Messages

Thank you, LearnToLoveTheRide. I believe you're correct in saying that he's hurt and upset. We've been talking a lot more about everything lately and it has been better for both of us rather than just stuffing our feelings inside. I think we both understand now that neither one of us can be strong all the time and it's unrealistic to expect that we could.

Thank you for your words of encouragement, LilyITV. Crowds in general are rough for me but this one came with an extra helping of worry because of my experience with a metal concert crowd back in '05. It was about three well-known bands playing and the crowd was so huge that it was a literal sea of people. With most everyone drinking or whatever; some pretty awful things happened. I guess I went into this one expecting the worst but, thankfully, it never happened. I can deal with being uncomfortable for a few hours as long as I walk out of there in the same condition that I went in.

I was much the same, Three Roses. I rarely leave the house now and it seems like the longer I go without being around other people the harder it is to interact with them. Sometimes I even find it hard to reach out to old friends if it's been some time since we last spoke.

Normally, I'm fairly isolated and only around my family but when I do happen to leave the house I tend to not notice people at all unless they speak to me or I have to interact with them in some way.  Individually, I can handle strangers but if there is a crowd my hypervigilance and anxiety is nearly unbearable, making me much too aware of everything and everyone.

I went to heavy metal concert a couple of weeks ago at the behest of an old friend and it took a lot of nerve for me to walk in there alone. There was a huge crowd of people, the music was so loud that it seemed that I could feel the vibrations in the air and thumping on my chest like a hand. It was a small club so I had to be in close proximity to about 200 strangers and it felt like I was having a constant low-level panic attack the entire time. I was shaking like a leaf because I felt like people were staring and when I realized that some of them actually were it took everything I had not to just walk out of there. I caught eyes with several rough looking fellows and when one of them approached me to ask me something it got worse.

But I just stood with my back against the wall and I kept playing with this rubber band on my wrist to kind of work some of the stress out. My friend took about an hour to show up and it was a great relief to see her but she had this entire entourage of friends with her that I didn't know and interacting with them was hard too.

We went out to the smoking area to talk but it wasn't any better. There were so many people and they were all looking at me at the same time whenever I spoke so I didn't really say much. One guy touched my arm to get my attention once and I almost jumped out of my skin. I just kept fidgeting with that rubber band and chewing gum but I didn't do a good job of hiding my nervousness at all. Everyone kept looking at me and asking me questions and I could feel the tension in my neck and shoulders getting worse and worse. For four hours I was on high alert and it was absolutely exhausting.

It was really good to see my friend but I was unable to really pay much attention to her because I was paying far too much attention to everything that felt unfamiliar and unsafe. I wish I could've relaxed and maybe even enjoyed myself but even drinking a little couldn't take the edge off. When it was time to go I told my friend goodbye and pretty much ran off the street to get the * away from what felt like a million prying eyes.

That night was hard but I actually did better than I have in the past in similar situations. I didn't have a huge freak out moment and I even spoke to people and looked them in the eyes. In the end I'm glad I went because I showed myself that I could do what seemed like the impossible.

Today was a little better. I've had a terrible headache all day but that's to be expected. There are no visible bruises but my head feels lumpy. I mean, let's face it, I've had worse. I'll live.

My husband has been watching me all day. I know he's just concerned about me but it makes me feel sad and stupid for blowing up the way I did last night. I shouldn't make him worry about me, I should be better than that. I told him that I'm sorry for everything and I believe him when he says it's okay (even though it's not okay at all) and that he loves me no matter what but I still feel like garbage. I was way out of line and it's not okay at all.

We haven't really talked much about it though and I know he's hoping that I'll just settle down and go back to the way I usually am. I'm trying to. I don't want to cause problems. Things are stressful enough without my histrionics thrown in.

But, hey, today wasn't too bad, really. We had fun today with the kids and they made me forget about everything for a long while. It wasn't really any different than any other day except that I got a lot more surprise hugs from my husband and he tried to be more considerate of me than usual. Today I hugged everyone more because every hug made me feel better. I almost cried several times but it wasn't because I'm sad. I'm just so grateful to have them in my life. I'm so lucky to be where I am and who I am. I have more love in my life than I ever thought I would.

