My heart is so broken right now. I just want to fall off the face of the earth. He’s done the one thing he said he’d never do to me. He went away. He promised me he’d never go away like everyone else, and he did. After all the bullshit he fed me about how he loved me and would be with me in a heartbeat if he could, he left his wife finally, but not for me…. for someone else. Someone he’s know for a month. I’ve wasted almost two years of my life on the internet with him, two years of thinking about him constantly, all to have my heart shattered, ripped out and stomped on. But, I guess it serves me right for having an “internet affair” on my husband. This new girl actually emailed me pics of herself, smh, the fact that she’s ugly only hurts more. I’d have rather her been beautiful, at least I could see why maybe a little better. Right now, I don’t care about life. I want to cut so bad and death is my wish upon a star. I do these things to myself, bring pain into my life by my choices. I constantly fuck up. FML, fuck it real good.
So I really can’t lie, I have to come out and admit this to someone, so why not here? I’ve been in the same clothes/pajama’s since last Tuesday. If I don’t do something about it today, that’ll be a week tomorrow, same clothes (if you’re thinking omg same undies for a week, commando folks, lol), no shower, no hair brushing, and a lot of sleeping. I can’t say I’ve really eaten anything substantial either… cereal a few times, pizza once I think. (Although I often go a whole day or two without eating, bad I know.) I’m taking my meds consistently at night, but the mornings are still inconsistent, (although I have been better about mornings lately). When it comes to the boys I do as minimal as I can get away with. I will admit that their dad gets stuck with the majority of taking care of them. I have no energy and no motivation. I spend too much time on the computer doing nothing important. I wear my robe all day long for Pete’s sake…. And I just don’t even care.
My husband is an asshole and he’ll never change. He has a nasty temper and just really isn’t nice. I can’t leave for more reasons than I care to talk about right now. I’m starving right now but won’t eat anything because nothing sounds good. Sean’s actually standing next to me bitching right now about unopened mail and other bullshit. I am tired….. all the time. My mind just wants to shut down and sleep, or my body, maybe both, either way, I sleep more than a lot of the time. I want to change so bad, yet I just continue to remain the same, because I just must not be trying hard enough or want it bad enough, or something. Otherwise I’d have made more progress by now. In eight years I went from being a severe opiate addict to sober, I have several different chronic health issues as well, plus all the mental health crap. I’ve come a little ways in eight years, but not very damn far. In my husband’s eyes I’m worse than when I was on drugs, smh.
Now I’ve pretty much lost my best friend and the love of my life, D, and I feel like I’m dying inside over that. All I really want is to be happy, but it seems to unattainable. Someone close to me recently said it’s almost like I say I wanna be better but really I don’t. But that’s not true…. I don’t want to feel this way and live this way for the rest of my life. My life is passing right before my eyes and I’m just watching it go. I managed to stomach a bowl of cereal a little bit ago as I wrote some of this, and I’m working on getting some dry mac n cheese down now. My intentions are to at least wash my hair and take a “sink bath”, it may sound pathetic, but right now, it’s a big step. I didn’t even feel this bad when I went to the psychiatric hospital like two months ago. I don’t know anymore, I see my primary care physician tomorrow, my psychiatrist Thurs. and my therapist Fri., but really there’s nothing they can do. I’ve been on a million meds. I’m gonna do a little more ECT research and talk to my mental health guys about it at the end of the week. Let’s cross our fingers and pray I can at least bathe tonight, smh. I feel like I’m giving up.
I’ve been waiting for a prior authorization from my psychiatrist to go through with my insurance company for a couple of weeks now, on a medicine called Provigil. It’s a drug that is used to promote wakefulness in adults who have certain sleep disorders, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, and things of that nature. It is also been used to help treat depression and several other things as well, I believe. Though it has traits of an amphetamine, it is not one. It’s an expensive drug and I did not expect the prior authorization to go through, I figured they’d deny it and we’d have to appeal it and go through all that nonsense.
The reason I thought that, was because I had already been through that battle once, a few years back with my old primary care physician. She tried like hell to get me on this medication and that damn insurance turned her down every effin time. I mean she jumped through hoops trying to get me on this medication and getting the proof or enough proof that I needed it and would benefit from it. In the end, I never did end up getting approved.
So anyway, I was standing in the kitchen yesterday and my husband walked up and tossed me a piece of mail. It was from my insurance company, I get stuff from them all the time, and I won’t lie, I don’t open most of my mail, it sits, unopened, indefinitely for the most part, unless it’s a bill or something else “important”. I’m sure I probably miss some stuff that I should be reading, but nevertheless, my unopened mail piles grow and then turn into boxes of unopened and opened mail along with receipts, and we start over again. Whew!!! LOL I went a little off the trail there for a second, but as I was saying, I was holding this piece of mail from the insurance company, and I went to throw it up on the counter and something caught my eye, I can’t remember what it said, ‘approval’ maybe, but it was enough to make me think of my prior authorization and open it. Sure enough, it was a letter stating that they had approved my prior authorization for Provigil and that it was now covered for me to take for a year, before I’m up for revaluation!!! Woo hoo!! Truly, thank you God!!!!<3
So I finally got approved for it, so I can try it and see if it makes a difference and helps me so that I’m not so tired and sleeping all the time; and also I can see if it helps with the depression at all. It’d be so nice if it helped with both. My only fear is that my body will become tolerant to it too quickly and it will no longer work like it did in the beginning, or like it should. My body does that with medications, all kinds of medications, even things like antibiotics and crap, it’s nuts. I did it to myself though, ruined my body by being an addict, this is just one of the results of being a recovering addict. I pretty much rewired everything in my brain, it’s hard to get that back, if you even can, and I don’t think you’ll ever get all of it. There I go being Negative Nancy again though, God, it’s terrible, like I just set myself up for failure and disappointment with my thoughts and words!! I don’t wanna be that person.
What I’m really hoping, is that this Provigil, in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on, the mood stabilizer, and the anti anxiety medication, will finally make a difference I can actually feel. I wanted to write, ‘lol’ back there just now, after I said, “What I’m really hoping is that this Provigil in addition to the two antidepressants I’m on…..” and so on, because I realized how funny and crazy that really sounds…. maybe not to you or anyone else, but to me it does, if only because it’s my life and I’m thinking to myself, “Look at you, do you hear all those medications you’re on? What in the hell happened here? You’re a headcase. It always comes back to this, it seems like no matter what it always comes back to the “mental illnesses” that I deal with and it’s like it’s a never ending battle, I just thought, how funny the predictability of all this is and what a nut I felt like after listing off all those different types of meds I’m on. I’m giving it a shot though, because why the hell shouldn’t I really, I mean, anything within reason is worth a shot if it might make you feel better.
