We Are Going To Live ( So I Am Not Alone)
December 12, 2012 § 1 Comment
“It’s ok to tell me the good things too.”
The Builder says in one of our bed time conversations. I do make my husband out to be a monster. I do. Because I’m hurting and alone a lot and I don’t want people to think I’m ok. Then, they might leave me, might think I’m ok.
Someone has to be looking for me. Someone has to look OUT for me.
But there have been changes made. Things are better, and I am hopeful.
We are sober! I have a lot more energy and this strange sense of guilt and fear has slid away.
The babies, I feel so much more love for them. I am still craving my poisons, obviously. An addict is always an addict.
I am in group therapy. He is going to meetings.
It’s all emotional hard work, but the good kind. We are going to live, and that’s final.
That Time of Year
October 18, 2012 § 1 Comment
I met him thru my best friend at the time. He was her distant cousin. He was nice, shy, yet aggressive. And me, a broken depressed outcast fat girl, barely holding my own with the moderately popular people who were my friends. Well, I wanted to belong. And that means putting out.
So, I put out, early and as far as I dare go at the age of 15.
But I felt overwhelmed. He called a lot. He told me he loved me. It was all too much.
I broke up with him. And that was it for three months. I thought he had forgotten about me.
I started to get weird phone calls. Hang ups, crank calls, shouting at me, once “You are a big fat whale” then they hung up, only to call back two seconds later; ” Once again, you are a big fat whale.”
One day, I saw him outside my school. He was standing on a parking lot directly below the tall, imposing junior high school. My heart leapt to my throat when I saw him, flattered he would be seeking me out.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
” I wanted to see you. I needed to see you.” Again, that rush, blushing and glowing that someone would NEED me. He rode the bus to my stop with me, across from the movie theater. We walked down a street with this “special school”, a field, a playground, basketball courts and tennis courts, even a tennis wall. Earlier that summer, I had taken to playing tennis by ramming the ball against wall. But I had no one to play with and I soon lost interest. I already had such negative connotations to that little patch of concrete behind a green wall with a yellow square. Already I had started my list, documenting all my failures.
“Come in here for a minute, let’s be alone.” I can’t say no to men. We walk into the area. But we don’t sit. He rushes me, pushes me against the green wall. I see one yellow right angle from where he has me pressed against the wall, my cheek in firm contact with the green textured surface.
I struggled. I struggled hard. I broke away and made it three steps before he managed to get me on the ground. I continued to fight him, made it to me feet again. I turned to face him, my back against a matching green chain link fence.
He approached and smacked me across the face.
“This is not over till I say it is. You better not tell anyone. You understand?”
And I didn’t. I didn’t understand. Why? Why was he doing this to me?
“I’ll see you soon honey.” He said, kissed my cheek and left me there. I cleaned up my bleeding lip and went home. I told no one.
When the Crazies Are Normals
June 1, 2012 § 6 Comments
34 feels better than 33.
I was wondering about time passing and about medication, about attention and addiction. My life is so populated. I’m smoking and eating myself slowly to death. and maybe not so slowly. And its hard to stop. On the other hand, I am in therapy successfully for the first time in my whole life. I have overtime at work. I’m being honest and myself. I’m loving myself more despite my faults and self perceived imperfections. I have my husband, Big Daddy, my girls, my parents. I am a new Godmother. I’ve been wearing dresses and girly accessories. I’ve been going out in public and keeping my promises. I’m even and kind of freaked out that even when something “goes wrong”, I’m having a hard time getting my pity party on.
Huh. What does one do when one is used to hiding in depression? I’m forgiving myself, I’m trying to, gulp, like myself more and forgive myself for short-comings while working to improve. Imagine that.
Don’t think me so healed, ok? I might need you back in my safe place.
The Time of Come and Get Her
April 7, 2012 § 5 Comments
Holding on ragged merry-go-round
Long past the age of know better
And the sardonic quitting sound
holding on ragged merry-go-round
Hark the hammer manic pound
Long past the time of come and get her
Holding on ragged merry-go-round
Long past the age of know better
