47 days

I want to write. I’m struggling tonight. I want to get the feelings out. But what happens when those feelings are so muddled and intertwined that you can’t get them out? That you can’t even figure out what you are feeling. You don’t know where to start… only that you are hurting. Deeply.

I’m alone. I know that. I know that people won’t notice if I’m not here. People won’t care. The world would go on the same without me. S would go to school. W the sitters. E would do what he needs to do. According to him I’m not needed. The people at work wouldn’t notice. They’d probably be happy that I’m not there. Anyone else would be better off without me.

If I’m not needed, and living is so painful, what’s the point of going on? Why keep trying? Why fight the feelings that tear me apart? They aren’t going away. I’m not going to get better. All I know is that I’d much rather be dead than alive.

I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of telling myself tomorrow is a new day just to find out that tomorrow sucks just as much as yesterday.

I want someone to hold me while I cry. I want someone to tell me that I matter to them. I want to be open minded enough to trust if they tell me that, that they mean it.

I’m tired of just barely getting through the day. I want this to end. I have no faith that I could actually kill myself without failing at that too. But status quo isn’t working. Something’s got to change. Something’s got to give.

I don’t know who to turn to. I wish I could talk to someone who won’t just automatically convince me that living is the best thing because that is what society thinks the answer is supposed to be. I wish I could talk to someone who will help me rationalize the decision to stay alive (or not). Who will talk me through it, with the understanding that the answer may not come up with me living. Someone that isn’t afraid to let me go. Someone, who if the answer comes up with me not living, won’t let me die alone.

Saturday

I had mentioned when I came home on Friday that I was likely going to be going to the Farm. So when I mentioned Saturday morning that I was going to the Farm, it didn’t seem like a big deal. Little did I know that I would be starting a big argument.

I had mentioned my sister and her fiancé would be there, and that if Erik wanted to move the safe, that it would probably be a good day. They were also going to go out shooting, and he might enjoy hanging out with them.

Well, apparently, my parents are just trying to split us apart. I’m spending the whole weekend with them. (I’m spending Saturday with them). They don’t appreciate him. We don’t include him when we do stuff. So I pointed out that I often feel left out of conversations between him and his mom, and what him and his mom do together. That I feel unappreciated by her too. It’s been a constant complaint of mine. She tries to wedge us apart. (He’ll acknowledge this when not in an argument where the point is being made). No… no she doesn’t, and she does all kind of things for our benefit. She watches the kids. She gave us money for the down payment on a house. Ummm… you do realize my mom watches the kids too? That my parents were going to give us a down payment for the house we were both madly in love with. He claims that he had no idea that my parents were going to do that. I still remember the phone conversations he had with them. I bet I still have the text messages. I can’t tell if he is lying or if he doesn’t remember. I don’t know that it matters. And then he launches in that it isn’t a competition. I told him it wasn’t meant as a competition. That I was using what he feels shows that his mom is appreciative of him to show that my parents are appreciative too.

He told me that he didn’t think counseling would work, that it isn’t even worth his time and money. I probably picked out a horrible counselor like I did last time and that it wouldn’t work. I told him it didn’t work last time because he refused to go to the sessions we were supposed to be going to. He claims that we decided not to go because the counselor wasn’t competent. That wasn’t the case.

He told me that he and the kids got along well without me. That I wasn’t needed. That I could leave and not come back. I countered with that if I was going to do that, I’d just go ahead and kill myself. I’m not needed. I’m not wanted. At least then he would get the life insurance money. “Oh that again?!” Apparently, I was just saying that to get attention. I told him I’ve felt that way for months, that I’ve told him before that I was struggling.

I grabbed my knife. I kissed W good bye. He just smiled and waved. I hugged S and told her that I loved her. I walked out. I didn’t know where I was going or what I was going to do… or if I’d come back. I knew I couldn’t stay in the house. I couldn’t listen to E continue to tell me that I wasn’t needed or wanted.

I walked down to the creek. Walked a good ways down along the creek. Found a rock to sit on… and cried. I didn’t know what to do. All I could do was cry. I texted a friend for a while. A friend who told me that the kids needed me. That I am loved. I didn’t believe it. I’ve had a husband tell me the opposite for years. I’d been crying for a good while, well over an hour and a half. I took a deep breath and opened the knife. I looked at the blade and cried. What would happen to the kids if I died? What would happen to the kids if I lived? Everyone would be better off. I don’t know why, but I closed the blade. I got up. I looked upstream, and back towards home. I cried. I didn’t know whether to go deeper into the woods, hoping no one would find me, or whether to walk back home. I decided to walk back home.

I sat out on the porch for a while. W kept knocking on the window and saying momma. I walked in, and walked upstairs. The kids were happy. They really didn’t need me. I stayed in one of the guest bedrooms and cried for quite a while. E came in and was like he isn’t getting to spend any time with me if all I do is sit in the bedroom. So I come downstairs, and he promptly goes to sleep. Then he gets up, goes outside and weeds the garden, then comes back in and goes upstairs and pouts.

We eventually re-connect and are able to talk. The kids go to sleep. We eat dinner, and play a new game together.

Everything is ok… for the night.