I wish what happened yesterday hadn't but it did and I can't change that no matter how much I wish I could. I just have to focus on all the good things in life like my kids and my husband and even our little dog. I have big and little people who love me and depend on me to keep myself together. I can't afford to fall apart like that ever again. They need me to be stable and I have to keep that in the forefront of my mind all the time.

I can't let this bulls**t get on top of me again because they all deserve far better than that. I can be stronger, I can be smarter, I can be better. I know I can.

Oh man, I had such a backslide today. So freaking bad. I just feel awful, lower than I have in a long time.

Things have just been so bleak lately. Everything is going wrong and I'm always worried all the time about the next terrible thing. I guess it's all been building up for a while.

I feel so alone all the time. I can't talk to anyone and I feel like no one cares. I've been having bad dreams and bad feelings constantly, thinking about just giving up and...

But I don't even want to write it down. I don't want to give up, not really. I just want the fear and the hurt to stop. I want to relax for once.

I got into a really horrible argument with my husband a few hours ago. At first I was trying to just talk to him about how I'm feeling, like I thought he would comfort me, but maybe I came across wrong and that's why it happened. I was angry and sad and just feeling that same sinking hopelessness that follows me like a damned shadow everywhere. I said something about how I'm angry that we can't seem to get ahead no matter how hard we try because the slumlord's that run our apt complex keep wanting more and more money for bullcrap charges. He turned to me and said, "Don't talk to me about anything serious. You're making me feel crazy." And he said something about wanting to shoot someone or something like that and I don't know it just flipped a switch in my head and I went off.

I don't remember it all. I just remember that when I started talking he gave me that same 'oh god here we go again with her crazy s**t' look and kind of rolled his eyes. In seconds I was seething, screaming, saying things I shouldn't have ever said or even thought. I was so tired of never being able to talk about anything negative or how i was feeling, how it feels like he's treating me the same as everyone else, he just doesn't care enough to hear anything I say.

I'm so ashamed of myself but I told him horrible things, horrible half-truths that hurt me and him, and when I said he made me want to die he gave me this look that I took as cold and unfeeling and it got worse. I went completely nuclear in a way I haven't for a long, long time.

I punched myself over and over in the head and I screamed until my throat hurt. I don't know how many times I hit myself but it was a lot and it was hard and I have knots all over my head now. Thank God the kids were all asleep in different rooms at the time. I never ever would forgive myself for letting them see me like that. I mean they've seen me get so mad that I kinda freak out and scream but never hitting myself. It's not something I've done much as an adult, only when things are really, really bad.

But my husband has seen it and he never really reacts much. Maybe the first time a long, long time ago when we were really young he grabbed me to stop me but not tonight and not the last two or three times over the many, many years since then. He'll just tell me "stop" and "don't be stupid" like I'm just a kid throwing a tantrum. Like tonight he said "stop it" but didn't treat it as anything other than a minor annoyance. He sat there and watched me do it and he didn't look happy but he looked more irritated than anything else, really.

I don't want to think about all the horrible things I said, things I've been thinking and feeling for quite a while now, but I did tell him that I thought he was dead inside and he nodded and said, "Maybe I am."

I didn't mean it though, not really. He just shuts down anytime I try to talk to him about anything other than trivial crap. That's why I feel like he doesn't care and he doesn't love me. I need him to talk to. He's literally the only person I have who I can. But he wont do it, just sits there like a lump and shrugs his shoulders and mumbles yes or no or, worse, he sometimes gets really mad and yells at me. Like we can't talk about anything serious without it becoming another wedge between us. And I can't take it. I feel like I did when I was a kid. He makes me feel like I'm just being crazy and none of my feelings matter in the least. Like I'm just a burden and a nuisance to him.

Maybe I am. He says he loves me and he wants to be with me but I don't feel loved at all. Like if he wants sex he'll let me know repeatedly but feelings? What are those? He never has them other than anger or ambivalence.

I keep trying to talk to him, trying to fix whatever's broken between us, but he won't. He refuses to acknowledge me and then it builds up to the point where I blow my top and it becomes a big fight.

I love him but I don't love the way he makes me feel. I said that I don't love him anymore but it's because I don't feel very loved by him. I don't feel loved when he ignores me. I don't feel loved when he treats every request for help in any way as too much. And how does he feel? I don't know. He won't tell me. All I see is anger, anger, anger. Everything seems to be my fault too. Anytime I say anything even remotely critical about his actions he shifts the blame to me, because I did or didn't do something.

