How Did We End Up Here?

•09/21/2017 • Leave a Comment

It’s like he suffered this strange memory loss and has forgotten how far we’ve come, what I’ve endured. Everybody has their limits, don’t they? Nobody is talking about the why, so the what they think they know isn’t even right. People are framing things like I just magically fell out of love and I’m choosing to be some kind of marriage abandoning cunt. Yeah, I’ve struggled with depression and anxiety all my marriage through but I’ve also suffered one personal setback after another, waiting for things to get better that never got better.

Fuck if I know the cheating ever stopped. What do I believe anymore? Honestly. I’m never going to be able to keep Mandi and John apart. He was friends with her for two years, he said. “That’s a long time.” Okay. We’ve been together for ten and married for seven. Guess hanging onto this meant less. What, since I caught you again this August, I’ve got nothing to worry about? Did I have anything to worry about 18 months ago when you were texting her while I was shelling out hundreds of dollars for your birthday? Or on any given day since? What part of “never again” was confusing? When I caught you after nearly a year of cheating just before we got married, were you confuse on the parameters of my staying or leaving? When I caught you talking to her on facebook? Why would you think this was okay?

I feel like time has put too much distance between you and your actions and I’m fucking sick of the deception going on that makes me sound like the asshole here.

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Don’t you remember? THIS is why. THIS is why we have problems. THIS is why it’s not okay. THIS is why I don’t trust you and why every concurrent breach of the trust that I was building again doesn’t just destroy that trust or the possibility of future trust, it brews my hate. There’s part of me that really fucking hates you. That part of me that knows I was not the one. The part of me that hears you telling me you loved her but married me. Glad to know I was better than spending the gas money to get there. But nothing more.

You love me madly? Fuck you. You have never loved me. Fucking nobody has ever loved me. And that is never gonna be different.

Have you never read this blog? This blog is about how constantly disappointing I’ve ever been to you, how worthless. Can’t you see that? Or do you need to call Mandi and ask her opinion? After all, she told me that you told her I abuse you. *I* abuse *you*. What a fucking laugh. You cheated on me for a year while telling me and everyone else that I was insecure and crazy, that I needed help for even thinking it. And when I catch you and think you’ve learned enough to just admit it, you lie to me. And then you lie about how long. And when do I start thinking I’m getting the truth from you? When am I supposed to believe you? HOW? And just when I miss you, just when I miss the companionship or the contact, just when I’m feeling sorry for you, just when I think I can’t do this, just when I’m not sure if I have the fortitude in myself to keep going on this path, when I just want to give up and be the pathetic piece of shit you fuck while trying not to say her name, something happens and I see you don’t want or care to change. Not for me.

Yeah, I have some confusing feelings and I’ve been honest about them. And they wouldn’t exist honestly if room hadn’t been made in our lives for me to feel this empty and hopeless and perfectly aware that you are always going to need her more than you’re willing to make our marriage work. My feelings are stupid and unrequited and honestly foolish anyway. I know that. It’s not like they’re gonna change a damn thing.

I’m lonely. And nothing in my life is panning out. Nothing is or has ever gone the way I wanted, or hoped, or worked for. Everything always turns to shit, because you know what they say, you get what you deserve.

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Father, These Are the ThingsYou Should Know

•11/30/2015 • Leave a Comment

I trusted you. I trusted you even when you said it was over. I trusted you when you lied and said everything fell apart. I trusted that you were the one walking wounded, not the one who made the mark.
You do not get to act like the injured when you are the one who gives up, who never tried. You do not get my pity or my compassion when you can only live life when it is easy and caters solely to your own self. You do not get to make yourself look like the victim when you sneak away and lie to your dying wife and adopted children while you do so to carry on an adulterous relationship with a girl younger than your wife’s Son and expect pity.
Least of all do you get to play the pity party when you’ve snuck off to dip your dick in another woman while your wife is alone recovering from another round of chemotherapy so she can live long enough to have more time with you; the man she abandoned her life, family and country to be with. You do not get to pretend to be kind, or generous, or good. You are none of those things.

You are a liar. You are cunning. You are weak. You are pathetic. You are disgusting. You break promises you never even intended to keep. You cheated on your ex wife and lied about it. You’re still married to your ex wife and lied about it. You are not my Father. You claim to want to stay in my life, but don’t you see that I can’t have a deceitfulous cunt in my life? For any reason? Why are you deserving of anything? To even shit on you would be a waste of my exertion. You are a minuscule, shrivelled little fuckass. You are nothing but a pathetic little fuckboy in man clothes playing a role you don’t deserve.

