The slide has returned.
I'm out again. Feeling left of center, discombobulated, out of focus, low functioning. It's 4am, again. I can't sleep. I made love to my husband, because that helps me to relax. Not this time. Didn't work. Sleeping pills. They don't work. Boring movies, dark rooms, clearing thoughts, meditation, writing in my blog...nothing.
I can't stop crying again. And I am so fucking over it.
Tonight, I thought the world would be better off without me. I told my husband what M. (my ex boyfriend) had said, about losing the best of me. I told him that I spoke to him again. For some reason, M. gets me. He really understands my disease, and doesn't see it as one. He's wrong, of course. It is. I don't think he realizes how self-destructive I am. That, is reserved for my husband. M. isn't there when I am screaming, wanting to die, pulling my own hair out of my head, driving my car at break neck speeds down a crowded highway and then, suddenly slam on the brakes, hoping someone will kill me. M. doesn't see that. He only sees what he remembers.
I've gotten progressively worse over the years. There are a lot of men in my life who would have deserved that woman. My husband is not one of them. Not at all.
He takes my talks with M. in stride. I promise him, they are harmless. They are. No one is insinuating anything (well, except when the dumbass said, "if you two ever break up...blah blah blah") I told my husband that. He raised a brow for a moment and then, let it drop just as quickly.
He knows I'm not going anywhere anytime soon...or ever.
I just need to talk to M. sometimes, because I feel that he understands the disease process better than my husband does. My husband did not come from a dysfunctional family. He lead a relatively sheltered life. His father raised him to be a loving, loyal man who puts his family first and foremost. He is so strong in the mind, someone I aspire to be like...and I know I am not even good enough for him. I know that. He deserves better. He swears I am the one. The only one he could ever fathom spending forever with. I never cook for him. I don't clean often for him. I don't fawn over him the way he deserves. I am so caught up in trying to fight my sickness that I don't recognize anyone else but me. I am completely self absorbed and not in a positive way.
The only place I feel worthy, the only time I feel like I am a fantastic wife is in the bedroom. I feel like I make up for a lot of flaws in there. But, truth be known...any woman can fuck him the way I do. He says no, that there is something "amazing" and "special" about the way I fuck. Great. That and a buck fifty will get me on the subway, ya know?
I love my husband so much it is unreal. I try to be so supportive of his career, his decisions and his goals. He deserves that.
It always comes back to me.
"Babe, if you're too sick, if you don't feel comfortable with my going away...I won't."
Right. Sacrifice a little more for me, won't you? Make me feel like utter garbage.
Self-loathing is not nearly enough.
So tonight, I am in the middle of a pity party. I hate this medicine, the Lamictal, because I am cumbersome. I stumble a lot. I forget words. My stellar vocabulary is lost. I have no creativity left within me. I can't write anymore. The words don't come.
And these nursing boards?
Forget it. Ain't gonna happen. I have already resigned myself to failure.
It's the only thing I am good at anymore.
I wonder where I went. Have you seen me lately? I used to be ultra-confident, super inflated and so important to myself. Now, I sit here, lack of shower for three days. Eyebrows unkempt and unwaxed. Pedicure shot to shit. Nails need a fill. Hair is greasy and unfortunate looking. My skin, normally immaculate is painfully flawed right now. I don't get dressed any longer. I haven't worn a bra in about six days. I haven't left my house. Haven't driven a car, because I get lost. I can hear the blood, the water, the grey matter in my head everytime I move it. I get hypotensive every time I stand. I fell in the bathroom this evening, unable to steady my gait.
I have become...uncomfortably numb.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7:22 am edit - I figured it out. Ive been up studying all night. I am playing music. I am singing everything from Elton John (Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy) to Red Hot Chili Peppers (Dani California), when it struck me.
I re-read the last post.
I love my husband. I love him more than I love myself. This is why I am doing this. That woman I said he deserves? She's ME. Me. She's just buried beneath a lot of illness. But she's there. And, I vaguely remember telling myself, before I started therapy and way before I allowed those pills to enter my body...I need to fix me so I can love him better, the way he deserves.
It's been him all along.
And just when I got to that revelation, this song came on:
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
Oh, I reach for you
Well I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story
And oh I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
And all I need from you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Hurry I'm fallin'
And all I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
And say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Hurry I'm fallin'
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Saving Me.
~Nickelback
And it is amazing. Amazing, that in my moment of clarity, that a song should make so much sense to me. A pop song no less. So not my style. I don't do mainstream music. But, it really made me think.
