Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Dear Boyfriend of 8 years,
I love you, really I do and I know you love me even if you do not express the words as much. We have been together for 8 years. We are respectively 29 and 30 I think it's time we tie the knot already. Come on, we have lived together forever! Your very best friend in the world is getting married in about a month, and when I mention don't you think we should follow suit, you tell me "I don't follow Suit I wear Suites", while I enjoy your humor, it did hurt a little. I seems that you don;t want to marry me.. we are practically married lets just jump into it already. I'm really ready for kids, you mention them but when I start saying I think it's time we start to think about a family of our own you say we have time.. Yes, but dear boy I want more then one..
And while we are at it, I know your music is important to you really I do. Who else would put up with you in the Computer room 85% of the time? I know you're working on your music and I used to get upset, not so much anymore as you have tried to give me more time, But still is it necessary for you to stay in there on a Saturday from 8am-8pm. I would love to see you sometime away from the computer.
I may not mind so much if you would do something with me that involves leaving the house every so often, I have fell in love with an antisocial man, I know this and I accept it to a certain point, I know crowds make you anxious and I try not to ask you to do things I know you would be miserable doing, but please just say yes to something I ask you to do with me..Want to go to a picnic with my cousins, who you still have not met and again we being together for 8 years, you really should have met them by now.. Nope ok.. Wanna go to the movies.. you say yes but always find a way to get out of it.How about we go next week..I agree and it never happens..
Also when you are mad at me for the love of god please tell me why. You just shut down and that is that, you may or may not talk to me for the rest of the day, and then when you get over it as you always do, I never know why you were upset to begin with. It;s just like it never happened..
I know I should be telling you all this to your face, but i'm a coward and I really don't want to ruin the great thing we have when your not in the computer room or not talking to me.. You really are good to me when you want to be and can be really sweet. But the sweetness lately has come few and far between.
I think you don't know how good you have it with me. No, I'm not perfect, I'm not the best house cleaner, I have my faults but I'm pretty damn easy to please and get along with. I am the most non demanding person on the face of the planet and I wish you would just wake up and see it sometimes.
Everyone that knows us say he has it so good with me. Including his Mother, but I don't think he see's it at this point.. I don't have to heart to break up with him just so he see's how much he has in me. But what else can I do.. I just need honest advise how to talk to him and tell him how I feel. I am the type of person that holds in everything! I hate confrontation and if I can avoid it I will. even if it is at the expense of my own happiness. I get nervous talking to big or even semi-big crowss.. i'm just a quiet person that tries to please everyone...I'm just afraid I'm going to say the wrong thing and ruin everything, because it's not all bad..there are really good times.
I've always been put last in people's "lists" my whole life: my mom, and now him, I just want someone to put me first... WOW this got long...
Thanks in advance for any suggestions or advice!
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Dear He Who Shall Not Be Named:
I've been in love with you for 11 years now. Twice you rejected me telling me it was too soon and you didn't want to hurt me, you just were not ready. I married and had children. And 7 years after I married you tell me you made a mistake. I told you I was going to leave my husband and you said you couldn't wait for me to be free so that you have this third and final chance. And truth be told I was on the fence about leaving but when you said that, despite what I've told you I will always know I left my husband for that chance with you.
Texts and emails and phone calls with wonderful words coming from your mouth that were everything I ever wanted to hear from you. You told me that you wanted to take on my children, that you didn't mind. You wanted this chance you needed this chance.
And then I told you that I kicked my husband out for good. That I was alone and waiting for you. And then you only called when you wanted to have sex. Telling me it was more than a booty call..but I knew better. Then when I got upset with you, you told me to back off a bit and we'd take it slow and you wanted to build a friendship first. So I did. And you called me again out of the blue and what did you want...sex.
I know better. I know that I mean nothing to you. I know this will never happen like I want it to. So why do I keep having sex with you? Because I have this hope that one day you will feel like I do and sex is the only way to keep you around to make that happen.
11 years my love, 11 years. Every day I'd look at my husband and wish he was you. I even secretly named my son after you. A reminder to me that my son would always be first in my life. And yet here I am unable to think of anything but you. It's killing me that you don't love me, but you know I love you and yet you continue to use me. But I can't let go. I can't. For I keep thinking of that small chance that you will love me one day, that I can have what I've been dreaming about for 11 years now.