I’ll give all these medications a chance to work together in my system to see if together they make a difference that not only I can feel, but that can be seen by those close to me hopefully too. I know it takes time for everything to get into your system, everything has a different saturation point, so I think it’s probably best that I give it at least two months, if not three, before deciding whether or not it’s all making any difference or not. I’d like to try to keep a med journal, lol, but for me that’s like, I don’t even know, lol. Let’s just say I don’t do well on commitment to those sorts of things. Hell, one of my biggest problems with all this depression and medication crap is, I have a really hard time remembering to take my morning doses of my medications!!!! I am almost thirty years old, and I still cannot take my medications like an adult.
For years now I’ve struggled with taking my medications in the morning. Night meds have never been a problem, I always take my night meds and there’s nothing “good” in my night meds either, lol, just to be clear. I’ve tried all kinds of different things to get myself to take my meds in the morning. I have a sign that hangs from the cupboard right in front of my face that says, ” Take Your A.M. Meds!!”….. I don’t even notice it most days. My meds sit on “my” counter, the one I go to to roll my cigarettes, use my computer, everything, it’s like my central location. They’re right there next to me basically, and yet for a long time, morning after morning I did not take them, or only took them one day here, miss a day, then take them again the next day, miss two days, take them two days, like that. In the last year and a half I have been more conscious about taking my morning meds and somehow making sure I do it. While I haven’t been great at it, I’m still better than I was, and in the last I’d say month, since I got out of the psychiatric ward, I’ve been taking them way more consistently, because instead of not taking them because it’s “too late” in the day now, I’ve been taking them no matter what time I remember, as long as it’s not past like 2 p.m., because I don’t want them too close to my night meds. I figure even if I’m not taking them at the same time everyday, at least I’m taking them and they’re getting into my system so they can start to work hopefully.
I’ll continue to work on taking my medications every morning like I’m supposed to. I don’t think it’s about finding a way to remind myself, because I’ve set alarms on my phone, taped up the sign, set them right next to me, and I still don’t take them like I’m supposed to. I feel like I’m a fucking idiot, like I’m defective, like what the fuck is wrong with me. Why don’t I just take my meds in the morning, like any other “normal” person would do? Whatever the reason is, I know I can get this right and start taking them every single day until it becomes so familiar that I could do it in your sleep, until it becomes as familiar as breathing each day. The damnedest thing is, if someone reminds me or tells me basically, to go take my meds, I take them right away, without hesitation. My husband sometimes tries to help me by reminding me, but he forgets too. A few friends have said they’d call me every morning, and they did, for a little while, but eventually it ended. And that’s okay, for all of them, because really it’s not their responsibility. It was nice of all of them to try and help me. I do appreciate it, but it’s not someone else’s job to see to it that I take my meds each morning, although I must admit, it sure makes it a lot easier. I’m going to have to do this on my own somehow though, I have to.
I saw my therapist today and one of the things we talked about was ECT (electroconvulsive) therapy, to help alleviate and possibly eliminate this depression. It’s actually something I’ve thought about a lot over the last few years, and looked into online some too, I’m the one who brought it up to my therapist. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem to think it sounded like a totally crazy idea at all, in fact he talked very positively about it and even gave me a brief account of a patient of his who underwent treatment not too long ago and seems to be doing great now, much better. He did talk about the possibility of some short term memory loss, and I brought up my concern with him about long term memory loss. I told him about a friend I have who underwent ECT treatment sometime in the last ten years, and he seems to have lost a lot of his long term memory, like his memories of certain things. My therapist didn’t really have much to say on that, like he wasn’t really sure, but I’ll look into it more closely. Anyway, we talked about it and decided that since I’ve been on what seems like almost every psych med there is out there, all to little or no avail for one reason or the other, it’s not a bad idea to talk to my psychiatrist about it when I see him at the beginning of May. So that’s what I’m going to do, I’m going to talk to him about ECT and see what his perspective on it is, and whether or not he thinks it would benefit me in particular. We shall see what he has to say!
For me, everyday the struggle is real, just as I know it is for a whole lot of people out there, so many people that have it WAY worse than what I could ever dream of having it, and so I try to be thankful that I don’t have it like that and I’ve got it the way it is, even if that’s less than ideal to me. I do a lot of things to myself I think, or I make them worse at least, blow them out of proportion, or think things that aren’t true or real – just paranoid thoughts in my head because of the way my life has been. It’s like I sabotage everything good in my life eventually, including relatioships, and I don’t even realize I’m doing it or by the time I do, it’s too late. I am living in this misery, depression, sadness, and anger, along with a list of other emotions, and I’m trying to figure out how to fix it, how to get out of it, knowing that I put myself in it, so it starts with me. I’m the one who had to change all this, no one else can do it for me, I’ve always know that, The problem is that it is so damn hard. Getting out of this pit I’m in, it feels impossible to climb out of most days. It’s like I’m barely dragging on. But I don’t want to be this way, so I must do something to change it, and this is where the battle starts, conflicting thoughts. I want life to be one way, but I don’t want to do the work to change it. I’m still going at it though, I haven’t given up so far.
I think that’s enough rambling for me for one night, lol. I’m never sure if I actually have a point when I’m writing, I just kind of get that blank screen in front of me and it’s like my mind says, “AndGo!!” really fast, lol, and I’m off and writing. Thoughts spilling out on top of one another, my mind going ninety miles an hour. I’m sure some of you can probably see my “free” form writing style in my posts, lol. Thanks for baring with me folks!! 🙂
It’s true what they say, you never know when it’s going to be the last time you see someone, the last day that you ever spend with them. It was a Monday night, April the twelfth of 2014, my mom and I had just moved back up north from Flint that past August of 2003, so that my mom could be with her husband who’d just gotten out of prison. I wasn’t exactly happy about this move, as it would be taking me out of Flint, out of the city, and my crack supply would literally disappear over night. I was just barely eighteen, I could have said no, but I knew my mom wouldn’t let that happen. So I ended up giving into her and her husband and following them up north with our stuff loaded down in a truck, a u haul trailer and my car. We got high on rocks the whole way up there, each in our own separate vehicles. See, my mom had been a drug addict earlier in my life, then an alcoholic and then she quit everything completely when I was around ten or eleven. When I was sixteen though, she relapsed with coke/crack. I was dating a guy who sold it and he lived in the apartment with us and eventually my mom just said screw it I think. By that time she only had one lung, she’d had one half at a time removed, two surgeries, on the right side I believe, due to lung cancer. Then we moved to Flint and it got even worse for both of us, so that’s when she decided to move us back up north. again. She knew we had to I think, for my sake if any.