But maybe he's right, I say. Maybe I'm the problem and then he changes tune and says no.

I don't know what to think anymore. It's such a huge gap we have in communication and I don't know how to cross it without causing another blowout of some kind. Tonight was bad but if I'm being honest, it was just a lot of constant little bad things that rolled up into one big ball of wrong. One of us was going to blow eventually and this time it was me.

I've thought about leaving for both of our sakes but would it be better in the end? Would it fix anything at all or just create more problems? He's not a bad man but he scares the * out of me sometimes. He gets really mad and he's way bigger than me so if he wanted to hurt me he could. He wouldn't, I know, but what if? He scares grown men who thinks that they're tough guys so yeah he can be pretty scary.

Really, it doesn't matter I guess. I have nowhere to go. I have no friends and no family that can actually help. What am I going to do? Live under a bridge with 3 kids? I couldn't go to a homeless shelter because that's really unsafe and I couldn't go to a women's shelter because I don't fit the criteria. I'm not being physically abused and if it's emotional abuse or whatever I guess I'm just as guilty as he is with all the horrible things I've said to him.

I'm not a victim and he is not a bad man. He just won't give me the support I desperately need and want from him and over time it gets so bad that I lose my cool or he loses his. We're both stressed and exhausted and I have to remember that. Just because he's unable to understand doesn't mean he doesn't care. I just wish he'd talk to me so we wouldn't have to get to that point.

I'm going to look up some ways to communicate that I haven't tried before. There's got to be a way to help both of us somehow. I don't want to hurt him with my words or myself with my actions. Least of all do I want this to negatively affect my kids. I know they probably have already been messed up in some way just because I'm so damaged but I want to prevent it if I can. I love our family more than anyone or anything in the world and I want us all to be happy. I'll do whatever it takes to make things better because giving up is not an option.

Talked to my dad the other day and he said some things that have been bugging the * out of me. I mentioned something about how I never even should've been born anyway because mom tried to have her tubes tied but the doctor was incompetent and screwed it up somehow. That's what I always thought had happened but my dad let me know the truth. It turns out that the doc didn't just forget to cut both tubes or decide to get drunk before surgery or anything. He was super religious and I guess he thought it was immoral or against God or something to make a woman unable to conceive a child. He had his license to practice medicine revoked over it and everything because apparently my mom wasn't the only one who got a surprise baby.

So my dad started complaining about how he had to pay all that money and my mom still got pregnant and he never got a dime of that money back. He also said, "I only ever wanted two kids. I never wanted that much responsibility." And I don't know but my eyes just starting filling with tears and I had to fight really hard not to let him know how bad my heart was breaking at the moment when I said, "Well I guess I'm thankful that he didn't do it anyway. I wouldn't be alive if he'd done his job right." My dad seemed to realize what he was complaining about and to who and changed his tune. Same old pop, just a ray of * sunshine in my life, man.

All my life I've heard my dad complain about money. Every time he had to shell out for shoes or school supplies or pretty much anything, he'd just * and moan about it the entire time. It makes sense though, doesn't it?

Neither of them ever wanted me. Did all that they could to actually prevent me coming into this world and got saddled with the burden anyway. That's why I've never felt loved by either of them and always felt like no one wanted me around, because I was just a thing that should not have been.

I spoke to my mom maybe a week ago. We don't talk very much but sometimes it's nice just to touch base and make sure she's doing okay. I hate talking to her when she's drunk though and that's most all the time. She's been very upset too because we're going to be moving out of state this summer so it was really hard to talk to her last time. Lots of crying and self-pity and pretending that she didn't bring a lot of the * she's going through on herself. I usually try to hang up as soon as possible when she starts in on the 'Woe is me!' crap. I have to or I'll start yelling at her because I'm tired of her lying to herself and acting like she never did anything wrong as a mother. She'll be like "we always had food to eat" and I'll call bs on that. Or she'll say we never did without and I'll remind her that we never had a damn thing. Or she'll bring up my brother David and I'll remind her of what he did to me and Ben and that I will not let him be a part of my life after giving him several chances and ending up regretting it every time. And then she'll cry and I'll feel bad but really she's just manipulating me into feeling sorry for her like she's the one really hurting. Or maybe she does hurt...I don't know. But I don't trust it. She's still just as cruel and spiteful as ever underneath the old lady exterior, I'm afraid. I want to believe that she loves me but I don't think she even knows what love really is. Certainly not unconditional motherly love like I feel for my own babies anyway.

