Tag: depression

Tornado Warning

There is a tornado warning today.

I want to find that tornado.

I want to run to that tornado and jump in head first.

I want to flail and rage and scream and cry while the winds whip around me. Let it do what it will to me.

I need to feel battered and bruised. I yearn for the physical pain to match the emotional pain.

I want to dance against the vortex until there is nothing left in me.

Let me float lifelessly in the fatal winds.

As the winds tire from carrying me, let it toss me into the calm, lifeless center.

Will there be peace there? Can I rest there forever? Can I live there forever?

I am my own tornado.

I will not let you see my vortex or feel my vortex. That is only for me to feel.

I created the turbulence I live in every day. Me. I did that. I own that. That is my burden to bare.

You will live in my calm lifeless center where you will feel safe. Where I can convince you and the world that all is well.

There is a tornado warning today.

I am that tornado.

Permission

I called my baby girl on my way home from work yesterday.  Actually, I was on my way to my therapy appointment.  She hadn’t been interacting with me like she typically does, and I hadn’t laid eyes on her in over a month.  I can always tell, sense, feel, when my girl is struggling. 

She was weepy as soon as we started to chat.  I asked her how she was, and she said she was alive and doing the best she can.  I told her I didn’t like the way that sounded, and I can tell she is starting to spiral into her darkness.  She unloaded some of what was bothering her. 

  • Working like a motherfucker and she still can’t get ahead
  • Barely being able to pay her bills and keep food on the table
  • Doing everything for drippy dick and getting nothing but criticism
  • Being responsible for everything in the apartment
  • Knowing she needs to leave him, but not knowing how to do it
  • Wanting to leave him, but not knowing if she can
  • Knowing leaving him will take her years to get over and he will find someone new in about a week
  • Feeling like the black sheep of the family
  • Feeling like she embarrasses the family
  • Staying away from family because it’s just easier

I interjected as she spoke.  Trying to encourage her to get therapy, to have someone else to talk to and bounce things off.  I told her to remember that relationships are two sided.  Everyone is equal. 

And then I stopped talking.  I realized that I had inadvertently created a mini me.  My girl watched me for 18 years.  She watched me being the problem solver.  She watched me cleaning, cooking, doing wash.  She watched me handle a full-time job, kids, activities, family.  She rarely heard me complain, rarely saw me cry and almost never saw me and her dad fight.  I let my daughter grow up to be a pleaser, just like me.  I let my daughter feel she needed to take on the weight of the world because that’s what she thought she was supposed to do.  I let my daughter grow up thinking she was responsible for everyone else’s happiness.  I let my daughter grow up thinking the woman handled her shit, the house shit, and everyone else’s shit without complaining or thinking twice about it. 

Wow.  That’s fucked up.  Seriously fucked up.  I did my girl a huge disservice and I hate it.  I apologized to her yesterday.  I wish I could make it up to her in some way.  I did tell her that relationships need to be a give and take.  No one person should be responsible for the majority of what needs to be done.  It’s a partnership.  Communication is key. 

How can I give my girl advice when I showed her how to survive in a dysfunctional relationship.  I gave her all the tools to play pretend so anyone looking in sees nothing, senses nothing.  I showed her to just keep smiling and doing what everyone expects of you.  It’s easier that way. 

I am so sorry, baby girl.  Your mom is trying.  She is trying to stand on her own two feet, to stop asking for permission to be happy, to stop looking for acceptance in the way she wants to live her life and to just do it.  She will hopefully show you how to run full speed at your dreams no matter what your age.  She will show you that she doubts herself, that she is scared to fail and be the butt of family jokes.  But I think she is going to do it anyway. 

Stay tuned, baby girl.

I Wish They Knew

I wish my family knew a few things about me.  About the real me.  The person I am now, not the person I was 20 years ago. 

 

I am not perfect.  Not that anyone in my family was thinking that I was.  No one is perfect.  We are all flawed in our own ways.  My flaws are much different and were created through different life experiences.  Some experiences they know about, some they don’t.  And that’s okay. 

 

I love my family.  I would do anything to protect my family.  Anything.

 

I am not strong.  Everyone thinks I’m “strong like bull” and nothing can hurt me or phase me and I can take on the problems of the world.  That is not at all who I am.  I tend to take on the stressors of others.  I carry them like they were my own.  I try to fix the stressors, fix the ones that I love and fix those that are hurting.  This hurts me in the long run.  I have maxed myself.  There is nothing left for me to give of myself.  I am numb to the hurt and heartache.