As reluctant as I was to move back up north with my mom and step dad, step family, I knew that without my mom I would die on the streets of Flint before nineteen. So I went and at first things were really bad for me, I went through some sort of psychological withdrawal from crack/cocaine. It was intense and nuts and nothing I’d ever want to experience again. Stupid ol’ me though, I had friends in the next town up, a town a little bigger than the one we were living in, and they could get crack and coke. Of course it wasn’t the same grade as the stuff in Flint, it was cut like crazy and half the time wouldn’t even cook up, but my mom and I bought it none – the – less. 😦 How sick we were, how terribly sick mentally and physically we were. To still be seeking this out, this crap that we had left one city for to come back home to get away, and it followed us, we still managed to find it. Thankfully it wasn’t as easy to get up north and it cost way more and like I said the quality was poor, so that discouraged my mom from wanting to buy it, because she couldn’t turn it into rock form. So this went on on and off from the time we moved up there in August 2003, to the night of April 12th 2004.
I knew what I was doing was wrong, enabling my mother to get crack, when I knew she only had one lung, and I knew she was supposed to be on oxygen most of the time, I knew that crack could kill her in an instant. But she was my mom, and when she begged me to do it for her, I felt this sick guiltiness, and I was so torn. Do I do this for her, or don’t I? Too often I found myself doing as she’d asked me to, and then I’d end up staying with her and getting high!! Who in the HELL DOES THAT???!!! With their own MOTHER! But I did, we did. And I dare someone to say she didn’t love me, because that woman went through hell for me, trying to make sure I had what I needed and wanted. She was a good mom, she tried her hardest with me, but I didn’t listen and I did what I wanted and that’s’ one of the things I regret. I should’ve respected what she did and didn’t want me to do, because it wasn’t much. There’s no sense in dwelling on what I should’ve done to be a better daughter though I guess, although I do.
I had been out all day the day of the twelfth, or most of it anyway. Running around to see who had dope. Somewhere around evening time, early night time, I arrived back home with my a guy, the dealer. I knew my mom would want some, so I decided to help her out since she asked me to. She gave him the cash she had on her and we stayed a little while, but when she was done smoking it, she wanted me to go up the the ATM and get more cash for her, and I just couldn’t do it. Even though we did drugs together, I still cared about my mom, her health, smoking crack and cigarettes with only one lung, I cared about her financial situation as she was a set income each month. So I wasn’t gonna let her get money that she didn’t have for this shit, out of her ATM. She tried saying she’d just go but my buddy said nope he couldn’t sell her anymore. She got mad, very mad for a little while….. but then she calmed down and she hugged me and told me thank you. I just looked at her and said, “I love you mom, but you’d had enough.” I ended up giving her enough for maybe a hit or two before we left and she seemed content with that. Before I left for the night, I apologized to her again, and she said sorry to me once more as well. We said, “Good night, I love you”, gave each other kisses, and she told me to be safe as I backed out of the driveway. I waved to her and honked as I pulled away, I could see her standing in the window of the door.
That night I ended up partying for a awhile and then ending up at a hotel room with the guy who not only sold dope but smoked it. We partied together in his room, just him and I and late that night/early that morning, we fell asleep. When it was time to be out of the hotel room, I dropped him off somewhere and began driving home. I was tired and I wanted to go lay down some more in my bed. When I got home I should’ve known immediately that something was wrong. My mom’s truck was still in the driveway, and there were a few other vehicles I didn’t know in the yard. Plus my step grandparents who lived next door, were gone. It should’ve seemed odd that there’s was the only car gone. When I walked into the trailer, my mom and her husbands bedroom was directly in sight of the front door. I looked in there and didn’t see anyone, but oddly, what I did see was all the bedding tore off their bad. Now several times my step dad had wet the bed due to being too messed up to get up and go, so I though maybe it was one of those nights. I called out around the trailer, no one answered, I check for people, but no one was there. So I decided I was going to lay down in my room til everyone got home, although I just couldn’t figure out where they all were, who’s cars were in my driveway – my stepbrother’s friends maybe? And why was my moms truck parked out front. Initially I thought maybe her and her husband went somewhere with her in-laws next door. Anyway, I had laid down and I was just starting to drift off to sleep when I thought I heard knocking at the door, I wasn’t going to answer it, but then it stopped and for some reason, something made me get up and run out there. It was my aunt Eve.
It was unusual to see her at our home at that time of day especially, since she normally would be working. I didn’t have my glasses on so I couldn’t see that she was in her work uniform, she had been getting in her car when I finally opened the door and yelled, so I went to my room to get my glasses so I could see. When I came out my aunt had made it inside and I could see she was dressed in work clothes. She told me that I needed to get ready so we could go to the hospital, which was about 35 – 40 minutes from where we lived; and that my mom had been taken by ambulance that morning and we needed to get up there. Because no one could find me or get a hold of me, I had no idea, and I’d had people looking for me and trying to find me all morning…. but I was asleep, in a hotel room, after spending the night getting high on crack. My aunt had left work and driven down to our home in a last desperate attempt that maybe I was home but just not answering the phone, or something like that maybe, but either way, she drove 40 miles down to our place to see if I was there because she knew I needed to be found. She didn’t say whether or not she knew if my mom was alive or dead or what condition she was in other than that they found her without a pulse…. those were here exact words, “your mom was taken by ambulance this morning, and when they found her, she had no pulse”….. that left room for thoughts that they could have restarted her heart, that maybe they did CPR and she started breathing again, I was hoping for all kinds of things. After a brief call to the hospital to be sure how to get there around the road construction that was being done up there at the time, we were on our way. It’s a long, wooded stretch of land between the town I was living in and the city that the hospital was in, and my aunt and I barely spoke the entire way, me in the passenger seat thinking this was the longest ride in my life and praying fervently to God that he please let my mom still be alive, please don’t let her be dead God, please don’t take her from me, that He couldn’t possibly let that happen.
