Between then and now, somewhere over the rainbow?

It’s been awhile, and it’s been heartbreaking.

This is my first time dealing with someone very close to me committing suicide.  I knew some people from high school who did it, even one formerly close-ish friend.

I didn’t know.  Didn’t expect how fucking ridiculously hard this could be.

It was almost Christmas, our personal family Christmas Eve as my stepdaughter was home with us.  I got the older kid to bed, and was about to tackle bedtime with the preschooler and then wrap all of their gifts to put under the tree.

I got a message from the girlfriend he had after me, for roughly the same time we were together (3-4 years).  It seems that the history works in 3.5 year long cycles.

He shot himself in the head.  I couldn’t breathe after I read that news, I think I fell on the floor.  I don’t remember anything but panic, disbelief and horror.

It’s been three weeks now… closer to four since he did it, as he wasn’t found in his house for awhile.  I dealt with missing the burial because my life was out of control, and I suffered / survived the memorial.  I went across the country to visit my sister’s family for a bit.

Tbh I have just been fucking miserable.  Everything is awful.  Our world, our country, everything.  My job is mentally, physically, mentally and emotionally taxing.  I am almost done with my degree and this appears to be my hardest quarter yet.

And I started this quarter with no spoons.  I started it worn out, and I keep getting migraines.  In the 45 minutes between work or class and another class, I cry in my car while I eat.

I know about grief.  I know that it gets better.  I’m an intelligent and thoughtful person, and I know that statistically speaking, it will get better.

I also am afraid that it won’t.  I don’t understand life right now.  We live and struggle and suffer, and then eventually die.  Why?  What’s the fucking point?

Everything is so hard right now.  Being me is really hard right now.  My marriage, my family, my children – especially my three year old stepdaughter who somehow got so fucking out of control, school, work, my house… even my cats are fucking pissing me off.

It’s getting to the point that I need to figure out how to pretend like everything is okay and like I am a normal person, because my world is going to fall apart around me.  I suppose I need to start faking it soon.


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Everything is blurry.  And sad.  And angry and maybe a touch paranoid.

If you find yourself Googling “mental breakdown symptoms” does that mean you’re probably not breaking down, or that you are?

I can’t keep up.  Except… I can. And I am.  The problem is that it’s like I got my sleeve caught in a car door and the car keeps driving at 80 mph.

It’s been awhile.  I wrote blog entries in my head and then somehow don’t make it to the actual site to write.  I think I need to write.  I need to get this shit out of my head because it’s crowding me.

Updates: *I got married a couple of weeks ago.  *I got a job.  A very physically, emotionally and mentally demanding job… because what else would I do? *We got two kitties.

It’s weird to have my identity shifting so much (new last name, blended family becoming official, new job in the field where I am studying) while also staying so painfully the same.

I’m drowning, and it’s worse than drowning in water.  It’s like quicksand… the old school quicksand in old cartoons.  I take a step and all of a sudden it’s paralyzing me, flowing into my breathing space.

I can make a list of what’s on my mind and maybe, someday, I can tackle it all.

