my home and family! It’s just too easy to trap myself inside and dwell on so many things I can’t control. My body and brain are forced to focus on something else, somewhere else, when I go to work.

I come home sometime between 12:30-1:30 for my lunch break. I hang out with my kids for awhile, before it’s time to get back to work.

The girls baked some brownies the other day, right before I got home for my lunch break 🙂

Finally, I get home from work. I usually get home anywhere from as early as 5:30, to as late as 7pm. Most evenings I have to pick up Adam from his work, too. I remove my heels and blazer jacket, untuck my shirt, and get started making supper.

Once everyone has eaten supper, and the kitchen is cleaned up, I usually get about an hour to talk and text with my friends and family. Then, Adam and I take our shower and get ready for bed, so we can do it all over again the next day. This weekend, I’m working on our laundry and cleaning all the bathrooms. Basically, catching up on all the household chores that used to get done during weekdays.

We will be moving Mikayla into her dorm in just a little over a week! I don’t think I’ve accepted the fact that my girl won’t be home everyday anymore. There’s still a whole lot of shit happening in my life, but I do have to be grateful for my ability to take it in strides recently. The fears and the stress and the sadness exist, but they don’t consume me these days. Between the daily antidepressant I’ve been on since June, and my new job, I’m definitely doing better. I’m feeling better. Not ALL better. Not necessarily “good”. Better, though. I’m better than I was, and that’s enough for me to celebrate. Adam and I have even been silly and playful, lately. He snags any opportunity to give my butt a slap or a squeeze. I’m enjoying sex again. I even catch myself smiling sometimes. Am I happy? Not exactly. I do get moments of what feels very much like happiness. There are these times where I almost forget why I’m not supposed to be ok. Why things aren’t ok. It’s not as if things are terrible. There are deep concerns troubling us and yet, we do manage to steal little pieces and parts of all that’s good around us, and they almost override the negative thoughts of our tomorrows and what they could bring. I have to remember to look for the joy that surrounds me. Remind myself that neither tears nor laughter will have any effect on the things I have no control over. It’s okay to put away my worries for awhile. Joy is permissible. It doesn’t mean I don’t care, or that I don’t remember where we are and what weighs on all of our minds so heavy. I’ve found myself planted inside a very different garden, but it’s okay to grow here too. I loved the garden I had. I invested so much into it. Wilting away where I’m at won’t change what’s been done. I can’t have some of the flowers that once grew inside my old garden with me, but I can choose to make this new garden beautiful, too. So, that’s what I’m hoping for these days. I just have to believe that God has got this. God is my gardener. He’s working to pull the weeds, water, and provide sunlight for this garden. It’s only right that I should recognize and readily accept these gifts that can help me to grow strong and healthy again. After all, He never promised anybody tomorrow. Each and every day that I get to wake up is an opportunity to show gratitude for what I’ve been given today. Crying over yesterday, or tomorrow, only hurts my today. Nothing I do can change yesterday or tomorrow. I only have today, and today wasn’t so bad.