Old feelings…

I found a counselor last night I am going to attempt to get in to see both for couples counseling and for individual therapy.

She’s with a group that focuses on counseling those who are hard to counsel. My husband and I as a couple qualify for that. Even more so, I do though. They also specialize in DBT. DBT was what the counselor I opened up to previously suggested for me. It’s used for those who have chronic issues with suicide, someone like me.

I’ve opened up almost completely to one counselor. Completely to none. Partially to five counselors and three psychiatrists. Or something like that; it’s hard to remember anymore. If I had more time with that counselor it would have been completely. I trusted her. I didn’t trust myself. I knew I was teetering on the edge at that point. More so even than I do now. I lived by myself. I was extremely suicidal. The only thing that kept me alive was the fact that I cried myself to sleep before I was able to do anything. Living alone away from my parents meant that they likely wouldn’t be the one to find the body. I regret not going through with it then.

I did a lot of crying back then. I still cry a lot now, the tears are just on the inside. I can’t cry now without questions. And I don’t want to answer questions. Hell, I don’t have the answers to the questions. It’s not even that I don’t want to answer them, I actually can’t. Even back then, the crying was when I was by myself. Now, I’m never by myself. I never cried in counseling, although I wanted to so much.

Want to know what’s sad? More than anything, I just want someone to hold me when I cry. Simple, right? I just want to be held. The emotions are so intense. Even if i could get someone to hold me, I don’t know if I could live in the moment. As in, the emotional overload from someone holding me while I cry is too much. So as much as I want it, I can’t go through with it. I would have to separate the feelings that I desperately need to feel from how I feel for a simple hug.

My birthday is less than four months away now. It’s the day I keep planning to go through with it. Every year it is harder to get through. Every year I make the promise that I won’t see the next one. Every year I fail.

I want to tell someone all this so badly. I want to actually have the courage to TELL them, not have to chicken out and write everything out or not tell them at all. Completely. I want to talk and tell someone my past. Tell them what I’m planning on for future (or lack thereof). I want to have that candid conversation and tell them about how absolutely terrified I am about any possibility. I want to tell them that I really want to go through with it. I want to tell them how terrified I am. I want to tell them how incredibly intense the feelings are.

Old habits are resurfacing to cope. Or at least I have to fight them. I want to cut. I know Erik will be pissed if he sees that I’m doing that. I just can’t let people see, which isn’t hard given where I cut.

I’m scared to open up to someone. Scared to move forward. Scared to stay in the present. Just scared.

Somethings got to give though. I either have to work up the courage to move forward, or work up the courage to go through with it. The limbo isn’t working.


It seems like my life is riddled with drama. Mostly caused by work and one other person.

Our little boy ended up getting stung by a wasp today. We got some medicine put on it and he was back up going at it outside. My husband went to kill the wasp and its nest and the little on tried to follow. I picked him up and moved him away so that he wouldn’t follow. Little guy got mad and head butted me. I now have a bloody lip and a broken tooth.

We got home and I tried to show my husband my tooth. He said there was no way the little one could have chipped my tooth head butting me. Well, dang it, at least try to look at it. He kept telling me there was no way he could have done it. I kept saying ok to him. I’m not going to sit there and argue about my chipped tooth. If he doesn’t want to believe it, fine, don’t believe it. Then he basically got mad because I shut him out.

That was almost hilarious!? I shut him out… how ’bout him shutting me out. Telling me over and over again that there was no way it could have happened. He doesn’t believe anything I say. He shut me down … all I did was refuse to argue with it. I’m tired of arguing with him. He wants to spew his trash, he can do it, but I’m not going to agree with it necessarily.

Then he sat there on the bed and pouted for quite a while. I’m tired of having to deal with our oldest who throws temper tantrums just like him. I’m tired of her learning his bad habits. I’m tired of having to deal with three kids (including husband), and an old dog.

When is someone going to care for me? Maybe that is selfish, but for once, I want someone to take care of me.


I ran across this in one of my Facebook groups.

I’m pretty much alienated at work now. Unless someone *needs* something from me, I don’t see folks.

I sit in my office and pretend that I’m happy.