  • School. Classes are long and tough, and I don’t have enough time or energy for homework. Ever.
  • Spouse. My husband and I get along really well… except when we don’t. Sometimes our mental health issues or even just our personalities and needs clash in a really bad way. We’ve been going to counseling together since August and it has helped, and also now it’s getting harder to find time for appointments.
  • Work. I work in a high needs pre-k class/daycare.  There isn’t enough support for kids who desperately need help, and whose behavior is like a tornado rolls through many times throughout the day.  I love these children and also I dread going there sometimes.  I feel ineffective there much of the time.
  • Exhaustion.  I am so fucking tired.  If all the shit I deal with regularly isn’t enough… I got really sick these last couple of weeks. I thought it was just a cold, and then it knocked me on my ass.  It’s been over 10 days now and I am still congested and achy and sleepy – no matter how much sleep I get.
  • Ex-wife situation. My husband’s ex-wife is, IMHO, a narcissistic.  At the very least, she possesses many of the trademark traits.  My husband has only just very recently BEGUN to see what’s going on and how she manipulates us and steps juuuuust slightly (or more than slightly) out of bounds SO FREQUENTLY.  He’s still so blind to it, though, and it’s hard to make him understand how much he feeds that monster.
  • Kiddos.  I love my children so much.  And my children are.. well, children.  My son is growing up and I feel like I can’t keep up with him.  He’s smart and sweet and snarky and I’m trying to push for him to be more independent and he pushes back.  My step-daughter is a threenager and is used to getting basically every fucking thing that she wants (except, you know, maybe for bio-mom to be less self-centered, but anyway).  I study child development and again, I have to push and fight to be take seriously by my husband so often (and again, thank FSM, he is getting better about this).
  • Money.  I am making shit money.  Husband makes quite a bit but shares half of it with ex-wife as alimony.  Of course, he takes on most of the immediate taxes so he actually brings home a lot less than she gets, which is special.  Once I graduate I will make more money and also, we gotta survive til then. And we might have a bit of a shopping problem – though I see it more as an organization problem.  Also, kids are expensive.  Our rent is REALLY fucking expensive.  And car payments, cell phones for 3 of us, daycare bill, after-school care bill and don’t even get me started on our medical expenses.  And both of us are anxious about it so it’s hard to even talk about.. not to mention actually address.
  • Me.  I’m unhappy with my hair, my body, everything.  I don’t know how to fix my hair, it got screwed up at the salon before the wedding.  I am losing weight (in fact, this is the least I have weighed since before I was pregnant with my son – ten years ago) but it doesn’t ever feel like enough.  It might not ever feel like enough.
  • Time. There isn’t enough of it. Ever. Husband needs to work more. I need more time for homework. We need to pay more attention to kids – particularly older one.  Where are those hours going to come from?
  • Rape anniversary. And my goddamn birthday and Halloween.  This week used to be my favorite.  I loved having my birthday right up against Halloween.  And now it’s the two year mark for what happened to me and it’s like a black hole that I am falling into… I don’t know how to paw my way out.  Not sure I even want out.  Maybe I want to remember and wallow and keep confirming that this happened and it shouldn’t have happened.

I’ll just keep swimming, for now.

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one two three one two three drink

“Here comes the shame.”

I got angry.  After an encounter with my partner a few weeks ago where he, well, kind of entirely emotionally-mentally broke down and lost his shit because I pointed out something shitty he had said… I have been all about shoving those feelings down.  Conceal, don’t feel, don’t let it show.  I was doing great with this approach, especially as we went on vacation and left shit behind us (and got engaged!).  Then we got home, to school / work / parenting stresses.  Then all of a sudden I wasn’t, because the way I got pushed over the edge today and treated like I didn’t exist in a bad moment was too much for me.  Too fucking much.

He left to do his thing, and I exploded.  I’m not prone to random bouts of violent anger much these days, I learned how to keep myself calm in therapy.  I broke today, and I could not be calm.  Crying really hard wasn’t enough, I was still angry.  I threw some things – my textbook, a plastic container of paperclips and then a plate.  The plate shattered in the kitchen, and I got more angry.  I started cutting my leg with a piece of the broken class.

It’s been a very long time since I have done that.  I even had an awesome tattoo planned for the area where I used to cut, primarily as a celebration of completing Cognitive Processing Therapy as well as covering up the scars.

It’s summer, and I like to wear shirts and go swimming and stuff.  We are going to the ocean with family soon.  I did not want to destroy my leg… I just wanted a way to catch my goddamn breath and come down from the tower of panic and anger and fear where I was precariously balancing.

The broken ceramic plate was too dull or thick or something, and I was aware of and afraid to go hard enough with something dull and possibly need stitches for many reasons – including that it’s finals and I don’t have time for that shit.

I sharpened a paring knife.  I only want to make one cut… enough to catch my breath.  I only wanted this on a tiny spot.  The area keep getting bigger, and then the shame kicked in.  I walked around my house, holding this knife that had blood on it.  I got blood on my yoga pants.  I felt sick.

The kitchen floor was covered in glass, and I did not know when the partner and the 2 year old would be home.  I swept it as best that I could.  I hid evidence.

Now here I sit, barely able to focus on homework that I need to get going on, and turn in very soon if I have any hope for passing.  It feels really hard.  I can’t think clearly – I’m missing connections and forgetting words.  I am tired.

I should probably tell my partner what happened before he figures it out on his own.  This is tricky – I don’t want to upset or hurt him, and I also realize that secrets are toxic (and probably unsustainable).

.Screen Shot 2016-08-06 at 7.28.34 PM


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Been awhile

Hello, old blog.  It’s been awhile.  A lot has happened and as I lie here in my Seroquel-stupor, waiting for it to bring me to sleep (hopefully sans the nightmares I had last night)… I want to catch up.  In no particular order.

