Desolation

•09/22/2014 • Leave a Comment

2am; where do I begin? Crying off my face again.
The silent sound of loneliness wants to follow me to bed.
I’m a ghost of a girl that I want to be most.
I’m the shell of a girl that I used to know well.

I am always going to be the villain in this story. People never tire of making me the villain. Those around me say, write and do things as if I am too daft to piece together what is going on. I think they’re all full of shit. It has been all I can do for the last few days not to say that things are inexorably similar to a grievous day that changed my life. I am sick so often that now nobody thinks twice about the effect it has on me if I end up in the Hospital, or that maybe the stress I am under is why. The worse things are for me, the less anyone seems to care. I feel like a ghost. And I feel like I should have wisely known that “better life” is a lie, and an illusion. I am dying very slowly. And by the time anyone notices I was even alive I will be gone.

I am so untrusting of everyone and everything now. And yet, if for some reason I lost my ability to go on and do this for even one more day, I’m sure it would shock everyone. Nobody believes a word I say until it is too late. I am becoming a bitter, angry, resentful person for this fact. I don’t matter. Why should those who don’t think I matter, matter to me?

I have asked for help with what I am going through from family and friends and doctors and they all just stare at me wide-eyed and hesitant, and the minute eye contact is broken it’s like my plea never left my lips at all.

Now I am stuck in something I can’t change and can’t fix and can’t walk away from. I am so tired of being a problem that I’d like to just remove the problem all together. Nobody will ever care enough to help me, or listen to me. Every open door and available ear comes with a price and I am not just a walking body- a physical commodity. I should not have to pay a price with my skin to get what should come automatically, but does not come at all, payment or none.

I just want to pack and disappear. It’s a warning sign and it’s tugging at every muscle and bone in my body with a relentless gravitational pull that is taking Herculean strength to ignore. I’ve been the fighter. I’ve been the bodyguard. I’ve been the lover and the weekend warrior and the hero. And I’m tired. I’m tired of the thankless battling and the being invisible and the not having even a measure of help. I’m tired. And I told people I was getting tired, burning out, unable to continue at this pace this way without changing some things.

Yet here we are.

But I’m done. There is a consequence to a time where head clearing is possible. Sometimes distance has consequences. Sometimes it has the exact opposite effect we intend it to. Sometimes those you’ve fought for, who should fight for you just don’t, and they’ve made no secret that you’re not worth fighting for, and you never were. I go looking for answers, encouragement, reach out for someone. All I come up with are fistfuls of years of established evidence that I am not her. I am not her and I was not her and I will not be her and that makes me woefully inadequate. I will always be woefully inadequate. Sometimes it is one fine detail that has changed from something we planned rather vaguely that is the destroyer of trust. Everyone has to take the inch of blossoming trust and shove it through a mile long wood chipper.

I feel cheated. I feel lied to. I feel abandoned. I feel angry. And I don’t even want to fix it anymore.

I just want to remove the problem.

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Things Get Damaged, Things Get Broken, I Thought We’d Manage

•07/02/2014 • Leave a Comment

…But words left unspoken left us so brittle…

Who was I before all of this? I wish that’s a question I could answer. If you had asked me then, I am sure I’d have known. I remember being sure of myself- probably for the first time in my whole life. I remember being proud of myself, fond of my body. I remember owning a confidence I’d spent my whole life searching for. Now I feel like that confidence was built on a house of cards. I was sure of myself and of nothing else.

As much as it hurt me, somewhere inside I wanted it to mean something. I wanted it to be worth it. Was it worth it? Because 7 years have passed and do you know what’s different? I’m 29, I’m unsure of myself, and I doubt everything every second. I died in 2007. My heart stopped. Quiet honestly I don’t even know for how long but there were several days after- some in a coma, some awake- that I was expected to die permanently. I spent those days waiting for it to come. Ever since I feel like I’m still waiting. I feel like a ghost.