Pretend. Typically I’d say that it’s so much easier to pretend to be happy. To put a smile on my face

because that means I wouldn’t have to face the hurt that I’m feeling. Or to face the questions from people. But honestly, at this point, no one is asking how I feel so it is even more lonely.

It feels this is never-ending. Right when I get to a point where I think everything is going to be ok, it changes. I go from rock bottom to I’m going to make it through this, to rock bottom again. It’s just a cycle. I had just recovered enough to think that my life was worth living; starting to be happy. Then all this happened at work, and I realized that it really isn’t worth living.

Things get better folks say. I’m not really seeing the proof behind that. And at this point it wouldn’t take much to convince me things could get better. Things are so bleak that any light would be helpful.

Anytime I didn’t have to argue with folks at work. Or argue with people at home.

So what happens when the chapters start running together? When life feels like one big long chapter, with no break? When one chapter really does make up my whole story? Or what happens if there are different chapters but they all end the same way?

At the end of the day, it doesn’t matter which scenario it is. It matters that I’m unhappy. That I can’t breathe because I’m so focused on just staying alive. That I have absolutely no clue who can handle the intense emotions. I want to talk to someone, but not sure who I can turn to.

I keep wondering… do things get better?

Will I be strong enough to end the struggle? Or will the struggle end me?

It’s been a while…

I’ve been reading some of my old blog posts. It occurs to me that not much has changed in my life. I have no hope of my life getting better. The kids and my husband are asleep on the sofa. It’s not even 7:30. I want to sleep but can’t. I can’t stop thinking about life. Or, rather,  of wanting to die.

I’ve been fighting these feelings since I was a little kid, well over 20 years now.  You would think the feelings would be easier to cope with. The feelings of wanting to go to sleep and not wake up.

I have two kids to take care of. They would miss me if I went through it, right?  But would they really?  The youngest is 16 months.  If I do it soon then he won’t remember. The oldest is nearly five. I can’t remember things that I did or that happened to me when I was five.  I don’t think she would remember me.  I don’t want her – or anyone – to remember me once I die. My birth was a mistake and I wish it were to never have happened.

I have no one in “real life’ I can talk to. No one understands what it is like to have to convince yourself to stay alive everyday. I’m tired of that. Mentally tired. I don’t know where to go to. I don’t know if anyone would care anyway. I also don’t want anyone to “tell”. If I decide to go through with it, I want peace for myself and acceptance from others. I don’t want someone to try to talk me out of it.

122 days…

Someone today told me that no one wants to see me gone. 

I don’t believe that for one second. I didn’t believe that when I was 11. I don’t believe that now. 
What proof do I have?  No one tells me that they love me beyond the obligated folks.  And I believe family tells me because that is what they are supposed to do. I don’t believe them. 
Samantha wouldn’t remember me. It’s better to go through with it while she is younger. Then she won’t remember me.  She won’t remember what a failure her mom is. She won’t remember how horrible of a person I am. 
I don’t want to be remembered. I’m a horrible person who doesn’t deserve to live. Everyone believes that. They are just too polite to tell me. 

I just have to make it to when this baby is born. Hopefully that will be sooner rather than later. Then everyone will just think I had PPD. No one will know the truth about how long I’ve suffered. 
No one will put together how horrible of a person I am. No one will care. Actually everyone will care. Their life will be better. No one will miss me. And I can’t blame them. I deserve to feel like this. 

December 15th

So because my days lately hadn’t been shitty enough, it just keeps getting better.  

Hubby pretty much refuses to talk to me. He won’t get up to go to work. He just wants to pout. I’m down watching Samantha and he wakes up. Wants to know if I was going to work. I told him that I would if he was going. He goes on about how I don’t want to be around him. That I should just have an abortion and get rid of the pregnancy since I don’t want to be pregnant.  
I’m crying.  I told him I want to keep the child and he argues with me saying I don’t,,,  
He yells at me some more and the goes back in to the bedroom. 
I kiss Samantha goodbye. Give her a big hug. Tell her I love her. I take off into the coldness with flip flops and a light jacket. 
I walk down a stream bed behind our house,  The water is cold.  I find a good place along the bank to sit down. I cry. 
I have no clue what I thought I was going to do,  A part of me wanted to keep walking down to the River and just drown. A very big part of me did,  I didn’t though. I regret that decision.
I got up and walked back to the house. My husband and daughter were waiting on the corner for me,  I have no idea how ,long they had been there.  I didn’t really care. I walked under the deck and continued crying there. He convinced me to come inside,  
Into the bedroom to change out of the cold wet clothes.  And there I cried more. 
I finally made the walk downstairs. I called up to get my prescription filled. And we went to pick it up later that afternoon. 
Arguing with him that he is the cause of how I’m feeling wouldn’t help. Nothing helps anymore. 