So tonight when you come over, and during that brief time I feel whole, I hope you see it in my eyes and just let me go..cuz I can't, I am not strong enough to just let you go.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Things have been building for a while.
My husband has been battling some deep depression issues, work hasn't been going really well for him, and a hundred stupid things at home. And we're leaving for a 2 week trip tomorrow, which no one has packed for.
When we moved into the new apartment, we signed up with the only option for cable (until August, that is) RCN. RCN assigned us a home number that apparently belonged to a credit deadbeat. We get multiple phone calls a day for "Maureen" from creditors. Having filed for bankruptcy when I was 20, I know what creditor phone calls sound like. And having spent the last 10 years rebuilding my credit and paying a steep penanance for my idiocy at 18, I really don't appreciate creditor calls. Especially when they're not for me. Especially when they refuse to take the number off their call list because the person they're looking for doesn't live here. ESPECIALLY when Rent a Center flat out called me a liar and accused me of being this Maureen person who was just trying to get them to stop calling. We have been trying to fix this for almost 2 months. We even went so far as to re-hook up our Vonage line for several weeks to see if that would help. Nope. RCN in their infinite wisdom decided to make our number unlisted....because that totally helps when the people who are calling are creditors who ALREADY HAVE THE FUCKING NUMBER. Yesterday I spent 3 hours straightening the matter out with supervisors and managers. I have my "new number"
Or so I thought.
Because guess who I got a call for this morning. When I called my cell to check the number...it's still the old one.
So I was pretty cranky.
When the baby woke up, I was so excited because she drank six ounces of formula which was the most she'd ever eaten in a sitting. She had gotten up to 4 regularly and had drank 5 oz during her last 3 feedings yesterday. She burped and it all seemed okay. Except a half hour later she was sitting next to me, and picked up my cell phone. And a minute later made a face and before I even realized what had happened, she puked up a good 2 ounces...right onto my phone.
Of course my first reaction was to calm her, cuddle her, and get her out of her now soaked pj's.
Then I picked up my phone and wiped it off. When my friend called me about our plans this afternoon, I couldn't hear her...until I turned on the speaker phone. My ear speaker wasn't working...fuck. My husband took a look at my phone and then both speakers started giving off feedback. Dead. Not covered by warranty.
My phone is dead. Which is a $400 problem. I don't currently have $400.
I haven't been sleeping well, and what little sleep I have gotten hasn't been high quality.
The last week I've randomly been having dizzy spells where I feel like I'm going to pass out for no reason.
And I realize now that I just hadn't been taking my meds...any of them...allergy, antidepressants, vitamins at night in at least a week or two. Probably since the night that my husband kept me up until 4 am to sort out the flights for a vacation in August.
I don't know what it is or why, but the phone was the last straw.
My husband wouldn't listen to me when I tried to explain what was wrong with the phone and then told me it was fine. I ended up screaming at him until he understood what was wrong. I screamed at him so much that he just gave up and left for work.
Then the baby started crying.
It was like someone had taken a match to the straw.
Anger ripped through me. At her, at the world, at everything. I threw something into my bedside table drawer and slammed it. The alarm clock fell of my bedside table and I picked it up and began to bash my bedside table with it.
The baby cried louder.
I screamed at her to shut up.
For a second what I wanted to do wasn't to throw my alarm clock at the table, but to throw her.
It scared me shitless.
I picked her up, ran to the living room, put her in the pack n play, ran back to the bedroom and slammed the door. I picked up the phone and told my husband that I was a danger to the baby and to get home NOW. I then ran to the bathroom and shut that door. I curled up on the floor and sobbed. Not crying...gasping screaming keening sobbing.
I quickly catalogued all the ways I could hurt myself. To punish myself for almost hurting my 8 month old who had done nothing wrong.
I thought about leaving.
I thought about giving her up for adoption.
I thought about suicide.
I thought about hospitalizing myself.
I don't know how long it was until my husband came home. Probably only 5 or 10 minutes. He didn't see the baby in her pack n play so he found me and was clearly scared when he asked me where she was. He checked on her and reassured me that she was okay.
I couldn't look at him. I couldn't do anything but sob.
He asked me flat out if I needed to go to the Emergency Room. I said I didn't know.
He arranged for our daughter to spend a day with her grandparents.
