But you just did.
But you just did.
Yes. Sometimes I am an asshole. Sometimes I’ve hurt men’s feelings. Sometimes I’ve had unhealthy reactions to their treatment of me.
Several men have hinted that I may be abusive. Some think that it can go both ways.
Some see what they want to see in a person.
But – no one knows what goes on in a relationship except for the two people in the relationship. Understand this above all else.
When you’re told your entire life by everyone you love and trust that you are an asshole, you are a bitch, you are a shitty mother, you’re crazy, you are a slut, you are wrong, you are shit with money and you can’t take care of yourself – well, you accept it. You know it can’t be true, because you’ve been taking care of yourself and your children and your family through some incredibly difficult times. But it confuses you, and so you believe the worst.
You don’t see that you deserve to be treated better because what does “better” mean? It’s degrees. First you accept their apologies. Then when you see they aren’t sorry you say “okay if he calls me names I’ll call him names”, if he goes through your belongings you’ll go through his right in front of him to show him how it feels. If he won’t love me I’ll find someone who does. It won’t matter. He just uses it as proof that you’re just as bad as he is.
If he starts hurting you physically you slap him. Now you’re violent, too. You’re very angry. You are “abusive”.
If you make fun of him and hurt his feelings, he won’t say a word then but will bring it up when you tell him he hurt yours. So we’re both assholes. Except you apologize and you stop. He doesn’t stop.
He won’t ever stop. But we’re both assholes.
Your kids see him trying to be nice but you know it’s just an act. They see you angry. You aren’t talking badly about their dads but they don’t understand why you can’t just say “sorry” and be done with it.
Anyway – I’ve had to learn a lot about what is and what is not abuse in the past few months. I’ve had to identify patterns. I’ve had to accept the fact that I’m just one of countless others.
If you know someone experiencing domestic violence, please educate yourself before you judge her, or him. I’ve been guilty of doing this – judging other women. I’m ashamed of that.
That’s all, thank you.
Hello, Justin. Thank for for reading my blog. I was wondering who would be so interested in my thoughts, glad to know I still arouse your curiosity.
Out of my own sense of curiosity, did you find much else to try and use against me in these pages?
Better men than you have tried, and ultimately failed, to control me, so my blog is public again. I shouldn’t have to silence myself out of fear of what you may do. Or threaten to do.
Just so you know, when I said “in front of the children”, there were only two here that night. L and J. Both asleep.
I would never, and have never, done anything to put my children in danger. If you were worried about that you could have just asked me when you read it – instead you saved it up as “ammo” for a month. Concerned parent or abusive ex? Hmm.
I had hoped that in the what, seven years we’ve been acquainted you would have matured a bit. I should have known you never will – not without some major work on your part. Honesty, to me and especially with yourself has always been impossible with you – you prefer to attack rather than discuss. Use information as a weapon, rather than as an opening to a healthy discussion.
Enjoy, this one’s for you.
My six-year old just told me that he worries he’s going to die. Everytime he gets hurt, he worries he’ll die. Because of Tallulah.
Maybe some could say he was being the typical dramatic kid but he wasn’t joking this time. Wasn’t trying to get laughs or eyes on him. He was serious.
Jesus fuck me Christ.
Every day she finds a way to rip my heart open. Still.
Told my boy that what happened to his sister won’t happen to him. Who should I call for support on this? Dead baby club, where are y’all?
Do I even believe it?
Whatever happened, please don’t let anything happen again. I can’t do it again. Fuck me for living through it already.
Going dark for awhile. Will emerge at a later date with better thoughts.
It’s becoming impossible to tell how I feel. It’s even more impossible to keep trying to care to discover how I feel. The line between real shit and manufactured shit is disintegrating. You like that? That’s my fancy way of saying something ain’t right.
A list, because why not:
Things I currently worry about:
Anyway. I thought writing some of this down would help. Seeing the words, blah blah blah. But, it doesn’t. It’s just more of the void. Void-ier every day!
I asked him if he thought ECT was worth the disruption, he doesn’t think so. I get it. It’s a hell of a disruption and as the treatments spread out, the payoff was less noticeable. But then what is left? Restarting the magical journey of all the drugs again? Going through this one and that one and the side effects and the increasing anxiety and disappointment of still not being right? Doctor appointments, psychiatrists, therapy, pills, or doctor appointments, psychiatrist and ZAP!
All with a newborn plus three other kids and also while trying to plan a wedding?
I think the answer here is get over it, Kim. There is no solution and there is no relief. You aren’t dead and you still gotta do everything.
Still feels odd that death remains the best thing I’ve got to look forward to.
Pretty sure I’ve used that title before. I’m stealing it from Ice Cube – just in case y’all didn’t know.
Typing this on my phone coz my laptop doesn’t like sharing space with my belly.
Where’s the fucking inspiration?
I’m pregnant (again, yeah yeah), things are going relatively well. Don’t hold back, now, Kim. On the surface things look pretty good.
Good guy. Good kids. Good job. Good.
Then. After she died, and especially before/during/after shock therapy, it seemed to me that I finally felt all the feelings. Anger was the biggest. Still is. I know it’s normal. I know it happens. I know it isn’t *forever* (because who needs to keep learning that lesson, right!) but now feeling the absence of those emotions is just, tiring? Bleh? I’m just fucking down and stuck and I feel like I shouldn’t be.
I want to be excited. I want to be angry. I want to just feel awake in my own life. I don’t know how to do that, I guess. Springtime. Who needs it?
I guess I’m not in the mood to write, after all.