I’ve been hanging on to consciousness, one second to the next, just holding on for dear life. When do I get to feel like the master of my universe again? I’m unsure of everything I do, everyone I know. I doubt every decision I’ve ever made. They’ve all been like tripping and instinctively putting my foot down to keep from falling on my face, over and over again. All of my movements and decisions are reactive. When do I put my foot down on purpose, where I want it to be? When do I stop making every decision I make based on my survival, and start making them based on my happiness?

I still feel lost. I still feel diminished. I still feel damaged. When do I start feeling like myself again? Will I be sure? Will I be confident? Will I like myself? My happinesses are small. Most of the time I settle for distraction in enjoyments. I’m not sure those are the same thing.

Who am I now, since all of this? I wish that is a question I could answer.

Where Were You?

•12/28/2013 • Leave a Comment

When I was broken
Tears and sweat
streaming down my face
as water beat down upon
and dripped from my body
rocking violent
emaciated, distraught
On the floor
Of the shower
Where were you?
Why would you not hold me?

When I was scared
at the depth of my feelings
the feelings
that scared and scarred
for you damaged me
I was afraid
They would tear me apart
From the inside out
and could not run from them
So I clung to you
Why did you erase me?

When I was lost and wandered
off my path
Found myself stranded
On a distant island where all
That was left
Was a noose
And a blade
And your fistfuls
of Hate
Why did you abandon me?

When I was at the precipitous
Edge
Of the chasm
Expanding ever between
Earth and Tartarus,
Love
And the boundless emnity
Of your heart
To mine
Why did you kill me?

You’re Like a Stranger, You Vanished Like a Vapor

•11/03/2013 • Leave a Comment

WordPress has solved this problem for me that I feared for many years. I’ve been blogging since I was 15 years old. That’s 13 years worth of thoughts and feelings that one day would just disappear. A defunct blog- all of its posts erased after a year or two of not being used. I don’t know why I never thought to import and merge them together before, but here it is now.

I look back 10 years and I remember how light I was- how small the problems and how innocent and naive the mind. Sex was something to snicker about- to hallmark and of which to make ritual, to count and track as though it were some poll marker proof of something. Part of me misses that girl, misses being that girl. I miss having everything to look forward to. I miss not knowing what was coming- being someone that as an adult, things had not happened to yet. I wish I had known then how much I wanted to be who I was. I was so unsure of myself. We take ourselves for granted when we’re young.

I remember, around this time, 2002, being scared of the future. I was looking at moving. I wish I had run toward it sooner instead of staying. I wish I knew what that path looked like. Instead I stayed for someone with whom I will never have closure, who the memories of still sometimes haunt, who I manage to run into without fail every single time I go home.

I miss my home.

I feel strange and nostalgic. I feel sad but happy. I’ve saved memories I was certain I would lose. That means something to me. Maybe I should, but I don’t want to forget.

If Vision Is the Only Validation, Then Most of My Life Isn’t Real

•06/03/2013 • Leave a Comment

Opened up a box of you / piece of paper or two / with my name written on it and a question mark / Who is this girl that I’ve made? / I’ve been kept in the dark / and I’ve seen you once / in the fear of your belts and leather / and you were just about to tempter / There was distance / you’re my spout resistance / and I cant believe that you still don’t know me / I am a mystery / So I separated all the things that I have hated / with the victories I’ve won / and the biggest one was you / these are things you should know / Knocked the breath right out of you / but what’s a brown-eyed girl to do? / when her future lies on chasing paper / and I just cant hide my frustration…


Of the people in my life, few know me at all, and the few who do know me very little. I can easily say that in my entire life, I could count the people who truly have known me on two hands- and that’s a generous estimate. People have known moments of me or aspects of me, but that has ultimately meant little. One can’t tell what the picture will be, or is meant to be, with a few stray pieces that don’t even fit together. People sometimes forget the life I came from, because I have worked so hard to move beyond it. As much a contradiction as that might be, sometimes I choose to remember so that I don’t forget all the reasons I stand up for myself, that I am tenacious, that I am unwilling to back down or be railroaded, or take anyone’s shit. I have. I spent my life being forcefed ideas about how I was meant to behave and what I was meant to do and who to be. Following orders in the interests of others never paid off. I wasn’t even treated well for following through. Most of the time, following orders became a strict demonstration of how easily manipulated I was. Years of beating and sexual abuse came from following orders. Nobody was looking out for me.