I am doing it for him. I am doing it for me. I am doing it for my children.
I'm not quite done crying. I'm not quite done feeling like a piece of sludge on the bottom of the shoe of life. But, I do know this. I am loved. I have a lot of love in my life. I have a beautiful man in my life. I have children who adore me. I have supportive friends and yeah, even a supportive ex-boyfriend. I have a supportive ex-husband who rescues me from the side of the road...not because I am the mother of his children, but because he genuinely cares about me. I have a mother who hates me, because she hates herself. I have a best friend who I held hands with 35 years ago, and never let go of. I have nephews and a niece who I would give my life for. I have doctors who want to help me, even though they don't quite get what I am up against. Or what they are, for that matter.
Most of all, I have angels.
I have my beloved Aunt Ilene. I have my precious Norman. I have my grandfather, both of them, in fact. I have a grandmother there too. I have my Uncle Scott. I have Stephen, my biological father, Scott's brother.
I am reminded that on one side of my family, I am an orphan by death.
On the other side, I am an orphan by choice. Not mine, but hers.
I don't think, in my entire life, I've evere been taken care of. I was an adult at 8 years old. I walked my baby brother home from school, started him on his homework, did mine...and then, threw TV dinners into the oven. My father was gone. My mother, always working or dating. I guess that is why I am so independent, to a fault almost.
Now, some guy comes along and says, "honey, sit down. let me take care of you."
And I lose my fucking mind.
I think, if I look hard enough, I will be able to find it again. I know it's in this house, somewhere, probably wedged between my old babybooks and my high school yearbook. I lost me somewhere in there. That is where life ended for me. That is when I knew I was never going to be loved. I was going to be responsible for my own love, my own pleasures, my own happiness.
I'm tired. And my knight has come along to the rescue.
I think I shall try the role of Sleeping Beauty for awhile. The Wicked Queen is too exhausting.
Where there is love, there is hope.
I'm not giving up yet. Not just yet.
I'm out again. Feeling left of center, discombobulated, out of focus, low functioning. It's 4am, again. I can't sleep. I made love to my husband, because that helps me to relax. Not this time. Didn't work. Sleeping pills. They don't work. Boring movies, dark rooms, clearing thoughts, meditation, writing in my blog...nothing.
I can't stop crying again. And I am so fucking over it.
Tonight, I thought the world would be better off without me. I told my husband what M. (my ex boyfriend) had said, about losing the best of me. I told him that I spoke to him again. For some reason, M. gets me. He really understands my disease, and doesn't see it as one. He's wrong, of course. It is. I don't think he realizes how self-destructive I am. That, is reserved for my husband. M. isn't there when I am screaming, wanting to die, pulling my own hair out of my head, driving my car at break neck speeds down a crowded highway and then, suddenly slam on the brakes, hoping someone will kill me. M. doesn't see that. He only sees what he remembers.
I've gotten progressively worse over the years. There are a lot of men in my life who would have deserved that woman. My husband is not one of them. Not at all.
He takes my talks with M. in stride. I promise him, they are harmless. They are. No one is insinuating anything (well, except when the dumbass said, "if you two ever break up...blah blah blah") I told my husband that. He raised a brow for a moment and then, let it drop just as quickly.
He knows I'm not going anywhere anytime soon...or ever.
I just need to talk to M. sometimes, because I feel that he understands the disease process better than my husband does. My husband did not come from a dysfunctional family. He lead a relatively sheltered life. His father raised him to be a loving, loyal man who puts his family first and foremost. He is so strong in the mind, someone I aspire to be like...and I know I am not even good enough for him. I know that. He deserves better. He swears I am the one. The only one he could ever fathom spending forever with. I never cook for him. I don't clean often for him. I don't fawn over him the way he deserves. I am so caught up in trying to fight my sickness that I don't recognize anyone else but me. I am completely self absorbed and not in a positive way.
The only place I feel worthy, the only time I feel like I am a fantastic wife is in the bedroom. I feel like I make up for a lot of flaws in there. But, truth be known...any woman can fuck him the way I do. He says no, that there is something "amazing" and "special" about the way I fuck. Great. That and a buck fifty will get me on the subway, ya know?
I love my husband so much it is unreal. I try to be so supportive of his career, his decisions and his goals. He deserves that.
It always comes back to me.
"Babe, if you're too sick, if you don't feel comfortable with my going away...I won't."
Right. Sacrifice a little more for me, won't you? Make me feel like utter garbage.
Self-loathing is not nearly enough.