I let you lie to me and break my dying Mother’s heart. I hate you. I hope you get hit by a truck and die on fire burning in a coating of gasoline.

Fuck yourself and your Georgian horse riding whore, Sam Wolfe (aka Cunttana). Lose my number. Fuckface.

You Don’t Want to Hurt Me, But See How Deep the Bullet Lies

•12/22/2014 • Leave a Comment

This deep mistrust I harbor is an epidemic disease that will only spread until it has devoured everything I’ve ever loved and could ever love. There is a new silence in my world and the source of that silence has brewed from a longing sadness to a slow, churning, roiling hatred.

I was beginning to feel a bit okay again. I was getting back to finding myself somewhere in the mess of doctors appointments, assessments and work. I was trying to make time for small passions like making more music and reading books again, putting on music instead of deadening my thoughts with talk radio. I was succeeding in small steps at learning how to smile meaningfully. And then it happened. I think somewhere inside I always know it will no matter how other people tell me not to be a pessimist. Everybody fucking leaves and even when I know they will somehow, I’m never prepared. I always feel like the car that gets t-boned in an accident. It always feels like it came out of nowhere and I’m left with the painful aftermath of the whiplash and sudden death of it all.

I gave you a part of myself I haven’t given anyone in a long time, and I trusted you with it implicitly. I also gave you a new part of myself I have never had before to give to anyone and above all else in this life, that part I did not give lightly. You betrayed that trust, in the most significant, cruel, deceitful way you could devise. At the end you could not even muster the fortitude to be honest. You are a coward. I can see there is no room to share personal problems, only one person in the world gets to be broken. What I always saw as acceptance was seen by you as exclusion. What a joke. If I ever tried to include you, I was seen as being insensitive and lacking compassion. What you’ve left is abundant with questions, anger and sadness. You took something from me in promise that you never deserved to be offered, let alone believe it was your right to accept, if this is something you were capable of doing with it. I hope someday you are taught a betrayal as deep as your own. And like me, I hope it shakes you down to the bare bones foundation of your being.

This event pushed me over the edge. I completely fell off of whatever recovery I was in. I’ve spent the last month in a haze of prescription medication to level out my moods and alleviate the pain of a really poorly timed physical injury. I am in sessions every week, tweaking my medication and struggling to stay awake or even live consciously. The medication is hard to wade through and it has been only through the recent decision to scale back that I’ve found my way through the fog at all. My life has until today been completely unmanageable.

I am tired. I am tired of everyone. I don’t want to be; I am tired of expectations I cannot meet no matter how I try, and words that intentions that are forced on me to wear that I did not create. My heart was a home once. And it has been completely burned from the inside out, and yet people keep trying to force residence inside it. You cannot tear a person down this way and expect them to stay standing. My heart was a home, not a prison.

I don’t know what purpose it serves to hollow someone out and then expect them to be full.
It isn’t just the same ballet. It’s the same performance. I don’t dance. I echo.

K.

Our Hearts Sing Less Than We Wanted, ‘Cause We Don’t Know

•11/06/2014 • Leave a Comment

It’s November with all the vengeance against me it has held for all these years since the cycle began. Every year I have prepared for it as any somber occasion- aware I would be morose and brooding; I was. I was always ready for November to be sad and full of masochistic reflection- prepared to be looking back as if that is where my attention belongs this month every year.

But this time I’ve tried a new tack. “Look forward. look forward, look forward, look forward.” I cannot be blindsided if I have my eyes open. I don’t have the time to waste always looking back at something that cannot ever be different. All I can do is change how I feel about what doesn’t change and can I do that always looking behind me at what was, who I was? Or do I look forward? I got three days into the month and the nightmares started. This year, they’re different. At first, I thought good.

I had a lucid moment in the first dream. There was a reconciliation. A new beginning. There was happiness in an unexpected change in events (I don’t have time to waste always looking back at something that cannot ever be different). I realized somewhere in the back of my head that the circumstances under which this at-first-dream-then-nightmare were wrong. I dreamed it through a younger view of myself. It felt freeing at the moment it was happening in my head, like, “If I can dream this, feel this, think this, if my feelings can change enough for this, maybe I can let it go now.” I remember thinking it and feeling this relief unlike I have known ever. But almost as soon as I had it, it began to slip away. Those feelings of relief quickly became poisoned with this feeling of being trapped and powerless and unable to do or say the right thing to stop anything or save anything.

