No Soup For YOU

So there we sat. I noticed Jigger occasionally looking at me and after he had looked at me for about the fifth time I finally said, "What?!". Not wanting to interrupt me because he thought maybe I was busy working or something, he very quietly said, "Are you going to cook dinner today?" To which I replied, "Yes, at 2 o'clock just like I do everyday. Why?" Then he says, "Well, because it's 2:33 now." 

Huh?! 

So yea apparently sometime after midnight my laptop thought it'd be "funny" to go back an hour in time and I didn't notice. I don't know how long he would have actually sat there if I hadn't asked him why he kept looking at me. It's little things like that when I realize I'm very fortunate. My ex would have gone apeshit ballistic on me. When I was married before, my ex worked second shift which meant he got home close to midnight. Which meant I got my ass out of the bed at 11:30 pm to prepare his food so it would be hot and waiting on him when he walked through the door at 11:58. It didn't matter that I had to get up at 2 am to be at work at 3 am or that when I finished work at 2 pm I had to pick the kids up at 2:45 pm. Then there was soccer and dinner and homework and baths and maybe if I was lucky by 7 pm I would sit down.

On really good days I'd manage a shower somewhere in between soccer and not feeling guilty for serving macaroni & cheese and hot dogs to my kids for dinner for the third time that week. It's funny how life changes. How having different people around you can make you see the world in an entirely different way. 

So I made my husband his favorite food tonight. Even though it was an hour late, he didn't mind at all.

Well Trained

I married my first husband when I was 16. I was about 21-22 before I realized the "love" we shared was more that of master and servant than husband and wife. I would be 26 when I told him to fuck off for the last time and divorced his ass.  However today there are still signs of my training. Signs that I never notice. Signs that I can't break even if I wanted to. They have become a part of me and will probably remain with me until I turn to dust. They are who I am and are unchangeable. 

They become most noticeable when my husband asks for a cup of tea. He doesn't like the cup to be filled to the top, but my training DEMANDS the hot liquid be level with the top of the cup. The slightest of a fraction below is an insult to the person I hand the cup to. Even though I know my current husband PREFERS to not have his cup full, he never yells. He simply accepts the cup, says thank you and drinks. Occasionally he will simply say "make it just a half cup this time please" but it's only on rare occasions and he knows he won't get a half cup, but he asks anyways. Because maybe that time I'll be able to give him the half cup he has asked for. Except it's never half full. Although I have gotten slightly better. Now it will be slightly not to the top but not quite half way. It's taken me four years to get to the point where I can do that without my throat closing in panic or my hands shaking because "I made the tea wrong". 

I don't know if I'll ever break my training. I don't know if it'll ever leave me. I was very young when it started and it has wrapped itself around me in ways I don't even realize. There are aspects of it I love and don't want to change, but even though I like the action, it still makes me shiver whenever I realize the reason WHY I MUST perform it. It isn't my love for it that drives me. It is the training.

Five Days Since...

I first noticed the leak in the kitchen sink.

Four days 23 hrs 59 mins 34 secs since I first asked my husband to call the plumber to fix the leak in the kitchen sink

Two weeks 6 days 10 hrs 37 mins 23 secs until he'll probably call the plumber to fix the leak in the kitchen sink I noticed five days ago.

1,231, 432,678,416,397,001 that's the number of times I'll have to yell at him during the two weeks 6 days 10 hrs 37 mins and 23 secs before he actually calls the plumber to fix the leak in the kitchen sink I noticed five days ago. 

What it'll take for him to get his ass out of the dog house after he finally calls the plumber to fix the leak in the kitchen sink I noticed five days ago:

Never More

Things are never simple. Or easy.  I guess that's what makes them worthwhile but honestly at the moment I would settle for dull if it came wrapped in simple. At times my brain spins so fast the world seems to unravel in  front of me. I reach out and try to catch it but it just slips through my fingers. So fast. So elusive. Almost there but not quite. Today I am feeling very hurt and  disappointed and tired. Mostly just tired though..Tired of the bullshit..Tired of the childishness.

Maybe fed up is a better word.Yes. Fed up.

I've had my share and I am done. I don't want anymore thank you. Can I please be excused?

I am starting to lose my will to fight. And that scares me. I don't want to be stuck in content and settlement. That this is all there is. All there ever will be. Nothing more. Just what is. I try  to imagine a world of tomorrows but instead all I can find are nevermore's in a land of forgottenness I no longer can roam. I am stumbling.I don't want to fall again.