Beginning of December… First day back for one of my employees who had been out of country. She looked at me and asked if I had changed something… Yes, I had a new makeup.  She liked it. She said it looked like I had a pregnant glow. I thought nothing of it until a couple of days later when my cycle was late. Pregnancy test confirmed it…

I don’t want to be pregnant. I had every intention of killing myself for husband’s birthday.  Being pregnant means that I won’t go through with it.  
December 2nd. That’s the day I found out. And lost all hope…

Figuring out Christmas Plans – December 14th morning

It’s a couple of weeks before Christmas and i thought we had our plans all figured out. Hubby’s mom on  Wednesday before Christmas, Thursday with hubby’s father and then Christmas Day with “Santa” and my parents. We had agreed to it. Saturday we would go back to his moms because she wanted to do a separate birthday thing for the little one.  We agreed to this right after Thanksgiving. He even yelled at me and told me I better not change my mind. That we had agreed to the plan with his mom and that it couldn’t be changed. 

Then my husband decides he wants to change it. Why?  I have not a clue. Because he can. Because he knows that it would upset me.  Because I can’t. 
So Christmas would be spent with his dad. Christmas Eve with his mother. I told him we could be with his mother on Wednesday since my mom had to work. We could wrap presents on Christmas Eve.  Spend Christmas with his father and do half of our Christmas on Christmas and Saturday and then go to his moms that day for S birthday. He didn’t like that either. His mom should come up for Samantha’s birthday. However I didn’t know when her party would be. And I didn’t want his mom ruining my parent’s anniversary and closing of their house.  I told him she could come if he could guarantee she would be up there for one day and leave the next. He refused to do that and I held my own. 
By the way, this whole argument took place in the car while I was driving to woke in the rain. He likes to pin me in these situations. He knows that I hate driving in the rain to begin with. So he can make my life pure hell doing this. 
By this time i was so frustrated with him. I told him I didn’t care what he did. I was going to stay in Nashville.  I was going to kill myself and he could marry my sister and take my life insurance money so he wouldn’t have to work again. 
He kind of freaked out with that. He started listening to me. Not that I would get my way at all. 
He called up his mom. He made a big deal out of her wanting to do Christmas and Samantha’s birthday on two separate days several days apart and then she came up with wanting to do it all in one day. So he terrorized me about that for no reason. It gets old after a while. 
Then he claimed everything was because I was pregnant and my hormones are out of whack. No mister … It’s because you treat me like crap… Not brave enough to tell him that.  I made up some lame excuse about being out of anxiety medicine. He bought it. 
And things were better for then…

I made it through…

I made it through my birthday. I wish I hadn’t. Actually I wish I would have had enough courage to kill myself when I was young. 

Every day is so hard. Very few people know about my struggle. Not even my husband does at this point. 
What would they do?  Try to stop me?  I don’t want to be stopped. I want the pain to end permanently. There’s no other way. 
I’m all alone in this. No matter how many people think they are here for me, they don’t know me. They don’t live inside my head. They don’t have to deal with the thoughts. 
I started taking my anxiety medicine again. I remembered why I quit it before. Besides the sleepiness. It takes the anxiety out of the depression. As in I’m no longer afraid to die anymore.  I just don’t care about living. Looking at the pros and cons for it even for others it just doesn’t work out in “living”‘s favor. 
I don’t think alot of people that deal with depression get the suicidal depression.   You truly can’t get this until you’ve been here. And it’s even more different for those of us that deal with it for long periods of time. 
I’m tired of putting on a smile and pretending everything is OK. At work I have to do it. 
I feel so terribly alone in this. And scared. I’m tired of crying. I’m tired of the pain.  I’m tired of life.