I completed Cognitive Processing Therapy.  Holy crap, that was a bitch.  I did it.  I expected to feel… something? when I was done – pride, accomplishment, relief.  I didn’t feel anything, and I still don’t.  It’s kind of just surreal.  It’s been about a month and I am still waiting.

I moved.  I live with the partner now, and his daughter.  While I hadn’t slept at the old place in weeks, I did finally finish moving everything out of there on June 30th.  That night, I got drunk / got in an argument / wandered away / tried to kill myself / got picked up by police and sent to the ER where they tied my wrists to the goddamn bed and made me stop pulling off the heart monitors and stop trying to pull out the IV so I could run away.

Yeah, that happened.

Other tidbits:  my son left for his dad’s in another state (about a 2.5 hour flight) for 7 weeks.  Getting him on the plane was a nightmarish two day ordeal.  Ugh.

I went to, finally, a competent psychiatrist.  After dealing with incompetence and someone who didn’t give a fuck, seeing someone who goes above and beyond to actually fucking LISTEN is kind of the most amazing thing ever.  I started Seroquel last Friday, and it’s wrecking me.  The first day I literally couldn’t stand up for more than 10 minutes after well after 6pm, and I didn’t feel not-sick until about 24 hours after I had taken it.  Then it was time to take it again.

I cut my starting dose in half, and hopefully tomorrow I will hear back from the new awesome psychiatrist with a new plan.

After all that progress and struggle, I am moving on from my therapist.  Since I moved about 45 minutes north (in good traffic), it makes sense to be done.  The task of finding a new one is daunting (especially since our new health insurance doesn’t have the best in-network mental health providers so I have to really look around)… it’s also kind of nice, like a new beginning.  I am much different than I was when I started taking therapy seriously about 1.5 years ago.

Different, except, you know… still intermittently suicidal.  So apparently that’s a problem, right?  It’s been a tough few weeks.  I felt so trapped.  I moved out of my house and combined my family with another, and my partner picked that very night to be very insensitive and act like a dick in a way that he doesn’t usually.  All of a sudden I felt trapped and like I didn’t have a safe home.

Even before that, that entire day I was having fantasies about hanging myself while I moved out of the old place.  I was hopeful that those fantasies would stay there with that house, but they haven’t.  I see that happening everywhere – in my closet, on the staircase, in the bathroom, at the nearby park.  I want it to stop and I don’t (usually, necessarily) want to die.

When talking about this, my partner (in my perspective, I think he has a different one) basically said that I can’t be a good parent who loves our kids as much as I say I do and as much as I act like I do if I am actively suicidal.  When we first talked about it, he callously stated the only reason that he wanted me to stay alive was so that a parent doesn’t disappear from the 2.5 year old’s life and scar her emotionally.

Um, okay.  Yeah.  No one wants that.  If it were so easy for me get rid of suicidal thoughts by “oh yeah, the kids need me!” …trust me, I would have done that years ago.  In fact, I tried that.  My son is almost ten.  I have been doing my best here.

It’s been pretty rough.  There is no magic here.  It’s fucking hard work, and we are tired.  He’s had a groin injury that has affected our sex life, as has mental health issues I think, in addition to being sick (kiddos spread those diseases)… we’re not even having as much sex as we did when we were just together on weekends, and now we’re sleeping next to each other every night.

I see this happening, and I want to do something about it, and I am also fucking tired and sad and scared and I don’t have that kind of energy in me right now.

I’m also taking 12 credits in an intensive 6 week quarter (typical quarter is 10 weeks) and it’s all online + 33 hours of (unpaid) practicum.  I also really want to take on some babysitting/nannying jobs for some money.  I’m sure I can fit that in somewhere?

Where do I go from here?  I’m flipping my brain out with a new medication.  There’s a good chance I’ll have to try another one.  I have like 3 left to try before we have to really think out of the box, because I am allergic to so many things and so much doesn’t work for me.  I have an interest in electromagnetic therapy.  This persistent, chronic and deep depression has never lifted and it’s been at least sixteen years, if not longer.  I need something to work and I need it to work pretty fast.

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I did my nails, finally.  It was uncomfortable and wrong for them to be naked.  It felt wrong to do them…  my authentic self has painted nails, and I am not my authentic self.  I feel like an impostor.

So many triggers this week… including finding the bracelet (which I had forgotten about) that my rapist gave me on our first date… five months later on our SECOND date, he brutally assaulted and raped me, for hours and hours.