Thus, in life, I’ve somehow always managed to attract these types of people: manipulators and controllers, liars with extreme charisma. Monsters. The people around me, the people pretending to be protectors, people whose job it was to preserve my right to a childhood- innocence- they were bleating sheep. They were easily manipulated, sheared naked and led to slaughter time and again by people. And in the end, too often, it was me and my siblings who paid the highest price. Even now I wonder how I manage to meet these kinds of people or allow them a presence in my universe. I fear this sometimes about my spouse. He is agreeable. But with everyone and not just with me. The conflict- any conflict, is a last resort. He would almost sooner lay down and sacrifice a limb before having to say no, or get mad, and stand up for anyone- even himself- even when he should and it should be easy and obvious.

Everything is going to be different now. I hope so, at least. In all honesty, I don’t even know where to begin explaining this all to you, except from the beginning, and this has been a 5 year uphill battle. I first met David (or this is the name I’m giving him, for safety sake) in the summer of 2006. My Mom accompanied him to the mainland to visit and we took my niece to the aquarium. I was 21 and in a long-term common-law marriage that at the time I thought was happy. Sometimes I look back on this period in amusement, because I was hearing stories about David and Shadow, not realizing that I was hearing the name of my future husband (Shadow). I find it ironic to this day that my Mom once lived in a house just across the highway from the house we own now. I look out my living room window and I can see where it used to be.

Anyhow, after I was diagnosed with type 1 (LADA), I lost everything. We’ve discussed this. I came here to start over, and my Mom was giving me a place to do it. Fast forward 5 months and I’ve started dating Shadow. Well, to give me an excuse to visit his home, which he had acquired officially only three months after I moved here, by buying it with David, he took my computer and insisted that if I wanted to use my computer, I would have to come over. Before anyone had a chance to blink, I had keys to the house and was over all the time. The usage of my computer was severely underestimated. Within a month it became clear that living with my Mom was totally pointless. I never went home anymore. I’d come home from work, change, go to my computer, sleep over, go to work, rinse, repeat. By January, I was officially asked to move in. It was moreso a decision made for me by Shadow and my Mother. I didn’t feel I had much of a say and I also didn’t know if I was prepared for that. That and David and I had never talked about it. However, everyone seemed fine with it and life continued on.

Over the next year, David became a too-present presence in my life. If something went missing, I was not asked if I’d seen it, but very pointedly accused of stealing it. If a towel was found left in the basement laundry, I must have put it there. I didn’t realize there was towel etiquette. If a plastic cup was left in a room, I must have put it there. If weather stripping came off of a door jamb, I must have “intentionally vandalized” the house. I felt like a crook in my own house- someone generally up to no good and completely unable to get by without trouble following me. As a result of this constant barrage of accusation, I became a really huge hermit. I avoided getting out of bed  until nobody was home, I slept all day and stayed awake all night so that I would have the safety of personal space to get up and eat and enjoy myself. This avoidance, this feeling like I was walking on broken glass all day, this fear that the tension would come to a head grew stronger every day. Even when there was no reason, no obvious indication, I could feel the tension so thick that I was nearly choking on it. Finally, Shadow got a job out of town and for a few months, we left entirely. The commute was too far to do every day and we’d been doing long distance despite sharing a room in the same home for almost 12 months. That four months was pretty great. I loved the new city, I loved our new friends and my job. Sadly when the recession hit, we were both forced to go home because of finances. Rent and a mortgage and no job just weren’t going to hack it. So we were both out of work and unable to find it. We were trying, even going through employment retraining seminars for months to keep our EI going and the search for work fresh. Nothing helped. Jobs were scarce and the pay sucked.

