Being Me

Another day. Another day. Another day. Scream. Cry. Laugh it all off. Be fucking normal! Be fucking normal! Be fucking normal! Reply to messages. Be considerate. Quiet that voice. Shut it up. Shut it down. Be fucking normal! Scream! Scream! Scream! Meditate. Why? What’s the point? Trust the universe? This life… The afterlife… What is now? Be present. Pain. Exhaustion. Appreciate. Work harder. Be stronger. Change. Don’t scream. Breath. Relax. Cry. Don’t cry. Focus on the normal. Focus on sanity. What is sanity in an insane world? Fake it until you make it. What does that even really mean? and why? Why? I hate me. I love me. So many mistakes. Move forward. Change. Be real. Be confident. Keep on. Don’t give up. Old. Ugly. Worthless. Wasted years. So many more to come. Stay healthy. Get a job. Make money. Spend it to feel beautiful. Exercise. Who cares what I think they think! My mind is not my friend. My mind is cruel and unforgiving. It does not like me. If it did it would be kind and considerate. The world scares me in a way. People scare me and yet they don’t. I was brave once. At lease semi-brave. I am angry. So very angry, at me, at my mind. I want to disappear. To disappear. Into oblivion. I want to connect and be a part of society. I hate me. Who the fuck am I? The point is, there is no point. Just live. Stop thinking so much. Just live. Just fucking live! Be open. Be you. Do not listen to your mind when it says, “lazy worthless stupid bitch”. Do not listen. It’s okay to be crazy. If crazy is what you are. Crazy… What an awful word. Don’t define me. Don’t define myself. I almost gave up again last night and I thought -I am crazy. I will never fit into this world. I will never be a success in the eyes of society. I will never be able to pull it off.. being “normal”. I am not and never will be. Where does that leave me now? How do I move forward now? I have wasted my life away or have I? I don’t want to pretend any longer. I am struggling. I need help. I need support. I need to be me. I need to… I need to… I need to scream! and scream and scream. To go back and time and come out normal. What I wouldn’t give to go back in time and come out normal! Fuck!

Consistency is not my Forte

I am accepting consistency is not my forte. In the past my inner voice would have told me what a worthless failure I am. I know my patterns now and how I beat myself into a downward spiral of self hatred. It only took me 44 1/2 years and 2 grown children hating me for me to get it! Yesterday I visited a girlfriend, one I appreciate beyond measure. She let me talk and talk and talk. We discussed the entire path of my life, beginning when I was 8 years old and my eye doctor touched my butt (he touched my butt every time I saw him, twice a year until I was 15 and moved to a different city). We talked about all the ugly things and some of the beautiful things of my life. Things I have discussed with therapists many times, but for some reason this time it all clicked for me and I understood how I got to where I am and why I am the way I am. And maybe, just maybe I finally feel strong enough to free myself. Maybe, just maybe, I finally know deep in my heart that I am not worthless (at least for today).

Feeling Sorry for Myself and Celebrity Suicide

I don’t. I don’t feel sorry for myself. My life’s not great, but it isn’t bad. I have a lot to be thankful for, but that doesn’t make the urge to die any less. Is this how celebrities who complete suicide feel?  I was reading comments on an article today; an article discussing Robin Williams and his son’s grief. A woman commented how hurt she was over her sister completing suicide and how she couldn’t believe her sister had done that to her. I’m still not sure exactly how that made me feel, a bit sad, a bit angry, and a slew of other emotions. One of my son’s close friends passed away this month, on May 7th. She was 12. When I think about that I feel like a piece of shit selfish asshole mother fucker. But I still feel like I want to die. As a matter of fact I really don’t think I have ever been this close. I see why people pop random pills. I see why people don’t leave a note. I wish we were technologically capable of doing full body transplants and I could leave someone my physical health. But I think I’ve mentioned that in the past. It would be nice to be able to donate my organs, but not necessary. Ah hell. At some point I’ll quit writing about it and just do it.