I wasn’t expecting to see that when I opened that old jewelry box, which was hiding behind the TV on my dresser.  I’m moving, and going through shit, and finding all sorts of things that I forgot existed.  I am not sure how long it took me to realize what it was, but I had instant dread and nausea when I saw it and picked it up.  I felt my brain making the connections.  I knew it was a bad thing, a thing I didn’t want… then I remembered.

Remembering was like being run over by a train and surviving, emotionally.

I wrapped it up in a plastic grocery bag and tied knots, as if it were something that could escape.  I didn’t want it in my house, or in the trashcan outside my house.

I dropped it in my neighbor’s outside trashcan.  I look forward to trash day, because then it will be gone from me completely.

Pain is triggering.  There is something wrong with my body – I have massive muscle knots all over.  A few got particularly bad.  I could barely use my whole left arm because of a large bulging knot on the right side of my neck, below my shoulder and mid-back.  Apparently I shake and jerk around a lot in my sleep, likely related to PTSD dreams.  I often wake up sore and hurting for no apparent reason, so I’m thinking that’s connected.

After gentle stretching, the partner massaging it and using heating pads all weekend – I can mostly use that part of my body now.

I’m so tired of being me.

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I just can’t anymore

Depression, panic, anxiety:  sometimes these words stop meaning specific things to me as I live them on varying levels day to day, especially when they are more or less kept within my control, or managed well enough to get by.

Sometimes, right now… they live in my skin, whisper in my ear, scream in my face…

My nails are my trademark and whatever substance makes me… me.  They have never been bare for so many days or weeks, not for 12+ years, at least.  I see them naked and it’s like I am disappearing and my hands are crumbling into pale sand.  Step one of giving up.

I was hiding in the bathroom, sitting on the floor in the dark, while drunk and emotional and triggered and pissed off.  I took some breaths.  I looked at social media.  I fought tears like I am now because fuck, I am fucking tired of crying.  Finally, I had gathered enough strength to stand up and rejoin my partner in the kitchen… promptly to (drunkenly) fall, hitting my upper arm against the bathtub in two places.  Ow.  I have two lines of bruises there now that I keep touching, and feeling those pain shivers when I do so.

I have to keep going and moving and trying.  Even if it means pointing the shell that I used to live inside of in the right direction, and smiling when appropriate, and hoping / wishing / praying / waiting to feel alive and okay enough again soon.

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Hurricane me

It’s raining inside my head.  Hard.  I guess it’s time for my usual midterm meltdown… too much on my plate, too many classes and worries, not enough support, too much math, not enough psychiatric drugs.

Not enough parenting breaks.  Not any parenting breaks.  Not enough alone time, or partner time, or sex time.  Or sleep.

Dealing with the bf and his ongoing struggles, including mental health issues, possibly quitting his job and struggling somewhat with getting a new one (while he supports TWO households).  He isolates himself when under stress… disconnects… forgets to acknowledge me (whether in person or via messaging, etc).  I get frustrated and hostile and/or withdraw, because you can only put yourself out there and be vulnerable so many times in a day and get nothing in return before you have to give up for your sanity…

…then might explode later.  And by “might” I do mean absolutely will explode and freak the fuck out on him, because I am fucking tired of being treated this way and I am patient and supportive and understanding, until I just can’t be anymore.

About to move.  One month and a week or so.  Still haven’t told family/housemates that we are going.  Need to do that.

I need a job.  I need my student loans to transfer to my new school without (more) problems.  I need my kid to adjust well, and then go to his dad’s in another state for 7 weeks almost immediately after the move, then come back and deal with  an extended family vacation almost immediately.  At least it’s with the bf’s family and not mine — they seem nice and well-bounded (unlike my family, where this would be a recipe for multiple homicides).

I managed to overwhelm my therapist and completely throw him off his game during the 9th session of Cognitive Processing Therapy yesterday.  I wasn’t expecting his questions about my sexuality / bdsm/S&M / sex work at that moment.  I got flustered.  And ashamed.  I think he realized he worded it badly, and felt bad, or something.  It was awkward and uncomfortable.  Not excited about going back… not excited about struggling through this process for FOUR MONTHS and still not being done.  9/12 completed.  At this rate, I’ll be done sometime in 2018.  I REFUSE TO QUIT.  This is literally one of the hardest things I have ever done and I fucking refuse to back down now, or ever.  At this point I am getting through it solely to prove that I can, to myself.

I’m leaning on intoxicants right now.  I have hope for the relatively distant future… I just need to live through tonight, tomorrow, this week and this month and next month first.

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