 

I do not want to disappoint anyone, ever.  Especially, my family.  I feel like I disappoint others when I don’t do or say or act the way I am expected.  It was hard for me to break free from the prison of always doing the right thing.  The right thing was typically someone else’s idea of what was right, not necessarily my idea of what was right.  I put many very important relationships to the test by not following what I knew to be true in my heart.  Some relationships were lost, some are okay, and some are still struggling.

 

I have a problem standing on my own two feet and saying no.  The is very true when it comes to possibly hurting someone’s feelings.  I overextend myself quite a bit.

 

I would much sooner ignore problems that might be creating friction and wait for it to pass.  Of course, this ultimately causes more problems and creates something I like to call the cycle of guilt.  I’m sure I am not the only one familiar with this cycle.  

 

I am not cold hearted or mean. I care more than I should at times. I guess I can come off that way when I’m doing all I can to stay afloat in my life. I have donned my armor over the years to help protect myself. No one wants to hurt or be the reason someone is hurting. Pushing others away is far easier than continually hurting the people I care about.

I am different. I am semi-okay with that. I am not traditional, but I am also not a rebel. I think I fall somewhere in between. I like my short, edgy hair. I like my tattoos and I will get more. I swear, a lot. I am probably not always socially correct. I can behave when society requires it.

I have different views on life. I am intrigued by spiritual healing. I have always had a bit of an ability to feel or sense things. I want to hon that skill. I want to expand my mind in various ways and not feel like I will be made fun of.

I want to live freely, without judgement, criticism, or punishment. I want to agree to disagree and keep moving forward. I want the decisions I make to be respected. In turn, I will do the same for others.

The Brady Bunch, Partridge Family and the Walton’s were not REAL!  No family is perfect.  Let’s accept that imperfection and just love each other.

Answers

I want someone to give me the answers.  I want the universe to show me the answers.  I want whatever God(s) are out there to slap me upside the face and shove the answers down my throat.

I need answers. 

I need to feel peace.  I need to feel comfort.  I need to feel stability.  I need to feel rooted. I need to feel safe.  I need to feel secure.  I need to feel heard.  I need to feel understood.  I need to feel love.

I need all those things.

Do I deserve all those things?

Am I worthy of all those things?

Do I deserve answers?

Am I worthy of answers?

Marks

I see the marks, feel the pain from the marks. Marks that I never thought I would have. No one would believe that I would have these marks. I still can’t believe I have these marks. I never thought I would understand the marks I see on others. I now understand. I understand the extreme mental anguish and despair that evoke the marks. I always thought I could handle it, handle my emotional pain. I never thought it could get worse. It got worse.

Was that day my rock bottom? I keep thinking about that day. I see it clearly; I hear it clearly. I remember. I remember fear, hurt, regret, disappointment, pain, embarrassment, despair, hopelessness. What I wanted was the darkness. The darkness of nothing. Was that the answer? Nothing? I wondered how long I would need the darkness; need the nothingness to last. Would it be for an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year? Would it be forever? Should it be forever? What would it be like, the darkness? Would it be like floating? Seeing everyone I loved, but I can’t get to them? Would I feel nothing? Would I feel the people I loved? Did the marks keep me from darkness, from nothingness? Maybe the marks saved me in some fucked up way. Did they?

It was a week ago that the marks showed up on my body. A week is not enough time to answer all the questions or figure out all the answers. Some days, waking up is the best I can offer. Other days, I want to conquer the world and give a big fuck you to all those judging me for trying to figure out my world. Why am I not allowed to be me, EVER? Always dancing the line between acceptable and hearing the disappointed tsk. Live for me, live for them. Live for me, lose them. Live for them, lose me. Why are there only two options?

Fuck. Do you see? This is where the marks come from. The exasperation, the desperateness, the hopelessness. My marks are mine. I own them, I understand them. I needed my marks.

Decision made

I think I have finally decided.  I finally decided I will eat myself to death.  Sound good?  Questions, comments, or concerns?  Why, you ask, would I even consider doing this?  Why not?!  I can consume all the awful, horrible things that this world has so lovingly created and that will cause havoc inside my body.  At some point the body will not be able to handle it and I will hopefully just go peacefully.  Even if I end up at an ER, I will have my DNR strapped around my neck and tattooed various places on my body, so everyone knows – DO NOT RESUCITATE.  But it can’t be that simple, right? I know it, you know it.  Jesus, why is keeping my mouth shut so fucking hard?  I just can’t stop it.  Open mouth, insert food.  Step on scale, swear and call myself names.  Fat ass being my favorite. 