Today I Want to Die

Today I sincerely want to die. I no longer want to exist, through my entire being. I am holding on for my kids, but I don’t want to and if this feeling lasts I fear I won’t make it. This is the problem with thinking someone is fine. The reason, I suspect, why people complete suicide at a time when everyone thinks they are happy and their life had gotten so much better. Everyone in my life is under that impression. Most days I even write (or journal) about how hopeful I am now and how I am fighting the depression, but it’s really all a lie, because our society does not give a true ounce of caring to a person who cannot fight the depression and win and “get over it” eventually. Our society loves the “I beat depression” story. Our society also loves the “If only we’d seen it sooner” story when someone completes suicide. But the person who attempts to fight the depression and suicidal thoughts again and again, year after year, our society would prefer all of us just disappear. I can’t get a job, then I can’t hold a job. Disability isn’t enough to live on. On my good days I can come up with ideas for a side hustle to make some extra money, but attempting to implement it by myself is impossible, especially when I have a bad day like today. And if I tell my friends and family members I am struggling and contemplating suicide, they don’t know what to do any more and half of them think it is just a manipulation and I am lazy and selfish. I wish my kids didn’t need me. I wish me being gone wouldn’t effect them. I just want it to be over once and for all. I can’t handle another cycle of depression. I don’t want to be on this earth any longer. I really don’t. I just want to go to sleep and never wake up. Is that too much to ask?

Working through it

TRIGGER WARNING rape

I was 14 the first time I was raped. He was 21. It was my fault though.

I had been staying the night at my best friend’s house. Her mom was young (she was 15 when she had her). A single mom with 3 kids. She worked a lot of hours. A day job at a retail store and a night job at a local bar. She didn’t receive any child support from the father of her children and they lived in a rundown trailer park. My best friend was dating a friend of the man who raped me. He was 22 I believe. They were so fun and so cool, and they had a car! They picked us up that night and took us to a cemetery near their apartment. They bought us alcohol and I remember drinking from the time we climbed into the vehicle. I WAS 14! After the cemetery they took us back to their apartment. It was fun. We were laughing and talking. I was the girl with the attitude and it was the first time I learned to let men make mean jokes towards me for being loud and outspoken. It’s been a lot of years since then and I don’t fully remember the night, but I know I ended up on a mattress in the bedroom with that man. I remember being back at my friend’s house and all of them laughing and joking about it. I remember being called a slut and a ho. I remember never telling my parents and I remember beginning to believe I was all the negative things our society says women are. I WAS 14! After that I remeber all the times I let men touch men when I didn’t want them to. I remember saying no, then saying no again, and again, but finally giving in. I remember hating myself from that day forward. I remember the few men I have confided in over the years all telling me it was my fault. I remember girlfriends I confided in laughing it off or telling me their similar stories and then we’d go about our days.

And I remember last week, when at 44 years of age I went on a date with a man who is 56. I remember how he kept grabbing my hand and touching my back, hugging me and trying to get a kiss and all I could do was laugh it off. I couldn’t speak up and say “No”. I couldn’t utter the words, “I don’t like that” or “that makes me uncomfortable”. What kind of 44 year old woman can’t handle a little hand holding and a kiss? I have 4 kids for God’s sake! Just let the man show these little bits of affection. It’s innocent enough!

I saw my therapist on Wednesday. I cried so hard she had to remind me to breathe, Several times. And then I cried some more and the tears are flowing as I type this. I cried for that 14 year old girl. And I cried for that same girl when she was 12 and the boy took her in his tent at the camp ground and he convinced her to touch it and she hated it. and there was no adult to protect her and when she returned to her own camp sight her own father asked her where she had been and called her a floosy. SHE WAS 12! 

What kind of father, what kind of society blames a 12 year old girl? What kind of society tells a 14 year old girl it is her fault when a 22 year old man rapes her? What kind of society conditions so many women to believe they are less than? They are undeserving of body autonomy? I wish I could have been there for that little girl who was me. I wish I could have held her and told her it wasn’t her fault and to stay strong. That she was worthy. That no man had the right to touch her body without her full and open consent! I would make sure she knew so she wouldn’t become me! She wouldn’t have learned to just let them do it and get it over with so you can get out of the situation. She wouldn’t have learned to settle and put up with 2 unhealthy and abusive relationships. She wouldn’t have family who supported her abusers and continued the cycle of victim blaming. She wouldn’t be me and I would be okay with that. I am thankful I have worked through the suicidal ideation and won’t make another attempt, but I wish I was the woman I could have been. I wish I could go back to when I was 10 and start over.