I am more than the names you call me. I won't allow another's words to define me ever again. Never again will I see myself through the looking glass. Never more. Never again.

I am more.

Truth, Deep Breaths, and Cake

Tomorrow is my son's birthday. He's 16. This could probably explain some of my weirdness lately. June and August are hard months for me. Reminders of things lost. Irreplaceable things. Reminders of hopes and dreams that are nothing more than whispers in the wind. Never knowing if they will ever be more than shadows I glimpse out of the corner of my eyes. June and August are weird times for me. 

I haven't spoken to my children since 2006. To be honest, there have been times where I didn't even try. Too much pain. Too much heartache buried in rejection. Pretending. Ignoring. Less pain in numbness than in feeling. I don't know what his favorite food is anymore. It use to be my lasgna but who knows now. He use to be an amazing futball player. He was a striker but now? 

I wonder if he knows how to drive or if he has plans for his first car. So many thoughts rolling around the darkness of my brain. I stalk my ex (his father) and my ex's wife on facebook. Their status updates always make me laugh at their hypocrisy. I think if people only knew your truth, but I remain silent. Deep breaths. 

I never pulled the rope in the tug of war with my ex. Whenever he put my kids in the middle, I just would let go. I never wanted them to feel they had to choose sides. I never wanted them to feel they could only love one of us. No matter how much I hated my ex I loved my children more so when he tugged I let go. Whoever said take the high road was a fucking moron. I wish I had been a bitch. I wish I had put his ass in jail when he didn't pay child support. I wish lots of things but they are just wishes. Unrealized moments of what if's and should have beens. Deep breaths. 

Then there is my ex roommate. The catalyst in what led me to sending my kids to live with their father. She told me she would help me. She told me she was my friend. That she would be there for me and like the niave idiot I was I believed her bullshit because I was so alone. I wanted a friend. I wanted to believe her lies were different. That this time it would be different and it was. For a moment, but then she was fucking a married man and well you can only fuck married men in so many places. She wanted our one bedroom flat to be that place, but my daughter has a mouth that does not close so she couldn't fuck him if my kids were there. 

They were an interference in her affair. When it comes to fucking married men, promises get forgotten and friendships become burdens. 

She told me I had two weeks to find a new place to live so I phoned up my ex and for the first time in the 8-9 yrs my children had breathed the air on this planet I forced him to take care of them. A part of me knew that I would never see them again. A part of me knew that I was opening an alternative universe that I would never again be able to visit. A part of me knew I was about to step off of the edge of reality. A part of me I have lost somewhere. 

Her affair was the final straw in my crumbling world. A world that was slowly being filled with delusions, insanity, turmoil. A world I allowed to consume me once my children were "safe". For three years I allowed it to consume me. Its embrace was comforting. In its arms I didn't have to feel the emptiness. The pain. I didn't have to BE. 

I gave up hope. Hope of a tomorrow with my children in it. Hope of a day when truth is real and not the fantasy my ex and his wife make it out to be. She was our babysitter. My ex's best friend's daughter. I trusted her. Invited her into my home. Even afterwards. After the lies and the divorce and the torture, I still opened my home to her. 

I taught her about religion. Stupid fucking high road. Don't ever take the high road. Don't ever be the "better" person. It's a dead end street to nowhere and nothing. Because no one remembers the truth. Just their illusions. No one remembers she was our babysitter. No one remembers she broke my home. Ask anyone and I am the evil bitch. I abandoned my children. 

No one remembers the unanswered phone calls. The threats for leaving a message on the machine. No one remembers the letters. No one cares about the years spent homeless. Never knowing if there would be food or a place to sleep the next month. No one cares why. They just care that they are the "good" one. That's all that really matters anyways. Not truth. Exhale. 

What would I do differently? Honestly I don't know. I am the person I am today because of the pain. Because of the difficulties. Without them I don't know who I would be or what or where. I was slowly being sucked into a vortex that I didn't want my children to be a part of . I wanted them to know sunshine, and rainbows. I wanted them to see the flowers and feel the rain on their faces. I didn't want them to know what it felt like to have your breath sucked from your body. 

But somehow I think they know. All of the things I tried so hard to keep from them. They know. So today I wonder if my son is happy. If he is content. I wait for the day when maybe his curiosity will outweigh his hatred. A day when maybe just maybe. That is the day I wait for.