What happened to me?  Why did I exit the weight loss surgery highway and start following the food truck path?  I sit here feeling like an overstuffed sausage link just waiting for the casing to split.  It’s fucking miserable, but I don’t stop. 

Is it stress?  Oh, absofuckinglutely it’s stress.  What about self-control?  Yep, total lack of self-control.  Do I feel shame for doing this?  The shame is mortifying, but it doesn’t make me stop.  What about guilt?  Guilt is what makes my world spin.  Of course, I feel guilty.  Guilty for disappointing people, guilty for embarrassing people, guilty for every fucking thing I have done wrong in my life.  And now, now it’s just out of control.  We all know control is an illusion, right?  But I want to live in that illusion of control.  I want to control the hand to mouth movement.  No, I want to be in control of my life. 

And, BOOM.  There it is.  It always comes out eventually.  The reason I mean.  I have no control over any aspect of my life.  None.  Nada.  Zip.  Zilch.  For all the people that are in my world, everyone has a different opinion of what my life should be like, look like.  And all I can do is shut down the feels and eat.  Cause if I’m gonna disappoint everyone, I might as well go big. Get it, go big…………….

If you knew…

If you knew it was the last time we would sleep in the same bed, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew the last time we said I love you was actually the last time it would ever be said between us, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was our last dinner at the kitchen table, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew the last time we made love it was the last time we would ever physically be together, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew I would never stand in front of you again begging for your words, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last car ride we would take together, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last night we would sit in the family room in utter silence, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

If you knew it was the last time, would it be different? Would you care? What would you feel?

Do you know?

And so…

I will eat. I will eat and comfort myself in the only real way I know. Nothing else does the job. Nothing else fills the void. Nothing else eases the pain. There will be guilt and self hatred. That comes later. Who cares about that? I’ll use booze and sleeping pills to manage that.

The booze and sleeping pills can take me to the darkness, where nothing exists. There is no pain, no sadness, no guilt. Just nothing. The food will keep me safe in my fat suit. Where no one will want to touch me, love me. I will, again,become an embarrassment.

If I do the job right, my body will get bigger and my feelings smaller. It will be easier to lock the hurt, loneliness and despair far away. Things were easier when I was 300+ pounds.

FUCK. What am I doing? Seriously. What the fuck am I doing? I am tired. So very tired. The tired never goes away.

I want to stand naked in a field, arms flung wide, head back and scream to the heavens above to help me, answer me, lift me up, show me my path. Show me my destiny. Where am I supposed to be? Who am I supposed to be? I want to scream to the heavens “JUDGE ME NOW”. Because maybe if the heavens judge me now, I can cope with all those who judge me everyday.

And so, I will eat.

The feels

I felt – no – I realized something recently. I realized that I flipped my “feels” switch. I switched it to off. I’m not entirely sure when I did it. I think it was gradual. I am fairly certain it wasn’t intentional. I always liked my feels, at least I think I did.

What initially made me realize it was another baby girl moment. Around 12:03 AM on New Year’s Day, she started texting. Texts were as follows:

You up

He just called the cops on me – idk

Probably going to jail

Can dad come

I need the door to get fixed

I’m out he’s throwing everything out

She called at some point in between the texts. I was asleep and yes, somewhat tipsy from celebrating NYE. The first call was to say she wanted to leave but couldn’t get her car out. Wow, can you imagine that drippy dick parks her car in? Shocking.

(Rant warning – like the time about a month ago when they drove to Walmart in her car so she could buy food for them at like 10PM with her food stamps and he made her go in the store alone, kept the keys and stayed in her car. She called me crying not knowing what to do or where to turn. She didn’t know if he would even be in the parking lot when she went out. I gave her all the options possible and as always, she did nothing. Rant over)

She called a second time. I could hear she was walking. She said she had Goose, her cat, and was going to her car and she was coming home. That was around 12:30 AM.

