Tag Archives: Bad Day

The Day My Mom Died

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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. 

 

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How I Ended Up In The Psychiatric Unit and More

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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! 😉 

Very Stupid

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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 Think I May Have Ranted ;-)

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What a day…. The kids had no school due to weather. Then we had a problem with our plumbing, a big problem… stuff leaking in the basement, has to do with a toilet being backed up, my husband, one of his nephews and a the old owner who’s a friend, were over here digging up the septic, (which means they dug through all the snow first), and running a snake through the pipes, draining buckets of icky nasty disgusting stuff…. it was insane…. and it’s still not fixed!!! So tomorrow we have to get a snake that will fit down the toilet or some crap like that. (No pun intended.) I just really hope we get it fixed…. we do not and I mean do not have the money to pay for a plumber. THIS is just one of the many reasons I did not want to buy a house, but my husband insisted…. so yeah. We all need showers/baths, the boys have their Valentine’s Day parties tomorrow, plus our youngest made MVP of the week in his class so he gets to sit at a “special” table at lunch and have his parents come. PLUS they have a Valentine’s dance tomorrow night that they have to have a parent attend with them and I have outfits to find, clothes to wash, and I have no clue if I’ll be able to do anything that has to do with water!! I am freaking out!!! Not to mention…. things with D…. I don’t know what’s going on there, but they’re different. God I love him so much…. what is wrong with me!! And all I wanna do is sleep!!! It’s like the walls are closing in…. Actually, I really want to write so much more right now, but I’m so friggin tired and have so much to do tomorrow that I can’t! Oh, and it’s freezing in here! lol It’s so damn cold outside, like the arctic circle! I can feel cold air coming in on my feet when I stand at the counter in the kitchen… sad. Well, I think my little rant is done now. Thanks! 🙂