Well. Hello.
Ahem.
Things are fine. Maybe even good.
My psychiatrist told me that he couldn't help me and that drugs probably couldn't help me. They couldn't help me until i helped myself. Until i made changes in my life. Drugs aren't going to make negative things positive. Drugs aren't going to make your husband bring in the garbage.
And so, perhaps, like all other things we have to go to the bottom. Have that big blowout before things can get better. Or you even want to make things better. You have to see what you are risking. What you are losing before you realize how very much you want that thing. You need that thing.
And so we have talked. A little. We have kissed and made up. We love each other. And he knows, and i know, having been through all of this before, how difficult this can be.
I understand i am hard to love. I am stubborn. I am moody. I have high expectations.
And so does he. And so is he.
And so are we. We are determined to make this work. To love and be loved. To love our kids. To send them out in the world as prepared as possible. To not believe that everything just works out. Anything worth anything is worth working on.
And, crap, these are tiring days. This is the busy time. This is the endless time.
This is the time to move forward. To get better.
Happy birthday Toby.
I hope you enjoy you're birthday. I hope it lives up to all the expectations you've been struggling with for the last few weeks. I know how important you're friends are to you. That's why we have 8 boys sleeping over.
I am proud of you for remaining confident this year in the face of so many frustrations learning to read and write. I hope things will come easier for you in the next year.
I am proud of your tireless energy for playing and creating games. The inventions all over our yard make me happy.
I love you very much.
I'm going to let it all hang out. For a few moments. I can delete this in the morning.
Save as a draft.
Last night i asked my husband if he still wanted to be married to me. He said "i don't know. I don't think so."
And i woke up this morning and he was gone.
And i took my kids to school. Bound for field trips and fun.
And i went and had skin cancer removed from my arm. Parker watching, intently, as blood dripped. He was interested.
And then we returned to school. For playmates. And fun.
And my husband came home. And i hate him.
What am i to do.
I do want you to understand.
My hipster darling, internet.
Wriggling around in my 30's skin.
I am lingering in my long kiss.
Tonight?
If you asked me how my life is. It is filled with drama. Insecurities.
My husband passes by me like a stranger. A simple "i'm going to bed."
A simple "i hate you."
How did i get here. How have i become the plague of human spirit when i spend my days playing red rover and blowing sad noses.
There are so many things they never told me about being a mother. It started with pregnancy. All the bumps and bruises. And the skin tags. Had you asked me ten years ago what a skin tag was i would have looked at you with a deer in the headlights stare. Something like "a tattoo?"
I've been feeling like my life is like a stack of cards. A supreme tower. And someone has removed a crucial card. The one that is holding the whole thing together.
I've been in a state of flux since being in the hospital. Feeling like every move i make is judged. Is she okay? Don't upset her. Is she losing it?
I don't think that is ever going to change now. I've become special. Different. The people that know keep me at a distance now. Afraid. Mental illness is scary.
I feel like i've fucked it all up. My perfect life. I've become untrustable.
I can't be trusted with myself.
Never mind the fact that i can taste the fear. The fear of being back in the hospital. Losing my children. I can no longer just be moody. PMS is a spark of depression. I have to live a lie now.
I live in fear of judgment. Of loss. And this is far more depressing than life was before.
And i have these stupid spots of carcinoma. And skin tags. Just teeny, tiny little ones. I pick at them. Nervously.