Finally we arrived to the emergency department of the city hospital, parked and got out, but as soon as I had gotten out, before I’d even shut my door I think, my uncle’s wife, who was standing next to their car with my uncle, started screaming at me, “She’s gone Lily, she’s fucking GONE, your mom’s fuckin gone God dammit!!!” Instantly I fell to my knees and curled up into a little ball, right there on the concrete of the parking lot, I curled up into a tight fetal position and my mind was just gone. Nothing made sense, everything was blurry, I could hear but it all sounded far away, like an echo…. my family picked me up and carried me into the emergency room department in that position. I’m not sure how long I stayed like that, but I do remember being taken into a “family room”, that’s just off the ER waiting room area. My whole family was in there it seemed like, even though it wasn’t, but my step-dad (which I say with a very snotty voice) was there, my aunt Eve’s daughter (my cousin), my uncle and his wife, the one who had screamed at me in the parking lot, and some other people I don’t remember. Although I’m not sure when, eventually I unfurled myself from the fetal position I had curled up into in the parking lot of the emergency room. I think I was in a state of shock because I don’t really remember saying a lot, and although I’m sure I was crying, I don’t clearly remember that either, everything was like a blur, and it seemed to all be moving so fast, too many people in too small of a room, things like that. Two things that do stand out to me are when my uncle grabbed me by the throat and slammed me up against the brick wall and screamed into my face, “You killed her! You finally fucking killed her you little bitch, are you happy!!” A security guard and my family members got him off of me, and made him leave the hospital, but by that time, it was too late, the damage was already done, in that moment I was sure he was right, I was sure it was my fault she was dead. Sometime before my uncle’s violent outburst toward me, a social worker or grief support counselor for the hospital, or something like that, asked me if I wanted to go back and see my mom’s body. I remember saying no, but for whatever reason, this woman wheeled me into my mom’s cubicle and shut the curtain behind us. I will never forget the way my mother looked, lying there on that hospital bed/gurney, eyes closed, a slight smile on her face, her sheet, lavender and purple gingham with flowers, still wrapped around her, covering her up, she looked as though she were just sleeping. I touched her body, her hands, her face, kissed her forehead and cheek, and then the woman wheeled me back out. I’m still not sure to this day if it was a good thing that that woman took me in there or not.
So all this had happened, and things were starting to sink in a little more, there were still a bunch of people around. I remember sitting against the cool brick wall with my knees up hugging them, not really sure what was going to happen next. Well, as it turns out, my aunt Eve and a couple other family members decided to have me petitioned into the psychiatric unit there at the hospital, their reason being because I had always said that if something happened to my mom, if she died, I’d kill myself. With the fact that I wasn’t completely off drugs yet and my mental health issues weren’t being addressed at the time, I guess they decided that was the best thing, I don’t really know. I spent three days in the psychiatric unit there at the hospital, I got out the day before her funeral. My step dad had all of my stuff packed and sitting in the garage by the time I got out of the psychiatric hospital. I went to stay with my aunt Eve the day I got out, so I could get clothes for the funeral and what not. I remember being pretty numb, it was all like it wasn’t really happening. I wrote a poem for my mom and read it at her funeral without breaking down into a bawling baby. I remember being very surprised at the number of people in the funeral home for her service. There was no more sitting room, standing only in the back. It amazed me and made me so proud that MY mom had touched this many peoples lives enough for them to attend her funeral service.
All those days came and went so fast. I ended up homeless for awhile after, but that’s another story. The events of those days, that day, that week, they forever changed who I was and who I’d become later. To me, on that day, I lost not only my mom, but my best friend in the whole world, the one person who always had my back and believed in me even at my worst, the strongest, bravest, kindest and most loving women/person that I’ve ever known. For a long time I blamed myself for her death, if I hadn’t have brought crack home with me that night, maybe if I’d have made sure she got less, whatever way you want to think of it, all those what if’s, they can make a person insane. I’ve finally accepted that it wasn’t my fault that she died, that the Lord has a time and a plan for everyone and it was just her time to go, even if that meant it’d hurt me like hell. It’s been eleven years now this past April 13th, and I still miss her all the time. While I may not think of her constantly like I once did, she’s never far from my thoughts and forever in my heart. It hurts still when I think about what it’d be like if she were still alive today, when I think about her missing out on her grand kids, seeing them be born, watching them grow and playing with them, spoiling them rotten as I have no doubt she would. She couldn’t be there to walk me down the aisle when I got married, or to see us buy our first home, all those things, things that people take for granted far too often. I regret every foul thing I said to my mother and my regrets for what I put her through as a preteen and teen are so deep I could wade in them, but there’s nothing I can do to change any of that now. I know my mom loved me more than life itself. She always made sure I was taken care of despite our situation. She was an all around amazing person. If there’s one thing people can get from reading this, it’s that you should never take your loved ones for granted, or the time that you have with them either. You should try to cherish every moment that you have together, whether it be your mom, dad, sister, brother, spouse, cousin, whomever, be so grateful that you have them there with you at that exact moment, because you never know when you’re going to lose them. Only the Lord knows when our time is up, and it could be at any given moment, I could post this and then fall over dead with a heart attack, I mean seriously. Take your time here seriously, don’t waste it on petty stuff, use it doing truly important and good things, like being with the ones you love the most, because you’ll miss them when they’re gone.
I will start by saying that I have had a deep underlying depression for a long time now, I have been battling it for quite some time.
Then I will jump into a separate story, but one that goes along with everything that happened in a way. See, my husband and I have had two flea market booths for three years now. Our kids have always been a part of it, and they have been coming most every weekend this whole time now. They are both under ten. About a month ago my husband took our boys, plus his twenty one year old nephew and his one and a half year old son, to the flea market with him one day. The owner of the flea market has a bad temper and can be very moody and temperamental. Well, our nephew’s little guy fell and hit his head on the concrete floor about ten minutes before opening time. The owner of the flea market came flying over to our nephew and began yelling at him, demanding to know “what the fuck was going on over here, what’s all this noise”, and proceeded to tell our nephew that “he and his little asshole needed to get out of his building”, my husband was standing there the whole time in disbelief. A little later that day, the owner came to my husband and told him that from now vendors cannot have children under that age of ten with them. He told my husband that it’s always been in the “bylaws” and handed him a print out of those supposed rules. So when they came home and told me, you may guess that I was highly annoyed, as that’s not just my husband’s booths, they’re mine as well. I chose to vent a little on my personal facebook page, giving an account of what happened and stating how wrong I thought the owner was and that he apparently needs some anger management. Well, the owner was given a copy of my post on fb, and he was ready to kick my husband out that day. My husband managed to talk him into letting him stay, but neither myself nor my kids or anyone in my husbands family is allowed in there anymore. Which means that I now will be taking care of both my boys all weekend long, by myself.