We went without work for the entire year before we got married. About two weeks after moving back here, David started throwing bills in my face for what he expected me to pay a premium for his having to endure my presence. There were no discussions, there were no questions asked. It was instantly assumed that neither Shadow or I were making any attempt to do anything or even leaving the house.  Not too long after, we decided to have a night of gaming, and my Mother came over. She sat at my computer and insisted I use David’s (she had permission to use it). He came home during our monster gaming session and flipped, running up and down the halls screaming about what a hobo I am. Naturally, trying not to cause an inflated situation, my Mother stood up and tried to leave before she started biting his head off to defend me. She had to try to squeeze between him and the door frame, and he just lost it. Before even figuring out what was going on, he grabbed her by the collar of her shirt and lifted her clean off her feet. He tore a rather sizable hole in her shirt while screaming in her face to “get the f*ck out” (of a house he only owned half of), and she, being one of his closest friends, was so terrified that she begged me in tears to move out immediately.

I did. For four months. Of course, once Shadow and I got married, living apart wasn’t going to work. So I moved back in. Fast forward a year and I found out I was pregnant. This has been a particularly hard battle for me, as I had miscarried two years before and didn’t think I could get pregnant. I was celebrating and happy, and as my sister had just dealt with an unwanted pregnancy and received heaps of support, I thought I would, too. Wrong. Literally the day after I found out I was pregnant, I received a threatening text that basically threatened to throw my pregnant ass out onto the street. I was going to have nowhere to go. I spent two days barely able to speak. I talked to a counselor, I was scared and my Husband was so caught in the situation that he didn’t defend me, he just shut down.

I felt enormously alone. I couldn’t go home. Not where I didn’t feel safe or welcome and not to a partner too stupid to stand up for me and tell me to come home at the moment I needed him more than ever. To know he would protect me and his baby. To know he was even happy we were pregnant. To know I mattered at all. For two weeks I didn’t go home. For two weeks he didn’t ask me to come home. For two weeks I felt like the miracle of finally getting pregnant despite all of my health problems and not miscarrying… I felt like all hope was lost. Had I conceived a baby I would have to raise alone? Was I ready to do that? Was my marriage over? Would I be a good Mother? Eventually I went home. I can’t remember if I was finally asked to come home or I just felt like it was time to face the music.

The time since has been just an endless nightmare. David moved out, and shortly thereafter refused to pay a cent toward his debt to the house he insisted on buying. Our debtload doubled, and then David started logging into the bank accounts and taking the money for the mortgage before the bank could, or bill payments could be deducted. We were having to go behind him and close old accounts and open new ones to stop him from doing it again. This put us $1500 into the red and we still haven’t managed to pay that back to the bank (we had to take out a loan to pay the mortgage after our mortgage payment was stolen). David, using the keys to the house despite having moved out, would let himself in unannounced and steal from us, or “inspect”, sometimes while I was laying naked in bed sleeping, or showering having no idea he’d let himself in. He would walk around and photograph, or take video and then threaten to sue us later if we didn’t mow the lawn or do a load of dishes. He walked in on me sleeping in bed at least once, and did the same to my roommate on a separate occasion. When he wasn’t coming into the house, he would walk into the yard and peek into the windows, and take pictures and video. Other times he would drive past day and night to see if we were home and what the house looked like. We began receiving threatening emails 24 hours a day, texts at all hours of day and night much to the same effect, and eventually I started calling the police. I had a high risk pregnancy, diabetes and high blood pressure. All I needed was one too many stresses. Well, we know how that turned out. I had told my doctors several times about what we were going through. I was going to my OBGYN and having ultrasounds weekly, blood tests twice a week and a diabetes consultation weekly. 3-4 days a week was doctors appointments, and eventually their fears over my anxiety forced them to hospitalize me.

On three separate occasions I have had to involve the police, one of which had myself, my roommate and my Son and Step-Daughter huddled under a window hiding while I called 911. Each time he has been told to leave and reminded that he is not welcome to bother me, or be here, ever, without my consent. I had to file a stalking case against him and even then, they were technically only able to enforce it when I was alone because at the time, he owned half of our house. I was told not to contact him unless completely necessary and to change the locks. The police, my doctors, my lawyer and a slew of people have personally witnessed this psychotic fuck in action.