Trusting the Universe. A Time for Letting Go

I continue to be free of any suicidal ideation. I am changing. Life is changing. I am still stuggling with my depression and anxiety, but I am fighting it like I never have. The situation with my ex was a minor blip in my journey. I have worked through it and am able to move past it and continue moving forward. I have been putting my trust in the universe and I encourage others to do the same. I am strong. I am moving forward. My life is full of beauty and abundance (even when things are rough). There is no reason for hate or sadness. It is time for me to let go. It is time for the next step in my journey. It is time to go inward. It is time to believe. Love from here on out. No hate for him. No hate for anyone. Life is good and beautiful. I have happiness within me. I am the only person in charge of my destiny. I am done, fully and completely, hating myself.

To the New Woman

Dear Erica,

It shouldn’t bother me that you are with him, but lately I have had to remind myself that I was the one who kicked him out. I didn’t want to be with him and there are many reasons for that. At the end of February this year I made a mistake and let him back into my life. He told me about the baby on the way. I don’t think it’s yours though. You already have four kids and he said the pregnant one was a different woman. A woman he only had sex with twice, removed the condom, and low and behold the woman ended up pregnant. He and I hooked up four times since we started talking again in February. What was I thinking? He pitched our son’s conference to me. Invited me to come along on the little road trip to visit his brother. A little family vacation, him and I our son and my oldest son. I fell for it all so quickly, but I knew in my soul that something wasn’t right. He told me you were spiritual like me and that you have four kids with two different fathers like me. He also said you were crazy like me and he had to block you on social media and every other avenue and he was never going to unblock you, but we both know that wasn’t true. He got mad at me quickly because I wanted things to turn into a real relationship. I asked him to spend time with me and I wanted to know more about the baby (the due date for instance). My dumbass was already fantasizing about raising his baby together with our son (I should slap myself I know). I fell into it so quickly. We even spent a night with our son sleeping on the air mattress in the living room while he and I “made love” (his term not mine) in his room. I want to vomit when I think of it. I’m inclined to think you are like the other women he has had in his life over the years. None of them ever stopped to think about the 13 years I spent with him. They jumped to believe I am “the crazy white bitch” he says I am, but you’ve met my kids. My amazing kids! They didn’t raise themselves. He wasn’t there close to the amount of time you think he was. I can’t remember a single evening he sat and helped Cristian with his homework. When we lived together he left at 8:00 am and didn’t get home until 9:30/10:00 almost every night. You’re probably inclined to believe it was because I was such a horrible bitch. I can live with that. I remember when he and I were first dating. I was a single mom with 3 kids. Our first Christmas dating he borrowed $2000 from me. A single man in his thirties borrowing $2000 from a single mom with 3 kids? That picture alone should tell you something. There were so many nights he would disappear and not answer his phone and yet I still wanted him in my life. This went on for years. Years! 13 to be exact. But I chose to stay. I am thankful I finally found my way out. Last year on this exact day was the last time I saw him until a little over a month ago. And I was fine when his standard behaviors showed up again. I saw myself going back to my old habits of getting upset and I knew I didn’t want to go back to that. Then he accused me of attempting to hack into his email and I wondered if it was you who did that. The next morning I woke up and he had blocked me on all of his social media and that’s when I found you. I was mad. How did this man, who hadn’t paid child support over the entire past year, afford all of these outings and activities with a woman and her four kids? A man who everyone thinks is a fabulous dad had time for this woman and her four kids, but saw his own son ONCE over Christmas break? So many thoughts ran through my head, but mostly I hoped that you saw my wonderful son and as a mother realized this kid is a product of his mother raising him, not his part-time dad. And maybe just maybe you thought about what I had gone through. Then I got pissed. My mother informed me she paid his rent a little over a month ago. Why is this man who can afford dating a woman with four kids and has another woman pregnant borrowing money from my mom? What about you? What about her? What about your mom? Her mom? All the friends who attend his parties and events? His own family? Thankfully I was able to calm myself and not contact you or attempt to find the pregnant woman. I did speak with his older brother though and I was thankful for that. He validated me. A grown man at the age of 45 who lives in a one bedroom apartment, doesn’t pay child support, and supposedly works 12 hour days, should be able to afford his own shit and not be taking money from his ex-wife’s 75 year old mother! And that is why I am pissed. I know now I want a real love and I will never find it with him. I am thankful he and I had this brief hook up thing. Now I can walk away with a clear conscience knowing he was never and will never be a stand up honest and supportive partner for me, for you, for anyone, until he faces his addictions and lack of self awareness. That being said I do hope it works out for you and him. From your social media you seem like a good person and my son has never said anything bad about you. I hope someday you can see me as a woman who has gone through hell and not just the crazy white bitch he has always said I am.