I do love my mother but we've never had a very good relationship. She's been an alcoholic since I was maybe 6 or so. She's not very close to any of us except my older brother David. She used to say the most horrible things to me. Berate me endlessly and tell me that I was a terrible person and that I would become a worthless, stupid *. She told me that I was weak and ugly and lazy and good for nothing.

She would hit me a lot too. She would backhand me a lot and she wore a lot of rings and they would bust my lips and sometimes hit my front teeth if I didn't have my mouth closed tightly; if I didn't see it coming in time. She would hit me with things too; wooden spoons, a fly-swatter, shoes, a 'switch', a wire coat hanger, extension cords - really just anything that was close at hand. She chunked a skateboard at my head one time and it probably would've busted my face all to * if I hadn't ducked in time. I took all of it and I still loved my mama. Then one day when I was 12 she was screaming in my face, all red-faced and spit flying, and I must've said something or made some noise that she didn't like because she punched me in the face really hard.

I remember getting so mad at her, I'd never been mad at her like that before, and it was surprising to me that I could feel that way toward her at all. I could feel it all over me, my hair standing up on end, and I remember it felt like I was being dunked in really cold water. When she raised her fist again to hit me again, I grabbed her wrist and raised my own at her. I was only 12 but she's a small woman, only 5"2 and maybe weighing 100 pounds soaking wet, and I was already taller and heavier than her. I looked into her eyes and told her "don't ever * punch me again". Then I kind of pushed her away from me and she looked at me like she didn't know what the * was going on but she put her hand down and never did hit me again.

But she was still unbelievably nasty toward me, maybe more so than ever, and she got my brother David to do the dirty work for her. She'd tell him to "handle" me and then leave the room and that's why my nose is a bit crooked and my jaw does this funny clicking thing sometimes. I can't stand people being too close to me or touching me when I'm not ready for it (literally have made huge scenes in public freaking out because someone touched me and I always look and feel really stupid but it's not like I wanted to react that way, it's completely involuntary). I also can't stand something constricting me in any way, particularly around my neck or my wrists. I get really nervous when men raise their voices or act aggressive in any way. Or when people look at me a certain way, something in their eyes that makes me feel that familiar dread in the pit of my stomach, and I start imagining scenarios in which I might have to run or try to pick up something and hit them with it. I still jump sometimes when someone shouts unexpectedly and then feel like I just gotta run. It takes everything to keep from just yelling out as I feel adrenaline rushing through me all over. All of these stupid things because she let her favorite son, the psycho who murdered and tortured animals and preyed on those weaker than him, "discipline me" with horrific violence.

It's kind of stupid that I love my mom, I guess. My oldest brother Matt doesn't. He won't speak to her or have her in his life in any way. She doesn't even recognize him when she does see him now and he tries to hide it but I can see that it hurts him no matter how hard he tries to hide it. He's hurt but he hates her the same.

But I can't seem to write her off like he can. A lot of it's because I feel sorry for her. The only person she really had anymore is my brother David (who I had no trouble cutting out of my life) and according to her all he does is take advantage of her and neglect her. But then again. I feel a bit of the same as Matt and my little brother Ben feel about her. That she made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

I don't know. I love her but it's in a detached way most of the time. I don't want her to be in a bad situation but I cannot and will not let her inject her poison into my life anymore. My children think of her fondly but that is only because when I have allowed contact between her and them I make the rules and rule Numéro uno is No Drinking. If she wants to drink she can get back on the bus and go back to that shack she lives in and drink with her 90 cats to keep her company. I will not allow her to behave toward my kids the way she did towards me and she's well aware of that so she's always on her best behavior. She knows how far she can push me, I think, and * with my babies is where I draw the line. It is the one thing that would make her lose us like she did Matt and Ben so she tries to be a good grandma as much as she's capable of it. I'll give her the pleasure of knowing her grandkids while she can. I don't want to be cruel if I can help it, no matter how cruel she'd always been to me, because I am not like her. I aim to be a better person each day than I was the day preceding it and hurting people is not a part of that.