So tonight, I am in the middle of a pity party. I hate this medicine, the Lamictal, because I am cumbersome. I stumble a lot. I forget words. My stellar vocabulary is lost. I have no creativity left within me. I can't write anymore. The words don't come.
And these nursing boards?
Forget it. Ain't gonna happen. I have already resigned myself to failure.
It's the only thing I am good at anymore.
I wonder where I went. Have you seen me lately? I used to be ultra-confident, super inflated and so important to myself. Now, I sit here, lack of shower for three days. Eyebrows unkempt and unwaxed. Pedicure shot to shit. Nails need a fill. Hair is greasy and unfortunate looking. My skin, normally immaculate is painfully flawed right now. I don't get dressed any longer. I haven't worn a bra in about six days. I haven't left my house. Haven't driven a car, because I get lost. I can hear the blood, the water, the grey matter in my head everytime I move it. I get hypotensive every time I stand. I fell in the bathroom this evening, unable to steady my gait.
I have become...uncomfortably numb.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
7:22 am edit - I figured it out. Ive been up studying all night. I am playing music. I am singing everything from Elton John (Captain Fantastic and the Brown Dirt Cowboy) to Red Hot Chili Peppers (Dani California), when it struck me.
I re-read the last post.
I love my husband. I love him more than I love myself. This is why I am doing this. That woman I said he deserves? She's ME. Me. She's just buried beneath a lot of illness. But she's there. And, I vaguely remember telling myself, before I started therapy and way before I allowed those pills to enter my body...I need to fix me so I can love him better, the way he deserves.
It's been him all along.
And just when I got to that revelation, this song came on:
Prison gates won't open up for me
On these hands and knees I'm crawlin'
Oh, I reach for you
Well I'm terrified of these four walls
These iron bars can't hold my soul in
All I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Heaven's gates won't open up for me
With these broken wings I'm fallin'
And all I see is you
These city walls ain't got no love for me
I'm on the ledge of the eighteenth story
And oh I scream for you
Come please I'm callin'
And all I need from you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Hurry I'm fallin'
And all I need is you
Come please I'm callin'
And oh I scream for you
Hurry I'm fallin', I'm fallin', I'm fallin'
Show me what it's like
To be the last one standing
And teach me wrong from right
And I'll show you what I can be
And say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Hurry I'm fallin'
Say it for me
Say it to me
And I'll leave this life behind me
Say it if it's worth saving me
Saving Me.
~Nickelback
And it is amazing. Amazing, that in my moment of clarity, that a song should make so much sense to me. A pop song no less. So not my style. I don't do mainstream music. But, it really made me think.
I am doing it for him. I am doing it for me. I am doing it for my children.
I'm not quite done crying. I'm not quite done feeling like a piece of sludge on the bottom of the shoe of life. But, I do know this. I am loved. I have a lot of love in my life. I have a beautiful man in my life. I have children who adore me. I have supportive friends and yeah, even a supportive ex-boyfriend. I have a supportive ex-husband who rescues me from the side of the road...not because I am the mother of his children, but because he genuinely cares about me. I have a mother who hates me, because she hates herself. I have a best friend who I held hands with 35 years ago, and never let go of. I have nephews and a niece who I would give my life for. I have doctors who want to help me, even though they don't quite get what I am up against. Or what they are, for that matter.
Most of all, I have angels.
I have my beloved Aunt Ilene. I have my precious Norman. I have my grandfather, both of them, in fact. I have a grandmother there too. I have my Uncle Scott. I have Stephen, my biological father, Scott's brother.
I am reminded that on one side of my family, I am an orphan by death.
On the other side, I am an orphan by choice. Not mine, but hers.
I don't think, in my entire life, I've evere been taken care of. I was an adult at 8 years old. I walked my baby brother home from school, started him on his homework, did mine...and then, threw TV dinners into the oven. My father was gone. My mother, always working or dating. I guess that is why I am so independent, to a fault almost.
Now, some guy comes along and says, "honey, sit down. let me take care of you."
And I lose my fucking mind.
I think, if I look hard enough, I will be able to find it again. I know it's in this house, somewhere, probably wedged between my old babybooks and my high school yearbook. I lost me somewhere in there. That is where life ended for me. That is when I knew I was never going to be loved. I was going to be responsible for my own love, my own pleasures, my own happiness.
I'm tired. And my knight has come along to the rescue.
I think I shall try the role of Sleeping Beauty for awhile. The Wicked Queen is too exhausting.
Where there is love, there is hope.
I'm not giving up yet. Not just yet.
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