Now some may be thinking to themselves, “why is it an issue that she has to take care of her kids by herself?” The honest answer is, they do not listen to me because I never enforced punishments with them, instead I’ve always yelled and made idle threats. So now at five and seven, when I DO punish them, or try to, it’s like a joke to them, and because I don’t stay consistent, it doesn’t stick. I don’t stay consistent because truthfully, it’s a lot of frickin work, hard work, and I often just don’t have the motivation to do so. So a day of taking care of them alone for eight hours, is like a day of torture for me, and that’s sad. It should not be that way, because I do love my sons with all my heart, they’re the reason I’m still here, but man…. They sure can make it easy for me to allow them to drive me crazy. I often beat myself up about this, and I feel like a poor excuse for a mother because I can’t even control my own children, but it’s all truth. I WANT to be a better mom, I WANT to be able to get my kids to listen, and so on. With that said, ever since this no kids at the flea market thing has caused weekends to be miserable, I fight with my husband every Saturday and Sunday morning, having an extremely child like fit over the fact that he’s continuing to stay at the flea market instead of staying home with me and helping, because he knows.
The morning of Sunday March 8th, I lost it. I woke up completely pissed off because I just did not feel like taking care of both the boys by myself that day, but yet I wouldn’t allow him to take them to his sister’s house because it’s disgusting and just isn’t a good place for them. Plus I was so angry at myself for not being able to care for my kids like a normal mom, and that was just making me angrier, and though no one knew, it wasn’t at them, it was at myself that I was getting angrier at, because I could feel myself losing it over this, this stupid thing. I yelled at my husband, called him all kinds of names, said I wasn’t watching the kids, that I would go back to the bedroom, all kinds of stupid, ignorant things. I was SO angry, not just at this whole situation, but at everything it seemed. I had cut myself the day before, not in front of my children or anything, it was later in the evening when my husband was home. Cutting is something I haven’t done since I was a teenager, but I took a utility knife/box cutter, and I locked myself in the bathroom and made several cuts. My husband found out because he somehow managed to see them. So during this fight on Sunday, he eventually tells me he’s calling the police to come get me, he picks up the phone and starts to call…. and I go ballistic, totally nuts, I blacked out….. I reached over the hallway banister and pulled his hair so hard that I picked him up off his seat, my husband is not a small man. I continued on into the dining room where I was told that I picked up the microwave and threw it across the room, and also destroyed the stand it was on, and managed to crack the antique French provincial desk that my husband bought me for Christmas, I cracked it all the way around. I seriously and honestly do not remember this, because I would’ve stopped because of my kids had I known what I was doing. My husband said they were yelling “mommy just stop, please stop and it won’t be so bad” pleading with me to stop the madness I was in. It brings me to tears and tears my heart apart that they had to see that. How can they trust a mother like that? I can’t imagine what their little heads were thinking, are still thinking. God how I have really fucked up with this one…. I don’t know if I can ever make it up to them…. that memory of me will always be there in their minds and I hate that, but my stupid, selfish ass did that.
So the police came and they called the EMS and by that time I was calmed down considerably but still very upset. I had also went to the kitchen to start taking as many of Klonopin as I could while my husband was on the phone with 911. So I imagine that had some effect to me being calmer. He smacked the bottle out of my hand so I couldn’t continue taking them, so I hadn’t ingested enough to be concerned about. I went cooperatively with the EMS and the police to the emergency room at our local hospital. The let me put a bra on and grab a few things before they took me and they were very nice. I gave my boys big kisses and hugs before I left and told them how sorry mommy was and that I was going to go to the hospital to get better and how much I loved them, then I walked out the door and got in the ambulance and left for the hospital. I actually got down to the psych unit pretty quick. I thought I was prepared for this, that I was really going to try to get better. I had no intentions of messing up or doing anything crazy while in there. Unfortunately, it didn’t stay that way for me.
That first evening/night that I was at the psychiatric unit, I went into one of the recreation rooms/areas to call my husband. I don’t know why I even called him in the first place because I should’ve known he wasn’t going to have anything positive to say, and probably nothing nice either, but I called anyway, hoping that this time it’d be different. The definition of insanity, right? Doing something over and over even expecting a different result. Anyway, I don’t even remember our conversation, all I remember is slamming the receiver down as hard as I could, (which apparently broke the entire phone), after that I remember bits and pieces, but for the most part I don’t remember much. I know what I was told by staff and patients the next day. I was screaming when I slammed the phone down, I left the rec room and tipped over the big potted tree they had in the hallway, then I went down to my room and continued screaming and hollering, staff gave me two shots of Ativan, and I still carried on, eventually tipping over my dresser. That’s when it got bad I guess, because like eight guys were outside my door, staff and security and they carried me out of my room kicking and screaming, trying to BITE and SPIT, down to the seclusion and restraints room, where they proceeded to strap me down and inject me with Geodon, and I eventually calmed down, but it was still all kind of hazy to me. Almost all the things I just said I did, is information I gathered from staff and patients.
I have been hospitalized more times than I care to count since I was twelve years old, and NEVER, I mean NEVER, have I had to be put in restraints. Now here I am, almost thirty fucking years old and look at me! I acted like a complete and total lunatic, not once, but TWICE in one day!!! Who the fuck does that?! That day was apparently it for me, my breaking point, for whatever reason, it’s what made the damn burst and it all came flooding out. Even though I know people do these kinds of things, that shit happens, it still does not stop me from feeling like a complete and total asshole, ashamed, embarrassed, heart broken that my kids had to see part of that, like a failure as a mother/parent, or from feeling so damn stupid for behaving that way. You just don’t do that… but I did, and I have before, sometimes close to that degree of severity. I should have this right by now, I should be able to deal with bipolar and borderline personality disorder and anxiety, better than this. I should be able to remember my meds EVERY single morning, instead of one day I do and the next day I don’t, so they never get into my system right. I take my night meds every night, but there are certain meds that can’t be taken at night and I’m out of options as far as putting me on something different, I’ve been on literally almost everything. I feel like a freak, like a giant mess, a fuck up. I can’t seem to get life straight and it shouldn’t be that hard.