I think the worst part of today is that I don't want to admit it to anyone I know. I have a therapist and a psychiatrist. I'm scared to tell them about this. I'm scared that it might involve DSS. That she might be taken away from me. That I might be hospitalized. I don't want my child to grow up with the mom in the mental institution. I don't want my husband to have to go through that either. I don't want to the relative that everyone talks about in hushed tones, like the former wife of one of my great uncles who committed suicide or the first wife of one of my husband's uncles who is a shameful family secret.
I don't want to raise my daughter to fear me because I'm unpredictable. I don't want her to cringe from me because she's scared I might hurt her. After all, I went through that with my own mother, who has serious depression but who has never sought help. When I complained, I was told just to deal with it and that 'it's just how she is."
Sometimes I wonder if I had any right to reproduce. To pass on my flawed genetic code.
I'm relieved that she's okay. But I haven't forgiven myself---I don't know that I ever can.
I have an appointment with my therapist and I will either force myself to tell her or re-evaluate our relationship. If I can't tell her things like this, then it's not the right therapist/patient mix. I took my meds today and will build back to the higher dosage.
It's frightening because now I can understand how women spiral out of control. How bad things happen to children at the hands of their mothers. How PPD or even just plain old depression can magnify and twist life's little problems into insurmountable anger filled hazes. How that anger can consume anyone who's unfortunate to be in your path.I have recognized it. I can name it. Now I have to admit to it and ask for help.
Monday, September 14, 2009
There's this thing in my head that I can't bring myself to talk about. Oh, I'll talk about the very big burden that sits on top of this thing, that everybody knows about. But nobody knows about the thing in my head. The thing is part of the bedrock of my mind. It is not a challenge to be overcome. It is something that is; something that has been there all along. Sometimes I can tap dance right over the top of it, completely disregarding it's existence. Sometimes I can steamroll it with a series of events and activities. But the last six months have torn away at the bedrock, flipped it over and exposed all kinds of things, gouging at the familiar landscape of my mind and completely changing my perceptions about myself.
But what to do with this thing? I am not a secretive person by nature. I like people to know what's going on with me. If I struggle, I don't mind people knowing that I struggle. If I'm happy, I like to share it. If I screwed up, chances are you'll hear it from me first (if I'm aware of it). But I don't know how to articulate this thing, and I don't want to know about it. But the longer I don't speak it, the larger it looms and the more distorted my perception of certain situations becomes.
For a year now I've been trying to write a thesis. I have not made much progress. This lack of progress makes me feel foolish, stupid, worthless, unprofessional. I know I am none of those things. I am a wife and mother, daughter and sister, friend and coworker. I know I am loved and valued. That is what keeps me from telling anybody about what actually has been going on inside my mind for the past six months. The thought of trying to finish my thesis actually sparks recurring thoughts of cutting my arms or of swallowing handfuls of pills. I have never been suicidal in my life. I don't want to die. I have no idea why these thoughts take shape in my mind, but I can see them vividly. They impress themselves upon me multiple times a day.
When I'm not feeling the pressure, the thoughts are not there, but when I am, they are frighteningly present. Just yesterday I went to the bathroom medicine cabinet and checked to see if we had razor blades and did a quick inventory of the medicine bottles. Their presence comforted me. And all of this I did rather matter-of-factly. I did not contemplate it. I just up and walked in there and did it with the same absentminded mechanics as one gets up to reach a ringing telephone. It was what the moment called for, it seems.
I know that some people who know me, who are around me, can see that something is wrong. A couple of dear friends have told me so. But what they see is the surface--the stress, not the depths--the darkness. And what they probably assume is that once the thesis is finished the stress will go away. What they don't know, what I hesitate to tell them, is that I don't know that it will. I am scared that it won't. I am not a fearful person, but that scares me. Some things, once their strength is tested, are forever weakened by the test even though they pass. I have never thought of myself as weak, but I do now.
I try not to feed these thoughts by worrying and wringing my hands about them. I use conversation, television, blogging, Facebook, obsessively cleaning my kitchen, and basically the daily activity of life to try to simultaneously avoid it and make sense of it. I want to be clear: I have NO intention of carrying out what I see in my mind. But I fear what might happen if I don't find a way to deal with this. Getting out of one's own head is not an easy thing to do, especially when the landscape is so unfamiliar. It's a very strange and disconcerting to feel truly lost in one's own mind. To not recognize one's own tendencies or desires or motivations. The temptation is to explore, to try to figure it out, to solve the puzzle. But the landscape here is rather scary. I don't want to know where it leads.