Why Every Bipolar Needs a Jimminy Cricket

I've had this post rolling around in my brain for quite awhile, but there always seems to be some other thought that is screaming "oh pick me me me me pick me" much louder so I haven't posted on this. Then yesterday I read Haven's post about Denial. If you have BPD, bipolar, anxiety, or just breathe, then you need to read her post. After reading her post, it really brought up a lot of memories for me. One thing that I have come to realize is that it is extremely important that those of us with PD, bipolar, anxiety, etc have people around us who are positive influences. One comment I get the most is that I am extremely self aware. However if you had met me even two years ago, you would have seen little more than a sniveling snotpile of denial. 

I only became this way because Jigger shoved a mirror in front of me and forced me to look at it. He did it in a way that allowed me to grow and learn and make my life better. It wasn't easy. In the beginning I fought back like hell. I didn't want to see. I didn't want to deal. I wanted to forget. Be numb, but Jigger refused to allow me to remain in that snotpile. He dragged me out of it kicking and screaming. 

Now being able to see the world with a bit more clarity I can see how detrimental my ex was to my sanity. He use to do things and then totally deny them. We separated in 1999 but were still legally married. I just moved out of our house. Over the next couple years we would have moments where we would get back together for the sake of the kids, but he would continue to cheat on me with other women and now looking back I can say that he tortured me psychologically. What he did went way beyond abuse. It was downright torture. It literally drove me over the edge. I remember one of the last time he and I were together was at New Year's . To be honest I can't remember if it was 2000 or 2001 but I know it was New Year's. Time gets jumbled in my brain. We had gone out, had dinner, celebrated New Year's, talked about new beginnings, making a better home and life for our children, and I actually believed everything he said. Then a few weeks later he started distancing himself from me. He was short, snappy, argumentative. Then one day he showed up with his girlfriend. Who I should mention was 16/17 years old at the time. She started out as our babysitter. She was the daughter of my ex's best friend. When I asked him where he spent New Year's, he stood there and looked me in the eye and swore that he was home alone. That he hadn't seen me or been with me. That he didn't want to be with me. 

He told everyone that I was lying. Then she and him started this campaign that I was trying to keep THEM apart. That I was coming between THEIR relationship. That I was the CRAZY bitch who wouldn't let THEM be together. I really felt like I was in the twilight zone. Yes he and I had problems, but ultimately we were still married. We had two children together. We had been trying for two years to fix things. Well I had been honestly trying to fix things. They made ME out to be the bad guy. I was the wrong one, and all of our friends and my family agreed with THEM. I was evil. I had done wrong. I should just GO AWAY. If I wasn't there, then the world would be perfect. I was the cause of all things wrong. I heard this twisted reality so often that I started questioning my own perceptions of reality. Everything was so chaotic and my brain could not process it or make sense of it, and I slipped into a fantasy world. I controlled the fantasy. I "controlled" the delusional world that I created. It made sense. In my delusion, up was still up. 

The last time I spoke with my children which was several years ago, they told me not to call them or harrass them. So I told them ok this is my number if you want to talk to me or see me just give me a call. I won't call you again, and I didn't. They proceeded to call me as much as 50 times a day to tell me they did not want to talk to me to stop harrassing them. At the time I was living with a friend who got so fed up with their bullshit she answered my phone and bitched them out. Eventually I ended up having to change my number, but I was harrassing them. If you ask any of their friends or my family or anyone in general, I was the wrong one. 

Don't get me wrong. I am not claiming that I didn't do anything wrong in the marriage. That I was a saint or perfect. My point which is buried somewhere in all this is that it is so extremely important that you have strong positive people around you. People who will be there to help you glue the pieces back together. People who will help you to see the world as it truly is. People who won't judge or condemn you. Even if they are 1000's of miles away. Even if you only speak to them via email. It is so important for your health and well being. 

I wouldn't be the person I am today without those people. They know who they are. Just like Pinnocchio, bipolar people need a Jimminy Cricket in their lives. That doesn't mean that your life will never have bumps and potholes. It just means that you will have someone there when you fall into them.

Then I Exhaled

When I was writing yesterday's post about monkeydickfuckers, Jigger walked in and I stopped at the spot where the post ended which is why it ended so abruptly. I had asked him to bring some juice home with him because I had a horrible migraine, and he did, but as he handed it to me he made some remark that just broke me. Honestly, I have no idea what he said all I know is that it caused me to fly into a blind RAGE. I unleashed upon him all of the shit that I have been keeping inside of me. I was CRUEL. I knew exactly what to say, how to say it, and when to say it so that it would inflict as much pain and hurt as possible. At first he tried to put up a fight but really he was way out of his league. While we have had screaming matches in the past, I don't usually go full force, but this time was different. He stood no chance. The more I screamed the less he did. Until finally at some point there was only silence, and we simply stared at each other.