T-shirts) and then she'd leave and we wouldn't see her again until the next morning when we'd have to get up for school.

Sometimes I don't remember seeing her for days and I don't know if she ever came home. My brother M. was selling weed for a living at 16 and he had his own place and I remember there were many night when my brother or one of his friends would bring us dinner and check on us. He'd buy us the things that we needed even if it was just toilet paper and some Kool-Aid to drink. He couldn't live with our mom but he couldn't completely abandon us either, I guess. He stepped up when my mom was too wasted or selfish to do so.

My mom also had a lot of people in and out of our house all the time. People she knew from work or even some of my brother's friends would come live with us for a while. She seemed to have a lot of different boyfriends too and some of them were really nice and others were total scumbags. I didn't like any of them really though because they tried to act like my Dad and I didn't need another one. We even got into a fight with one of them because he was drunk and would leave my mom alone. Three kids beating up on a 45 year old man...sounds strange if you haven't lived through it before. And we actually thought he was one of the nice ones.

My stepdad was nice at first. My mom left my dad when I was 5 and she married my stepdad like 6 months later. We didn't see her for two years and then I guess my dad finally had enough and let us go live with them in Houston. My stepdad had a nice house and a good job and a really big drinking problem. He gave me lots of presents and my own room with a TV (I remember feeling so happy about that because I'd never had my own room before) but he beat the crap out of my brother M. and scared the * out of my two other brothes. I was the only one he seemed to like and I think that's how my brother D. began hating me. I got presents and candy and they didn't get anything really. He'd yell at them a lot and he made all three of my brother stay in the smallest room together while I had my own. Brother B. usually slept in my room because he was still little and couldn't really sleep without me there but during the day he had to play in his own room.

I remember seeing my stepdad get really drunk and beat the living shut out of my mom. I remember seeing him headbutt her and blood running down her face and then the snap of her wrist as he twisted in his huge hand. And after he went to jail and got out a day later it was right back to drinking and less than a week later he beat her up again. So she left him and we moved to a tiny 1 bedroom apartment and we didn't have anything and we had to pick up all over again.

The funny thing is that just a few years later when I was like 13 my mom was getting desperate and she went back to my stepdad. My brothers stayed with my oldest brother and his girlfriend at the time and I stayed with my mom because I was afraid he'd beat her up again. He still drank pretty heavy and he was rude as * to my mom but I guess he had a soft spot for me because he never yelled or got mad at me. He was still nice to me but he was never nice to anyone else that I saw. 

I remember my mom went to the grocery store one day and it was his day off and we were watching some movie and I don't know how it started but he started tickling me. I hated being tickled but he'd always do that * because he thought it was funny. I was trying to like worm away from him but he was a really big man and he held on to me. I ended up laying on my back on the floor and I started lightly slapping at him and gasping for breath, telling him to stop. I remember one of his enormous hands grabbed both of my wrists and he held them down above my head so he could tickle my underarms.

I remember getting kind of scared and then I realized that I could feel his erection poking me between my legs and that he was kind of dry humping me and biting his lip. I freaked out and started crying but his hand stopped tickling me and he grabbed my boobs and kind of squeezed them one at a time and kept poking me with his thing and it hurt really bad. I think he let me go either because he brought himself to a climax or just kind of realized what he was doing because he kind of shook a minute and then he was off of me.

I think he was trying to say something but I got up and ran to my room and put the metal folding chair from my desk under the knob to keep him out. He knocked on the door a few times and I could hear him say my name but I had my head under my pillow and my face felt so hot and my body felt like it was aching all over from struggling against him (and he was a huge guy - I'm talking 6"2 and probably 250 pounds so I was sore for like a week later). He gave up after a while and I didn't say anything about it to anyone but least of all brother M. because I knew he'd probably shoot my stepdad (M. always had a lot of guns - I think he sold them as well as weed and eventually cocaine).