Some of you may read this and think wow she needs to get it together or what kind of parent does that, some may think I’m doing a woe is me type of thing, and some may think I’m being hard on myself, beating myself up, whatever the case, just as you’re entitled to think what you want about this, so am I. This isn’t a pity part woe is me post btw, I want to clear that up now. “In My Words” is supposed to be about my life, my world, my feelings, the way I see things. That’s the whole purpose of this, that and to help even one person in some way by just one of my posts even. That would make all this worth it, for just that one person I touched.
I stayed in the psychiatric unit for eight days total. I didn’t sleep the whole stay this time like I have before in the past. I got up and went to all the groups, not just the rec group/arts & crafts group, I went to each one, and I stayed the whole time no matter how bored I got. I tried to get something out of each of the groups I attended. I journaled, I worked on my DBT Skills book, I read. The one thing I noticed I didn’t do enough of was pray… I need to work on that big time. I didn’t get along with the doctor, I’ve dealt with him two other times in a different psychiatric facility in a different area of the state, and we didn’t get along then. He’s callous, cold, uncaring, and he’s been doing this for too long. I didn’t feel like I got much use out of him. The only change he made for me was to add Paxil to my other two psch meds that I take. I’ve been on Paxil before, but it’s been so long I can’t remember if it worked or if I gave it enough time to work, etc. So I figure I’ll try it again for a few months, see what happens. All in all, I don’t really feel much better than I did when I went into the hospital. It would help if my husband and I could get along, if he would stop blaming me for literally ALL of our problems, stop screaming at me and calling me nasty names, that would all help things a lot, but I know I’m dreaming. I will never be good enough for him, because no matter how good I can be doing, he always finds something that I’m wrong about or doing wrong or are wrong for, whatever as long as I’m wrong. So it’s often like, why even try? But there’s a part of me that knows I need to build myself up, learn to not let his meanness and cruelness get to me or hurt me anymore, because I know that he too is sick mentally, but will not get help for it. He is truly right and living in his own world…. meaning no one can tell him anything, he simply doesn’t believe them, even if it’s one hundred people telling him, he’s right. Anyway, like I said, I don’t feel a lot different, but I think I have a little more motivation to get better than before.
I am not proud of what happened, about what I did, by any means. I’m actually very embarrassed and ashamed by my selfish and childish actions, but unfortunately they happened, and I can’t go back and change them no matter how hard I try. I normally do not freak out like this, I mean I have freaked out before, but this, this was different. I truly do think my mind had had enough and it just could not take anymore. I am so sorry to my boys, for putting them through that, and I hope one day I can help them understand why mommy has done some of the things she’s done. I’m a little sorry to my husband because I know each time I’ve been hospitalized or had a moment, he’s cared, even if he didn’t show it on the surface all the time. Although some of the times, if he hadn’t hurt me the way he did, emotionally that is, I most likely wouldn’t have freaked out. No matter what though, there are no excuses for my actions and behaviors, whether I black out or not, I should know enough to stop way before it gets to that point. I’m am almost thirty fuckin years old!! I need to get with the program or something. I feel like I’ve been trying forever to “get better” and I do good for a little while but then BLAM!, it’s back to the same old shit. Depression, anger, sometimes mania, anxiety, all of it, it starts rearing it’s ugly head again, and I lose myself with it. I have to conquer this once and for all. I need to work this every single day of my life, work to correct this, to find solutions and things that can work to finally squelch this crap. Nothing happens overnight I know, as much as I’d like it too, as we all would probably. This will take time, but I have to be sure and do it every day, try to live differently every day, because that is the only thing I can do, is try to make the next day more positive than the one I’m in. I know my strides will start out small, but I believe I can build them up, more and more until I’m taking large strides and I’ve finally achieved some things in life and living it. Bipolar, Depression, Borderline Personality Disorder, Anxiety, those things may always be there, but I don’t have to let them continue to take over me. Even though I may not feel motivated to do this, and I just want to sleep all the time, I know this is something I must force myself to do. I’m hoping that over time, there will be a detectable growth in different areas of my life, of my life in general. It’s time, time for me to be an adult, to do the things that I don’t want to do out of pure laziness and lack of motivation…. if my mom were still alive, she’d slap me stupid for living like this, oh my gosh would she be nuts with me, lol. She was an OCD clean person and she had a way or ritual for doing everything, and everything got done on time, she was always early for appointments, I’m always late, lol. Yeah, she’d be very upset with me. So I try to use that as motivation, that I’m doing it because I’d want to make my mom proud could she see me from Heaven.
I don’t know, an eight day hospital stay just didn’t seem to work the way I was hoping it would, maybe I put too much into the whole thing, too much hope. I knew the depression wasn’t going to go away in the short time I was there, but I guess that crazy part of me hoped it would somehow. That I’d leave feeling happy and chipper. But meds take time to work, too long if you ask me, four to six weeks, sometimes longer, is a long time to wait for someone who’s feeling depressed or manic or anxious or suicidal, etx. I’m going to do whateverP I have to to make sure I take my meds not only at night but in the morning too!! I’ve got a sign taped up right where I can see it first thing, I’ve set an alarm before, but I’ll figure it out and I’ll get on the consistently. I was thinking of keeping a little med journal about how I’m feeling each day and see if the meds are actually helping, and recording when I actually took them, if I did. I have to start with baby steps, or I’m never going to start at all and I’ll be this way for the rest of my life and that is so not what I want. So here I go, on this journey to “feel better”, this journey to getting my mental health in check once and for all, here I go down this path to learning to deal with my emotions in better ways, here I go in my struggle to take my meds correctly, just here I go! It is time, twenty – nine almost thirty years old with two kids and a husband of eight years, it just way overdue, it’s way past time for me to be getting it together, so I guess it’s now or never. I’m attending therapy once a week, or once every two weeks, I’m working on DBT. I’m going to start slow and go from there, one day at a time.
P.S. I realize that there is absolutely NO excuses for the things I did. Mentally ill or not, nothing I did was okay. There aren’t excuses for any of it, and I’m not trying to give any. Thanks! 😉
Originally I started this blog as a suggestion of my therapist. Because I like to write, he thought this might be therapeutic in ways to me. So, I decided to try it and I liked it, it felt good to get it all out. One of the main topics of my blog posts have been about the love that I have for another man other than my husband, the person I call ‘D’. To me, D is the other half of my soul, the missing piece to my heart. I won’t gush a bunch about my feelings for him because all you need to do is read some of my other posts to know what those are.