My Son almost died. And worse, this evening, I’ve found out that while my baby was hooked up to a ventilator, while a machine was breathing for him, while he was covered in wires that dilated his blood and injected him with platelets and lipids so he would get better, while tubes were feeding him, David was telling people he wished my baby would die. What a disgusting fuck. We still don’t ultimately know if my baby will be okay. He might have developmental problems, or be blind in one eye. We still don’t know for sure. How could you wish an innocent being, just a baby, to be dead? How could anyone be that much a monster?

David should not be allowed within 100 yards of a child. He has malicious intent toward every last one of them. And he’d better not cross my path or darken my doorstep ever again. If you are his friend, his whole being is an act.  His charisma, his almost drippingly overdone friendliness, his desperate personality, the way he twists everything to his favor and wriggles out of the responsibility for anything should be red flags. Being anywhere near should make your fucking blood run cold.

An Idiot’s Quest For the Truth About GMO

•05/27/2013 • 2 Comments

Please don’t unfollow me, or spam me with hate mail. I am an innocent, intelligent person with good intentions. But I am also a skeptic. Saying that, some might think I would approach the subject of GMO foods on the side against. But I don’t know how I feel about that. I don’t generally respond to fear-mongering media because its entire purpose is to frighten us into tuning in or buying papers. It’s sensationalism and 99% of the time, it’s not entirely true, decorated with myths, full of holes, or generally an outright lie that is packaged and dropped on your doorstep topped with a big headline meant to scare the bejesus out of you. “IF YOU EAT THAT GMO TOMATO YOU’LL GET CELIAC DISEASE AND CANCER AND DIE!” No. I’m sorry. I’ve been consuming GMO food for two decades and all I have is this relatively perfect bill of health (except for that type 1 diabetes, which came before the GMO foods).

There was recently a huge city-to-city protest against Monsanto and GMO foods. While I think we all need to think critically of Monsanto (and Dole and DuPont- just sayin’ some of those guys are actually guilty of foreign terrorism), is GMO food itself all that bad? Should we demand a ban on the supplier or the product? Should be ask for labeling or a complete ban and WHY?

Between you and me, these questions are also personally motivated. I am a person of the working class, who makes (even married with a combined income) less than poverty level income working full time. My Husband works three jobs to pay our bills and at the end of his cheques, he’s lucky if he can afford to buy a flat of Mr. Noodles, let alone a healthy diet. I, on the other hand, am working so hard to save emergency money for us, and put away for retirement, and pay our medical and dental and our Son’s RESP that I don’t have much money to spend on organic food that is 2-3x more expensive than generic food. Furthermore, my family won’t eat it and it rots. Most of the time I’m lucky if I have time to cook. We are both shift workers home at different times of the day with schedules that change week to week and day to day, and we don’t eat at home a significant amount of time simply out of LACK OF TIME. My Son, who has special needs, often eats up 2-3 days a week with appointments, and when he doesn’t, I do. Many times it has come to the choice of having a meal or having gas to get home, or having food or paying our hydro bill. We, like many underfed poor people, rely on our community’s food bank to eat.

Starvation is real. And compared to the people on this planet who need the food the most, I’ve never starved a day in my life. So are we afraid for legitimate reasons? Or are we afraid just because we don’t know for sure? Is that a good reason to destroy a science that could also save the world if it IS safe? Is it all black and white? Are some modifications acceptable and others not? Is it possible we could stand back and vote on what genetic modifications should be allowed? One thing is clear, I think we do need labeling, political transparency and very tight regulation.

As for those claiming that the human population is being experimented on, GMOs have been on a wide scale first world food market for almost twenty years. Most pharmaceuticals require less than half that time to be allowed for human consumption. Why are we still so afraid?

