Tag: mental health

Silent Tears

The tears that soak my pillow at night, or mix with the water in the shower, or the ones that roll down my cheeks when I’m driving or suddenly spring from my eyes when I’m sitting at work; those are the silent tears.

I don’t want to care. 

I don’t want to feel.

I don’t want to ache.

I don’t want to cry.

I try so hard not to care, not to feel, not to ache, not to cry – ever.  Crying only makes it hurt more. And there is never a hug, never a shoulder offered, never a pat on the back.  There is just………. nothing.  Nothing but silence.  I wish feeling like nothing to them wouldn’t hurt.  It would be so much easier. 

I don’t know what else to do, what else to say, what else to give.  I walk on the eggshells that I placed in my own path. I punish myself more than any God or person ever could for my failings and my sins. 

I continue to give all of me away to them and they don’t even realize it. I wish they knew how hard I try, how fucking hard I try  

I feel the rage in me. It scares me. The rage is worse after the silent tears. It screams to be released.  It claws at my throat. I push it down.  I am scared what will happen if it gets out.  I’m scared for me. I’m scared for them. 

I will continue to cry my silent tears, but what happens when there are no more tears to cry?

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.

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.

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.

What happens if I go away

Who will take care of cleaning?

Who will take care of cooking?

Who will take care of the wash?

Who will take care of paying the bills?

Who will take care of birthdays?

Who will take care of anniversaries?

Who will take care of holidays?

Who will take care of appointments?

Who will take care of ordering food?

Who will take care of getting groceries?

Who will take care of loading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of unloading the dishwasher?

Who will take care of the kids?

Who will take care of the grandkids?

Who will take care of giving support?

Who will take care of giving comfort?

Who will take care of giving love?

The world will continue to spin if I go away

gone

My girl left. She packed her car Sunday and moved back to drippy dick. Back to the place I have been paying rent for. I’m guessing this has been going on for at least a month, if not longer. Did she go to therapy, ever? Will she continue? Will this be the end of her?

She did leave us a litter box full of cat piss and shit. So there’s that.

It has to end

I can’t believe she did it to me again.  I mean, I can.  I suspected as much, or I wouldn’t have taken that drive yesterday.  I had my suspicions; I didn’t want them to be true.  But they are true.  My girl is back with him.  I probably started to get suspicious about a month ago.  I am assuming she went to her therapy as she was supposed to, but I won’t be able to verify that until the health insurance claims start rolling in.  And even then, I don’t know if I will be able to tell how many days she attended.  I figured she was smart enough to not call him from the cell phone I pay for.  I can, and do, check those records on a regular basis.  But there are so many other ways for them to be in contact with each other. 

 

She started to talk about old friends.  Friends that I hadn’t heard about in at least a year or more.  But I am trying to give her the benefit of the doubt.  And I was happy she was hanging out with friends.  She never brought the friends home, her excuse being the state of her room.  Okay, I get that.  But some of her old habits started to surface.  Not calling or texting if she wasn’t coming home for the night.  Not coming home after her therapy sessions were over.  But, again, I wanted to support her.  Make sure she knew how proud I was of her and that I knew she was struggling and hurting. 

 

Her birthday was the end of June.  I made sure everyone knew she needed gift cards.  She has no job, her savings is depleted.  Gift cards for gas, food, etc.  Now I feel like I duped everyone.  Did the gift cards get used on her or did they get used on him?  Is she really that dumb?  Not only that, but I have been paying half of her rent since May because she signed a lease with drippy dick and he threatened to sue her civilly if her half wasn’t paid.  Four months of paying half his rent.  Four months of paying her outrageously high car insurance (because she had so many violations.) Helping her with supplies for her cat, toiletries, the food she likes, a new mattress, new bedding.  Putting things I wanted to do in my house on hold because she moved home and the room I was using as a storage room while renovating another room, she now occupies. 

 

Oh, and I believe it was last week, she told me that one friend she talks about and supposedly was doing things with, had found an apartment with a boyfriend and they needed stuff for the apartment.  When we moved her away from drippy dick, we took the plate set, pots/pans and microwave because I bought them.  I scrubbed everything clean and packed them away in the event she ever needed them again.  She asked if she could give the items to her friend because they were desperate for household items.  Of course, I said yes.  I’m now willing to bet my house that those items are back in the apartment with drippy dick.

 

And I can’t forget that I spent hours filling out her disability paperwork, because it was just so overwhelming for her.  It is currently under medical review.  I also applied for state health insurance for her.  She told me that her therapist told her private insurance does not cover what state (basically welfare) health insurance covers.  And, since I want her to stay in therapy and get all the help possible, I did all the work.  She received her benefit card last week.  She was supposed to take it along to therapy and find out what could be done.  As of Friday, therapy was over for her. 

 

I couldn’t sleep well Saturday into Sunday.  I just had this feeling…………that feeling of something not being “right” with her. The feeling worked its way into every part of me.  I decided mid-morning on Sunday that I needed to drive by the place drippy dick rents.  I needed to see for myself.  Was her car there, or wasn’t it?  I realize there are many different scenarios that could have happened.  But only one happened.  Her car was there.  AND IT FUCKING KILLED ME.  I took a picture, so I had my proof.  I felt like I was going to throw up.  All the hope I had was gone for my girl. I am still numb.  I still can’t believe it; I don’t want to believe it.  I saw it.  No matter what her excuse is, I saw it.  I am starting to get pissed off and very angry.  

 

Now the question is, what do I do?  She came home Sunday early evening because the family was getting together for my mom’s (her grandmother’s) birthday Sunday evening.  I was cool towards her, but we all know I can act like a Tony award winning actress.  She tried to talk about therapy.  She was very loud, and I think was doing it so everyone could hear her and maybe pity her or something.  I told her to stop talking about it and it could be discussed later.  She left earlier than anyone else with the excuse she was going to her friend’s house.  She never came home last night, never sent a message or called.  As of right now, she still isn’t home.  She is once again treating my home like a Holiday Inn.  She has the bathroom and her room destroyed, again.  

 

It’s time. I know it’s time. It will probably be the single hardest thing I have done as a parent up until this point. I need to kick her out and that’s it. No more bills paid for her. I have to stop. She obviously didn’t hit rock bottom like I thought. I hate to see what rock bottom is for her.