Even though D is my best friend and the person I love the most in this world, in a romantic and non familial way, I still did not tell him about this blog. I didn’t tell him when I started it, back in December I believe, and I didn’t tell him up until last night, the night before his birthday, actually it was past midnight so it was his birthday. That was wrong of me. I should have told him when I began this. I should’ve told him not only because this blog contains some of the things he’s shared with me, but because he IS my best friend and the person I love most. He’s a sensitive kind of man and I should have known that this would possibly upset him. I guess I let myself think that because this is an anonymous blog, written under a pen name, with everyone I mention in it’s names changed to protect them, that it was somehow “okay” to not tell him…. but it wasn’t. I should have told him simply for the act that he is a big part of it and he is my best friend.
I have tested this man many times since we’ve started talking, because of my craziness…. my irrational feelings and emotions, my constant up and downs, my tantrums and whatever else. I’m not exactly together. He’s always been there though. Even when it was hard for him to find time or ways to get away from his every day life to talk to me or video chat, he still would, even if not as often some times than others. He always has made time for me and he’s always listened to whatever bullshit I have to say. He has believed in me this whole time even when there hasn’t been much to believe in, including at the present time, and I let him down.
I imagine that he is feeling pretty unsure of my honesty to him in all of our relationship, which hurts to think, because honest is all I’ve ever been. This was seriously probably the one thing that he DIDN’T know. I’ve laid myself bare otherwise. I also know he’s hurt, because I didn’t feel that I could come tell him right away that I was writing this. Even if he would’ve been upset by it, he’d have been okay eventually I think, had I just told him right off, but now…. I don’t know. It seems I’m always finding ways to screw shit up in my life, whether it’s with him, my husband, or someone or something else. I do things and then I look back and I say, “wow, what the actual fuck was I thinking?!”, and it’s all the time, not just sometimes. I’ve hurt someone I care deeply for and love like crazy, and even worse than that is it’s his day today and should be a happy day and I’ve screwed that up royally.
I honestly don’t know what I’ll be doing with this blog at this point. I may try and figure out how to delete the whole damn thing, or I may just delete every post that has anything to do with him, if that is what he wants me to do. That’s his choice and he deserves that choice, I should have given it to him a long time ago. I truly am a selfish person in many ways, ways that no one in the blogging world knows about. They have yet to have been written. But I am. Not just with D, but with my family as well. I am so wrapped up in my own feelings and my own misery and negativity that I often fail to see what those around me are going through or what I’m doing to them because of the way I am, sadly including my children. I am almost 30 years old and I still have so far to go in growing up. I did not mean to hurt my best friend, by no means at all…. that is always the last thing I want to do to those I love, yet seems to be the first thing and most common thing I do. I do apologize to him here and now for not telling him when I started writing about him, that was wrong and I should have. I never meant to violate anything in our relationship. Know one thing, it is a constant to hear me say, I write what I’m feeling when I feel it often without thinking, just as I often act first and think about it later, it is not an excuse, but it is truth. I love you and you know it.
I do enjoy blogging, I am just very depressed right now and even blogging is not something I care to do really at the moment. My heart feels shattered into millions of pieces right now. Life is never going to be any different for me, I must accept my fate in life. I fuck everything good in my life up. I fuck up everything period. This probably sounds like a pity party, and maybe it is, I don’t even care really. I’m just so tired, I’m tired of fighting the sadness, the aching inside, the loneliness and so much more. My faith in God is the most shaken it’s ever been and I’m just not sure about anything anymore, why I’m even here. I appreciate all my followers and readers and I will write again, hopefully soon, just nothing with any real context right now. I just wanted to let everyone out there who follows or reads me to know. Thanks. I do apologize. Hopefully within the week I’ll have written something worth while.
I feel so alone right now, like no one will ever understand. I also feel ridiculous for feeling this way over something like sex, but I can’t help it. I feel like it’s going to drive me insane, combined with everything else in my life it’s just becoming too much. See, I am almost thirty years old and my husband is twenty-five years older than me, making him fifty-five this year, and as I’ve mentioned in other blog posts, we have not had actual intercourse in what’s going on three years now I believe, give or take a little. He has severe type one diabetes, as well as neuropathy and gout arthritis and a few other things. He’s on a lot of medications of course too. We have tried all kinds of things, pills, pumps, creams, you name it, and nothing…. he just cannot get an erection.
There was a time when we were at least still having oral sex and doing the things we could still do, but even that has become rare. A big part of this has to do with the state of our marriage, as we do not get along well at all and are often fighting. To be honest, most of the time I cannot stand him, and the thought of him touching me appalls me. He is a mean and nasty man and most days I wish I would’ve never married him. (I know some of you are saying at this point, “then why don’t you just leave him”, unfortunately, that is not possible, which is a whole other story in itself that I’ll save for another time.) There are days where I try to force myself to have feelings like I used to for him, I pray that God will help me to get those feelings back. For the most part though, most days I have no attraction of any kind to him and I am simply co-existing with him. There are days when he tries to be nice, I can tell, and for those few hours or for that day, I see the man I married. Occasionally we do make love, (if you can call it that), and when we do, I am forcing myself to do so the whole time, as well as thinking of someone else the whole time too. Sad and pathetic, I know.
I have always been a very sexual person. In my younger years I was extremely promiscuous. I’ve always loved sex, wanting it everyday if I could get it. I love every thing about sex. I started having sex at very young age, too young, and I pretty much never went without for more than month at a time after that. When I married my husband we had a very active sex life all the way up until he started having ED problems. Then it was like I was just cut off abruptly. This was like a shock to the system or the psyche more like for me. Of course I have toys and I know how to take care of myself, but it’s just not the same. Just as only having oral sex with my husband just isn’t the same. It’s not the same as being penetrated by a man.
I could go out and find some random guy and bang his brains out, of this I have no doubt…. but that isn’t what I want. I get offers from different guys that I’ve known for however long, messaging me on facebook, etc. And as tempting as that sometimes is…. there is only one person that I want to have sex with…. and though it should be my husband, it’s not….. D is the only man that I want, but I can’t have him. (If you’ve read other blog posts you’ll know that D is the man that I love but am not with and can never have.) I have begged him and begged him to please, please come see me, just once, just one time and I swear this would all be better…. but for reasons of his own, he is not able to come. I don’t know if this means that he’ll never be able to come, or if it means that someday he’ll be able to, but he just doesn’t know when so he doesn’t say anything about it, I don’t know….. Whatever the case, this man D, he is the only one that I want and I want him so bad that there are days that I truly feel like I’m going to come completely unglued, go for real live nuts. I ache inside for him to make love to me, my heart hurts so bad. I sometimes wish that someone else would come along and make me feel the way he does, but someone who can actually see me, someone who can come to me. This has been going on for a year and a half with D and I now, and it was bad before him, but now that he’s in my life and I’ve fallen so deeply in love with him, it just makes it even worse.