I honestly think sometimes that we’re a nation of self-indulgent pricks, finding first world problems to bitch about. “There’s fish DNA in my tomato!” Oh no. By chance have you ever eaten a tomato? Have you eaten fish? Have you eaten fish and tomatoes together? Then what the bloody fuck is the difference? I honestly do want to know. I don’t want to be in the dark. But I also don’t want to be one of those people who hears that GMOs are evil from a friend and then start waving my pitchfork like I’ve got a fucking clue. I don’t want to be one of those people who goes to a health food website, or guru website, or vegan website that peddles naturopathic remedies to the ill of intelligence and automatically jump on board the anti-GMO bus because some neurotic asshole who wipes his ass with mint leaves says I should be scared. Have you seen these people? No really, GMO = Cancer? Really? Is that why rawfoodists and vegans get cancer too? Were they cheating on their diets or cheaping out? I eat GMO, and I’ve never had cancer (at least not yet). Cancer also existed in epidemic numbers far before the widespread consumption of GMO foods. GMO = Celiac disease! No. I also am not celiac, and Celiac disease has been proven to be a fad diagnosis and fad diet among people who need to have something wrong with them in order to feel important. As if being celiac makes you unique. It’s a disease, not a fucking purse dog or a bow tie. Diseases aren’t suddenly breaking out in epidemic proportions! Science has caught up to being able to diagnose people who previously would have gone their whole lives without diagnosis at all, or misdiagnosis at the least.

I love nature. I love the idea of being natural. But I hate when a single idea inspires nations to be afraid for no good reason. Why should everyone live in fear because of an idea? Because of an unproven idea? Should we be cautious? YES! Should we be inquisitive? ABSOLUTELY! Should we be concerned? MOST DEFINITELY! But scared? Angry? Out with pitchforks, torches and protest signs? I don’t know.

I think about those poor people in Zambia, whose children are starving or stillborn, whose parents are widowed or dying, who cannot fashion together clothes or shoes most of the time, who are reusing needles provided to them by our asshole first world charities in such small numbers that their AIDS epidemic didn’t stop spreading when we sent them medicine, it exploded. I think about the people in this world who die of starvation every 3.6 seconds who would have murdered a person to get their hands on even one genetically modified fish tomato to live even five more minutes. I think about biochemistry and how it is also used to cultivate treatments for chronic, life threatening diseases, like mine, and how attacking GMO won’t stop there. It will be the science next. And then the scientists. And then people will start dying from preventable disease.

I can’t help but have a crisis of conscience when I think about the people so afraid of what hasn’t been proven or unproven, and what they’re willing to take from the world, fact and sight unseen. We’re okay with biochemistry as long as they can prevent or end pregnancy, or make penises larger. But fuck if they try to feed people.

But here’s the hard truth on both sides of the coin. People die. People fucking die all day long. In 60 years the Earth’s population will be topping 10 billion. That’s 2.4 billion more than today, and 4 billion more than 10 years ago. A century ago the population of earth was 1.65 billion. PEOPLE are the epidemic. Don’t tell me that we don’t have a serious crisis with food and water supply coming.

So tell me, should I be afraid? Is there hard proof that this is dangerous? Has a death ever actually been caused by the consumption of GMO food? And would it have caused that person’s death if they consumed that same food untampered? Am I against Monsanto? For numerous reasons, absolutely yes. Am I against GMO? No. I don’t think so. Not yet. At this point in time, I think this cause is being led by a bunch of first world whining sheeple.

And I’d love someone to change my mind. WITH FACTS. Not opinions, not theories. Things that I can hold in my hand and know without doubt, beyond brain damage or blatant ignorance, they are real. Because okay. If someone eats a genetically modified tomato, their kid might be born with six eyes. He wasn’t, firstly. But I could also walk outside and get hit by a car and die. 1.24 million people die because of cars every year, on average. I don’t see anti-car, pro-pedestrian protests going on. So why the sensationalism? Why the thinly laid theories that use scare to try to convince you when cold, hard facts would be enough?

Won’t someone tell me? (Keep in mind, if you’re a nutjob, you’ll get the response you deserve. So please approach with an impersonal and clinical explanation of fact that can be cited to reputable sources, thanks).