I fell into a restless sleep. I stirred at every noise, but it was never the garage door going up. I looked outside for her car during every bathroom trip. Her car was never there. So, I woke up New Year’s Day not knowing if she was dead or alive, again. I started all the checking. Checking social media to see when she was last active, sending text messages, sending facebook messages, calling her over facebook messenger, calling her two cell phones. And I got no response. I fought with the idea of calling the police department in her area and asking them to check on her welfare. But, there are so many buts that go along with that.

She finally responded around 11AM, via text. She was alive.

Since it was New Year’s Day, my very small family was going to be gathering around 1PM for the annual pork, sauerkraut and knepp. And if you don’t know how amazing that meal is, I feel sorry for you. She sent a text at 12:30 AM that she was on her way. I was shocked, but thrilled. She showed up. She looked awful, so skinny, too skinny.

I did my best to talk to her to try and find out if she was physically OK. I know she isn’t mentally OK. She said she was. She said they fought until 3AM and then he slept in bed and she slept on the sofa (I didn’t even know they had a sofa). Drippy told her she should stay because he was concerned about her driving with all the drunks on the road. Yes, you read that correctly. I asked if she was done with the bullshit and she said she was. She said everything was packed, but she needed to fix the back door, according to drippy dick, because she shut the door and the hinge was now loose. Yeah, that’s because she lives in a shithole and has a slumlord as a landlord. The frame is rotting out. Drippy dick told her that her dad has to come fix the door. Oh, I have so many comments for drippy on that one. Sooooooooooooooooooooooo many comments. She said would leave the next day when drippy was at work. We, my and my husband, were off the following day as our work holiday. I felt better being home when she got there.

She texted first the next day. I asked what was happening and she said what we planned on. She said she guessed she was leaving. This was the text I got “He told me just to go so he can heal and grow without the weight of me on him.” HOLY FUCKING WOW. But there was still the issue of the door that her dad had to fix. As we were trying to figure out what would be needed to fix the door and if drippy left for work, she sent the following, “Yeah, I was jut gonna text dad back. Just forget about it. idk what’s wrong with me or why I stay. I think the back door is as fixed as it’s going to get, its a piece of shit anyway. I just have to go to Home Depot at some point I guess and get a new bathroom door and see if they can put the hole in it for the doorknob and what not.” That’s because the bathroom door also got broken during their fight.

She stayed, again.

That’s the last I have talked to her. Back to my feels. I don’t cry the way I used to, I don’t hurt the way I used to, I don’t feel the way I used to. And it’s not just with my baby girl. It’s with everything. I’m not reaching out to friends to check on them or reaching out to family the way I should.

The feels have been boxed up. Tucked neatly away like my Holiday decorations. No extra chaos in my brain! Keep those feels far, far away. Fuck. Am I pretending again? Or have I actually gotten so used to hurting that I am now numb to it? I would hate to see what would happen if I dusted off some of the feels.

A day

Today is a day. I felt it as soon as I woke up. I didn’t want to be awake. I wanted to be deep in the blackest sleep possible. Why? I’m not really sure.

I did my normal morning routine. It’s almost like it’s so automatic at this point I don’t even really remember doing it. Know what I mean?

I was in my car driving to work. I was definitely driving too fast, which I tend to do on a regular basis. Tempting fate, maybe? Anyway, I had music on. Celine Dion’s, These Are The Special Times. It’s my favorite Christmas album. I’m not even sure why. When CD’s were still a thing, I think I bought about 5 of them over the years because I played it so often. It shook loose all the feels that I have been stomping down and ignoring. I was on an exit ramp and thought…………. what if I set cruise control at like 80 mph and just shut my eyes. I didn’t. But I thought about it. I closed my eyes for a second. Then I thought about the innocent people I may hurt if I did it. I will carry more than enough guilt into my afterlife, I don’t need to add more.

Isn’t it amazing how many thoughts you can have in a very short time? I asked myself why, why would I even think about doing something like that? I thought being able to watch all the people that I love, but not feeling the feels, would be magical. Seeing their daily lives, watching them grow and flourish. Maybe nudging them gently in what I considered the right direction for them. And then I thought what if I couldn’t watch them? What if after the darkness there isn’t anything else. It’s just dark. Would I know? Would I know what I am missing? Would I still feel those feels that I want to run from? Would that go on for eternity? An eternity of darkness? An eternity of those feels? Is that what would happen? Is that what I really want?

Yes, this is a bit chaotic. My mind is a bit chaotic today. Today is a day.