I actually started going back to therapy over this and some other things recently. That’s how bad this is, how serious. I already have a deep underlying depression that I’m working on fixing, and now I have this to add to the depression and let me tell you, most days I think a lot about dying. No, I’m not suicidal, not in the manner that I’m going to do something to myself, however I do not care whether I live or die, in fact, I pray for death most days. It isn’t just not having sex that makes me feel that way of course, there are a whole bunch of reasons combined together that make me feel that way, the not being able to have sex is just like the icing on the cake…. it’s like what makes the cookie crumble…. and this cookie feels like she’s crumbling most of the time. I am on depression meds, I’ve been taking them right, as well as my mood stabilizers. I’m back in therapy. I pray all the time, I read His word. I don’t know what else to do. I know this may sound ridiculous to some, but I just want to have sex!!!!!! At this point, I’m almost starting to not care who with, but then I regain my composure.
I don’t know anymore…. I’m not in love with my husband, he can’t have sex with me either way….. I’m in love with a man I shouldn’t be, a man who’s married himself and lives fifteen hours away…. I want sex so bad I can’t stand myself…. I’m depressed all the time…. I feel hopeless most days…… as always, I’m a mess.
So, if you’ve read certain blog posts of mine, you’ll have read about D, the man that I am in madly in love with but is not my husband. Crazy sounding, I know, and it is. I love this man more than life itself, I love him by far more than I’ve ever loved my husband, (sad I know). But he is also my best friend…. and I’m afraid I’m losing him. We have now been talking on an instant messenger and seeing each other on cam for a year and a half…. almost everyday with talking to one another. He has been there during some really bad times for me…. He’s seen me at my worst and he has stuck by my side still…. but everyone has a point where enough is enough, and I’m afraid that I’ve pushed him to that point. Throughout my lifetime I have been diagnosed with bi-polar disorder and borderline personality disorder and I seem to have a problem with remembering to take my meds on a consistent basis, so I’m never really “better” I don’t think…. as you would guess, this makes me a hard person to have any kind of relationship with a lot of the time…. and I don’t even mean for it to be that way. You would think that I’d have this crap under control by now, I’ll be thirty years old in June, but still I don’t. I would love to take part in dialectical behavioral therapy, but with no groups like that offered in my area, it makes it pretty hard to do and most counselors won’t work DBT with someone solo. They want them to be a part of the group. I do believe it’s the BPD (borderline personality disorder) that screws up my relationships more than anything. I have a huge fear of being abandoned, yet I seem to push those I love the most away from me, without even realizing it or meaning to. I am a selfish person as well, once again, without meaning to be. I tend to be impulsive at times. I can be very manipulative. All of these things I do without realizing most of the time, because I’m not mindful of myself at all, not self aware, and it’s sickens me to think that I can be like this. Well, D has seen all of this. He says he’s tired of my excuses and that I don’t listen to anything he tells me, so why should he keep trying? And he’s right…. as hard as it is for me to admit, I do make excuses… a lot. I know what my problems are obviously, but I’m not doing anything to fix them, not really. He told me a couple weeks ago that he refuses to be there to watch me waste away and I don’t blame him I guess…. I don’t know though, because I always thought that’s what real friends were for, but I guess it hurts him to watch me be this way. Because slowly, I’m giving up and I have been…. no I’m not planning on killing myself, unfortunately I don’t have the nads to do that, but I have been gradually getting worse, to the point where I just don’t care about anything anymore, I hurt so bad inside and I’m so sick of trying. It’s been a constant battle in life it seems since I was a child, there’s always been something to overcome, and I’m just very tired of it I guess you’d say….. tired of life…. just plain tired. I sleep most of the time, part of me thinks my body gets so tired and shuts down because I don’t have to think about anything when I’m sleeping. He’s been watching all of this now, for a year and a half. Listening to me whine and complain about the same damn thing all the time, yet still never really doing anything about it. Even I know that no matter how much you love someone, it’s hard to watch that, to hear it, to deal with it. I’m forever asking him what’s wrong, is he mad at me, did I do something wrong, etc., etc., and he hates that, which I don’t blame him for, I see where it gets annoying, because most of the time, everything’s fine. It’s in my own mind that I think something isn’t. And I’ve done that, a lot. Freaking out because I haven’t heard from him, thinking he’s not talking to me for some bad reason, blowing things out of proportion, making up crap in my own head that isn’t even really there…. and I have no idea why I do these things!!!! He’s tried to be there to support me, to talk positive to me and at times I just kept talking negative things back to him, making it impossible to be positive with me, he’s given me all the advice he has and I haven’t taken any of it, even though it’s been good advice… he’s even offered to help me in any ways he could, including financially and I turned that down to in so many words. Then there;s my obsession with him coming to see me…. oh my God….. I can’t even begin to tell you how many times I’ve begged him to come see me, how much it drives me nuts because I want to see him so bad…. I’ve bawled my eyes out on cam with him because it’s something I want so badly, but it just can’t happen, not now anyway, and maybe never. And that is one of the hardest things for me to accept…. I don’t know if I can go on with this knowing that he’s never coming to see me. I’ve asked him to just please at least tell me if he thinks it will ever happen, and I can’t even get that. I know it bothers him to hear me hurting so bad over wanting to see him, because he feels like it’s his fault and that he’s the one hurting me…. and even though it’s related to him, I know it’s not his fault. He has a wife, a job, a life, things he can’t just leave and say ‘Oh I’m going away for a few days’…. But in ways, he could come, like when she’s gone for weeks at a time working. I can’t explain to him or anyone else why I need to see him so bad, I don’t even understand it myself, I just know in my heart that I need to and that if I did, I would feel so much better. All of these things though are becoming too much for him I believe and that’s why he has stopped talking to me like we were. He told me today that that’s why he hasn’t been around as much, because it’s always the same with me and I’m not doing anything to fix it. But I want him in my life, I can’t see it without him. He’s literally been one of the only things that’s kept me holding on. Him and my boys. I finally felt like I found someone who loves me for me no matter what…. and I’m sabotaging it I think, just like I always do. It seems I destroy everything I love and I’m tired of it. I don’t want to lose my best friend, I’m not sure my heart can take any more hurt like that.