Said he would not understand, I left a note and said I’m sorry I, had a bad day again.
Suicidal ideation, thoughts of scratching and cutting and taking all the happy pills just to see if they would make me happy, or make me fall asleep and wake up in a land where I was happy again. But I couldn’t do that, or at least I wouldn’t. For various reasons, number one and always number one is the kids, I wouldn’t let Trip have them. He didn’t deserve them, in my eyes he donated his sperm to my miracles and that was that. He didn’t deserve the title of Dad let alone Father, he does nothing for them save for spoil them and make them think he loves them when I know the truth, they will know the truth one day too. A harsh reality when they are teens and they find out the kind of person he really is. But I won’t tell them, it isn’t my place, just as it wasn’t my mother’s place to tell us (even though she did). Number two, I was a wuss, always had been. I lined up pills one by one by one and took them all, over two hundred when I was 13 and they told my best friends best friend, who hated me that I was going to die. I took them in the lunchroom at breakfast, no one stopped me but I didn’t want to die I was just tired of being awake and when I woke up finally in a hospital bed, my mother took me home and berated me. And for the next 5 years of my life tossed a big bottle full of pills at me whenever I was sad asking me if it would make it hurt less. It only made it worse because I knew she wouldn’t understand. So last night, instead of doing those things.
I punch the cabinet. Hard.
I don’t hit things.
I have weak girly hands.
But I punched it hard, two or three times. I lost count. But my hand bled and I felt calmer.
Now my hand is swollen, my primary hand. The dominant one.
I can’t even get off because my hand is bruised and swollen. But I guess what does it matter right?
And then we fought again. Charming and I. We fought and fought and I don’t know why. Because I needed to take my anger out somewhere and though he wanted me to write a book, he doesn’t understand why the blog was a stepping stone.
He doesn’t read it – invalidating
He didn’t thank me for cooking a healthy dinner four nights in a row – invalidating
He didn’t day he was proud of me for finding lawyers for what I went through in the ER – invalidating
He didn’t say I did a good job cleaning the kitchen even though standing hurts o much after 5 minutes and it took nearly two hours to do it – invalidating
He said I need to grow up. Need to stop placing blame and making excuses. Need to take responsibilities for my own actions. Asked me if this was the point I would turn around and start finding people to mess around with like I warned him I would when I felt I was invalidated in the beginning of our relationship. I cried, I sobbed. I never even look at anyone anymore.
I tried to explain to him my last fling before I saw him again, he didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to hear that it was always him I wanted and how I felt lucky to have him. How I loved him and how I wanted to be with him and I was with him because he pushed me and made me believe in myself. How he got me through PTSD and my triggers and how I was finally writing because of him. We can’t even spend a date night alone without fighting about something. He says I hide in my computer. Well my friends live in here. They do all of you who have validated me during the abuse when I had nowhere else to turn to. He was the one that said I would write a best seller but doesn’t understand why it had to start here.
He said I didn’t know how to be a person anymore.
Is he right? Have I forgotten how to be a person? Have I forgotten the basic principles of being personable? My phone has been broken for almost two weeks and it is so freeing so I blog and I play with the kids and I cook and I clean. And yesterday was a bad day for so many reasons but I am not a person. I look at pictures and cry and try to figure out when the mental illness started. When I stopped being real and started being a mental case. When I stopped being all the colors and became black and white. When I just because borderline. When I became all about me. The narcissist that hates looking in mirrors. The one that understands why her friends hung themselves or took too many pills. The one that feels guilty for their grandmother dying or their babies making their way to heaven. The one that just wishes they could start over where no one knew their name.
But there are crises at home that are too big to bear. The one roll of toilet paper for 4 people that has to last at least a week. The lack of money for medication. The lingering eviction notice and nowhere to go. The fact that if Trip finds out any of this, then I am screwed because maybe just maybe he will take the one this that is keeping me grounded away from me again. A year ago I was happy, well a year and 6 months. I was 150lbs lighter. I looked amazing and I smiled. I was alive, I felt good I had a 3.0GPA. Now I can barely move, I am sick all the time. I can’t afford my medicine and I hide how poor we really are from my kids. There are no movies and no friends allowed at the house because I can’t afford to feed them. Welfare moms have nothing on me. They show up and they are fine and I am not. They have phones and I don’t. I have nothing.
I no longer know how to be a person.