Control is an illusion. At least it has been for me. Everyone around me thinks they have it, and sometimes even I think they do, but the truth is I know that power is tenuous and it’s only as strong as your belief in it. I just want to let go. Let go. Look forward.

Push Me Away, Make Me Fall, Just to See the Other Side of Me

•10/31/2014 • Leave a Comment

I know this update isn’t the next chapter of the book I’ve been going through- I intend to do that soon. I thought that in the interim, I should do an update because things are starting to happen.

So, at the beginning of the summer, I spoke to my doctor, who essentially told me she did not believe in mental health disorders, and that ultimately they’re personality flaws. I was told to get over myself and read a self-help book. I left the doctor that day feeling unstable and scared, full of self-hate that it did not feel like she was right but she had to be, and also a deep anger because ultimately I knew she was wrong, and once again I was met by an indifferent medical professional who was using me to make a quick buck without actually having to do her job. I googled my Doctor and found hundreds of complaints about her treatment of her patients. Her origin was in physiotherapy and sports medicine, before she took an upgrade to a family practice.

After the last time I ended up in the hospital, VIHA stepped in after I essentially made a complaint and have hugely taken over my care. Within a month I was starting to receive updates from people about accessing programs that would find me a new doctor, properly refer me to my endocrinologist directly, get me an insulin pump, advocate for my disability, and help me find and utilize a therapist. Finally I am starting to feel like people are listening to me. At the same time that acknowledgement is new ground and I am nervous. I’m trying to convince myself it’s nervousness, not fear, but I think it’s both. I’m trying not to let that fear hold me back from getting what I need.

The hardest part of this, despite feeling kind-of vindicated, is hearing people who deal directly with trauma on a daily basis tell you that they’re overwhelmed hearing everything you’re dealing with. It’s hard because you know that the reason people are ignoring you and have shut you out all this time is because it was easier than trying to understand what even you can’t. It’s hard when people on the outside are angry at you for your feelings and/or decisions, it can all seem so black and white from the outside but completely muddied on the inside. Everything feels so deeply entangled.

I’m right at the beginning of the battle. But for the first time someone is there, willing to help me fight it. That is a humongous relief- just knowing your life has the capacity to change and be better. I’m tired of being this lone being bopping around a medical system helplessly that expects me to recover without ever having to give me the resources or time to do so. Here’s hoping.

Waking the Tiger: 1; The Body As Healer

•09/29/2014 • Leave a Comment

I’ve begun two books. This one, of course, as food for thought and targeted thinking, seeking advice and methods for coping. The other, is a book that is in a highlight right now because of the movie that was made from it: “The Fault In Our Stars” by John Green (of vlogbrothers fame). This book has been under fire as well as praise, because some people saw it as some kind of Hollywood glorification of illness. I know that at least in terms of appearance, kids dying of cancer look a lot more sick than they look in movies- even that movie. It’s not appearances I’m reading it for- I’m reading it for the insights. And perhaps John Green has never been dying of cancer. I’ve never been dying of cancer either. But I have been dying before. And there is still some merit in reading something to find something to relate to.

Anyhow, on with “Waking the Tiger“.
Continue reading ‘Waking the Tiger: 1; The Body As Healer’

Waking the Tiger: Prologue; Giving the Body Its Due

•09/22/2014 • Leave a Comment

I have to do something. Even for myself. Despite my posts, I have been looking for help- someone to reach out to who can give me answers instead of platitudes. Thus far, most people have offered an errant “Mmhmm”, as if that’s some indication they were even listening, let alone being what could even vaguely, at a squint, be seen as supportive.  I get no credit for such efforts either. As previously mentioned, I am just burned out- with almost everyone and everything. It sucks having no support system at all and still be expected to be part of ones for those around you who actively choose not to be a part of yours.

A counselor (not even a therapist, because getting one of those is pretty well impossible here) suggested this book, Waking the Tiger: Healing Trauma by Peter Lavine. My parents (who are the closest thing to a legitimate support system I have but are too far away to be a regular, active, or integral part of it) purchased it for me, hoping it could help. As part of my journey, and my concerted effort to actually bother reading this thing and hoping it makes a difference, I’ve decided to record thoughts on each chapter- not as a review but more so how I relate to the material and what I garnered from it. Here goes.
Continue reading ‘Waking the Tiger: Prologue; Giving the Body Its Due’