It was summer then and I didn't  leave my room for like the next two weeks while my stepdad was home and I kept that chair under my door when my mom left us there alone. My mom and him ended up getting into it again and we left and I never saw him again. *, I probably haven't thought of that in ten years or more and it feels like I'm going to cry. It's just...when I was writing about it it was almost like I could feel it all again. My face feels hot right now and how stupid is that that I still feel ashamed? I told myself for years that I did something to make him do that to me but there's no * way I did anything that would've made him act that way. I was a kid for Christ's sake. He was like 45 so he knew damn well that was wrong. Sick *. I really hope he's dead. All the * he put my family through, yeah, I hope he's rotting in the ground somewhere with the worms eating his sick * brain.

I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers again. I'm worried about how we're going to make it another year. I'm worried that we'll have to move 1,500 miles away to go stay with my dad and I don't want to do that. My dad is okay mostly but he's getting old and now he's getting religious too. He's addicted to pain pills because of his back and I know that's been eating away at his brain for the past 13 years or so. He hates my husband...well, maybe hate is too strong a word but let's say he dislikes him very strongly (though he tries hard not to show it to me because he knows I'll get mad and not take to him for a while). He doesn't like my husband because he "doesn't make enough money" but until recently we were doing better than we ever did in the previous 14 years.
Besides, I don't know what the * my dad is so mad about. He never made a lot of money either. There were two years that went by where my dad didn't have steady work and we couldn't even go spend the six weeks of summer that we usually spent with him every year. He never could afford new clothes or shoes or anything for me or my brothers. I wore nothing but hand-me-downs until I got to be about 16 or so because I couldn't wear their clothes anymore. We ate nothing but hamburger meat (hamburger helper, spaghetti, S.O.S., hamburger stew) and we never got birthday presents or Chris gifts.
Living with my mom was even worse though. At least my dad kept food in the house 24/7 and that's no small feat when you're a single parent with no outside help and 4 kids. Living with my mom we ate nothing but fast food because she wasn't about to spend time cooking. Even on Christmas and Thanksgiving we'd eat something she'd pick up somewhere.
I didn't know until later that there was a long period of time where my mom was addicted to crack. My older brother Matt filled me in on this about 2 years ago and I remember being so shocked. But it made sense. My mom would make $250 in tips but it'd be gone before the next day. We never had food, she never bought us clothes (we got hand-me-downs from her friends' kids and sometimes a church or the Salvation Army would bring us big boxes of clothes and shoes and just leave on our doorstep and we never knew how they knew we needed it but it'd show up occasionally - same thing with school supplies and presents at Christmas). She'd get home from work, make herself a really strong drink (Canadian Mist whiskey and diet coke - I can still smell it just by thinking about it and it makes me want to gag), and she'd change out of her uniform and into one of her embarrassing outfits (leather pants or short jean cutoffs  and Harley Davidson

Thank you all for your words. As I said before it is a good feeling to know you all are here and that I'm not alone. It sucks too because I wouldn't wish any of this on anyone, not even my worst enemy, but it's not as though the world is fair, is it?  I'm happy that those of us who've been through these terrible things have this place to come together and find some kind of support. A little understanding and compassion goes a long way.

Dee, your card idea is wonderful. I'm going to implement the same tactics and see if it helps me too. Thank you so much for sharing that with me. Something I do to help me cope with these thoughts and feelings is find a quiet spot to relax in. Then I go to my peaceful place. I did it a lot as a kid and it still comes in handy occasionally. It's just revisiting some of my favorite memories and remembering how good it felt to be me at that particular time. My best go-to memory is of my family at our favorite park. The sun shining, the birds singing, my girls running through the grass laughing and picking flowers, my husband catching fish and barbecuing. I think of it and remind myself that there are more of those beautiful days to come as long as I keep hanging on.

I too used to take comfort in having death as an out. It helped me feel a little more in control when every day I felt like I had none. It makes sense that it would come back so strongly in this time of high stress. It's just old coping mechanisms that refuse to say goodbye, I guess.

Thank you for your kind words, Blueberry.    for taking the time out to be kind to someone today.
It's a good feeling to be heard and know that there is a safe place to vent around empathetic people like you. I've just been keeping it bottled up inside and I guess I finally had to let it all out. I didn't want to burden my husband with my emotions when we're having a tough enough time as is.
I feel a little better just admitting to my feelings and now maybe I can focus a little more on the next steps I need to take to fix these hard luck problems.