But I refused to blink first. I stared him down. Stone cold death stare. I did not cry. I did not show emotion. I am good at it. My mother trained me well. All those times of being beaten with belts and switches. "If you cry and apologize, I will stop she would say. Except I hadn't done anything wrong. At least not enough to deserve the beating I was getting and fuck her if I cried or apologized so she beat me. Until blood ran down my legs and I stared. Until the switch or belt broke and I simply stared. So really Jigger had no chance and I broke him. 

I hurt him deeply with my words, but I was also hurting. To be fair to him, he is as much a product of his environment as I am. I react the way I do partly because of bipolar and partly because of the abuse I have lived through. He is no different. He wasn't abused in the same sense as me, but he wasn't loved either. He is the "black sheep" in his family which is ironic considering all he does for them, but simply because he chose to live his life slightly differently than their traditional way he is the outcast. They talk so badly about him. So it's hard for him to accept that I truly am with him because I love him and want to be with him. We both have scars that are healing. We both have issues that we each are dealing with. We come from very different worlds so sometimes he doesn't understand my language and I don't understand his, but we have reached a point where we both realize and accept we have done wrong to the other one. 

After he broke down last night, we talked. I mean really talked for several hours. He finally told me all of the things he had been told. He doesn't really believe it, but he says that sometimes when I do or say something it makes him think that maybe it might be true, and anyone who has bipolar and/or BPD knows how easily it is to make yourself believe the "worst". So we both agreed to be more open and talk to each other more honestly. Even if it is hard. Even if it is something we don't want to talk about because if we don't then we are going to tear each other apart. 

In some ways I am glad he is going on this trip in a couple weeks. I desperately need some space and living in a house full of people it is very difficult to find that space. I have always found comfort and calm in the water. Before whenever I was upset or anxious, I would go to the river and just sit and stare at it. Watching it always brought me a sense of calm and peace and now I don't have that. I feel like every nerve ending in my body is exposed and my flesh is burned raw. Every touch is painful and I just need some space. This time apart will give me that space I am so desperately in need of. Then maybe I will be able to breathe. I'm sorry for leaving that post the way I did yesterday, but it was important for me. I needed that physical reminder of where we had been and where we are going.

my spot

So for now I am just going to exhale.

Honesty Sucks Monkey Dick

First I would like to preface this post by saying I am being forced against my will to blog. I did not want to blog. I wanted to crawl into a dark little corner and have a pity me party but oh no, bitch would not let me. Bitch had to stick her gawddamn nose all up in my bizness and is forcing me to blog because it will be all therapuetic or some such nonsensical shit as that. So yea bitch, I love you.

I don't really know if monkeys have dicks, but if they did, then honesty would blow each and every one of them because honesty is a big fat crock of SHIT. I don't know who came up with the idea of HONESTY but obviously it was someone who never has been honest in their whole life and thought hmmm how can I make money oh I know I will get people to believe my bullshit.

I was honest with my husband. I am no angel. I am not proud of the shit I did but I also don't feel the need to LIE about it either. Some of what I did was when I was manic some was when I just plain fucking stupid, but either way I did what I did. I have never been one to shy away from that. Most people misinterpret my honesty but that is ok they suck monkey dick too so I could care less what they fucking think. Monkeydickfuckers.

The reason I was so honest with my husband is because we have a LOT of mutual friends. Friends who I was certain would be more than happy to fill my husband in on my past. I thought by me telling him that it would keep us from having problems, but oh how naive was I. Because what I didn't plan on was the fuckholes LYING about my past. What I didn't plan on was my husband BELIEVING the fuckholes lies instead of me. But that is what happened and for three years now I have tried my best to make him believe me. I have been patient because he has been patient with me, but I am human. I have limits and I am at the end of my rope.

I cannot continue on being called a whore, slut, and any other word you can think of to insert here simply because two people decided making me look like a fuckass would somehow alleviate them from their participation in our relationship. By making me out as the controlling manipulative bitch, it would somehow make their cheating on their wives less important and you know what, they were fucking RIGHT. So divorce #2 is drawing near. I have already started making plans and most likely will leave right after Jigger comes back from his trip in July.