Everything had been turning into complete * lately. EVERYTHING. I feel empty and hopeless and my stomach is in knots all the time. I can't sleep or eat. I've been trying to suppress them but I've been having thoughts about ending it all again. Ending it all because life seems to just get worse everyday. Every day there's a new problem or setback and I feel like I'm drowning sometimes.

Our car got totaled, we might lose our place to live, we're broke and we're struggling to feed our kids. The stress just keeps piling on day by day and I constantly feel like I'm either going to explode or just start sobbing uncontrollably any minute. I haven't exploded (obviously) but I have balled my eyes out several times and they were bitter, scalding tears. I don't cry often, only when my hormones get wonky, but this last week I've been in the bathroom sobbing into a towel so I won't upset the girls at least four times. This stress is really starting to * with my emotions just like it used to.

I used to think about killing myself all the time when I was a kid and I've always had a fixation with death but as I got a little older and got away from the people who hurt me it got a lot better.

Only in times like these do the bad thoughts get really loud and I have to fight bad impulses and tell myself "No, you won't. You can't. Don't give up."

Because I can't do it and I won't do it. It's not just me anymore and hasn't been for quite some time. My kids need me, my husband needs me. I can't give up or I'd be giving up on them too and I will never do that. They are the only people that give my life the sunshine it so desperately needs. Especially my girls. They drive me up the wall but at the same time they are the only people who keep me halfway sane most times. That probably sounds stupid but it's the truth.

They smile or say "I love you, Mama" and my heart fills with such joy that it aches. I am so grateful just to be their mom. They can be a handful most of the time; fussing and fighting, whining and talking back, not listening, making messes constantly. But they're my babie. Babies I vowed the moment I laid eyes on them to protect and care for every day no matter what. They are more precious to me than anyone else could ever be.

But I feel such worry for them. I'd do anything just to keep them safe and warm and fed. I'd rip my heart out of my chest for them at a moment's notice if they needed me to because they are all that matters.

I won't give up. I just won't. I will be strong for them and I'll tell that evil voice inside to shut the * up every time. I can be strong even when I am afraid. I can be strong for them.

Candid, thank you for your kind words. I appreciate it more than you know.

I've been thinking a lot about things lately. Things have been bothering me. I guess I'm just in a funk right now. I go through them from time to time and I just have to ride it out. Tell myself these thoughts and feelings, these nightmares, they can't stay forever. They'll go quiet for awhile and I can live in relative peace once more.
I think that I know what triggered everything again. I took this ACE test a couple weeks ago and it's supposed to gauge your trauma in childhood or something. Anyway, there was only 10 questions and I can't remember them all but I said yes to 9 out of ten of them and the only question that was a no was if anyone ever went to prison. Haha. I felt pretty stupid when I realized last week that my memory had fooled me yet again. My mom went to prison for two years on drug charges and I'd somehow forgotten all about it.
So ten out of ten. Hoo-freakin-rah.

I've been asking myself lately if I'm depressed. Am I? These thoughts. Remembering things I've buried so long. Remembering things at the worst possible times also. I was intimate with my husband a few days ago when I had my first flashback in forever. It took everything in me not to push my husband away and curl into a ball. He had no idea about it. I bit my lip and turned my head away from him and screamed inside my head. It gave me goosebumps and my flesh was crawling, I felt nauseous. The memory only lasted for a minute or so but he tried to engage intimacy again last night and I couldn't bring myself to tell him the truth. It's like I'm ashamed. Ashamed at something that happened over half my life ago. I've told him so much but there's certain things I can't and it makes me feel bad. I've never told anyone. I've never said it aloud or even written it down. Even thinking about it just disgusts me. I know I'm not at fault for what happened. Intellectually, I know I am not to blame for the sick things that were done to me, the grotesque things I let happen because I was too afraid or messed up in the head to know that it was wrong, but somewhere deep down I still feel ashamed and disgusted by myself.
I cope the only way I've ever known how. I numb myself in various ways and I tell myself that it doesn't matter. None of it matters and the past doesn't need to be brought to light.
I'm certain that this isn't healthy. I'm certain that I have MANY issues to deal with but I don't know how. If I'm being honest about it, I'm afraid to try.