Inevitable Days

•05/16/2013 • Leave a Comment

This will be a mixed subject post. I want to be one of those people who looks forward only, toward the things that are coming, prepared and excited. I am a deeply introspective person in many ways, though, and often find myself looking back, wondering how things might’ve been different. It isn’t productive, or useful. Many times it can even be depressing. It’s almost the same as fantasizing, only it doesn’t bring me happiness. What I tend to think on looking back, are the losses and endings of things, and people. I see this as being a deep flaw in myself.

Today, I went to my Mom’s old house for the last time. I mean, I pass it regularly, but this was meant to be the last time I’d go inside. I’ve had the keys for a little while but had no time to actually go there. What I hadn’t been informed of was that it had been foreclosed on and almost immediately sold to a housing company. The door handles had been sawed off and replaced. There was no going inside. Through the windows, small things my Mom had left behind were locked away where they couldn’t be reached. It isn’t her house anymore. How do I wrap my head around all of this?

On top of that, my brother announced this week that just 10 days before my 28th birthday, he will be moving to the United States. on the other side of the continent, to be near my Mom, and start over. I’ve lost an enormous chunk of my family in the last three years. First, my Grandfather (the only one who is actually now deceased), my Mother, my little Sister and now my Brother.

I think that the thing that has me frightened about that is that completely removed from my marriage, I have no safety net that is entirely my own. A lot of promises were made to me by “friends” and “family” in my last relationship. After all, we were common-law, we’d invested almost 6 years in one another. It was just expected that we were on our way to more, someday. However, all of those promises were broken, and I couldn’t rely on even the most minor of words that had been said. Promises mean nothing when sides are taken and they’re not on yours. Loyalty is a powerful thing, and quite often it will take priority over conscience. Where do I land when the promises that people have once again made me break? Granted, there is a child involved, and this is the first time I’ve actually been married. I have no fears of divorce, not really. It has been a tough two years and that has impacted our marriage, but I feel like we’re strong. So why am I scared? Why am I skeptical? Why am I grieving? Maybe in some way, losing these people in my life who made my life what it is, or have made me who I am, is a little like losing myself.

I feel like a child going off to kindergarten alone on the first day.

To shift gears, now, has any other Mom experienced this? When I was on maternity leave, it was generally expected that I bore the brunt of the home and baby aspect of everything. After all, I was home all day. And my Son has severe medical complications because of the circumstances surrounding his birth. So I attended every appointment, which for months was at least 2-3 days a week. I had to keep track of all of the information and be able to translate it and communicate with dozens of doctors and nurses. I had to keep his immunizations up to date and remember what days his teeth came in and look out for seizures.

Night after night I would be the only parent up to change diapers, breast feed or make bottles or rock the baby back to sleep. I was the one feeding him the baby food and brushing his teeth and bathing him and changing his clothes. Because my Husband worked. I was the one cleaning the house and taking out the garbage and running the errands. It was expected of me. My husband worked. He needed sleep at night and to relax when he got home- after all, he’d been on his feet all day.

So now that I’m back to work full time, it seems I’m still expected to do all of these things. Nobody feeds my son solids for the 8 hours I’m at home, or changes his clothes. Diapers get changed but bins pile up with diapers until the house reeks like urine. I’m finding used wipes in my Son’s room on the floor- sometimes mixed with laundry and toys. Nobody sweeps, and I’m finally having a fit when there are no clean dishes or there are four weeks of garbage not taken out. I’m still having to do everything, otherwise it does not get done.

Has anyone else experienced this phenomenon? Is that why Moms are superhuman? I can’t tell you the last time I had one solid sleep. I nap. If I do more than nap, I end up finding my kid drinking out of bottles that smell like blue cheese, or wearing clothes that have been dripped and drooled on until his neck is a land of perpetual wetness. The last time I asked my husband to do a chore, it was laundry. I had to do it myself. Then I asked him to fold it when it was done. A week later, just out of sheer protest, I had to do it myself also.

Then there are the work politics. But that’s a whole other issue. I’m going through a great deal of transition going back to work, and about to become a first time home owner (and under the most debt I’ve ever incurred in my life). The family element has complicated everything all the more. I’m feeling just overwhelmed. And sad. And I hope it passes. I’m trying to find happy things to cling to.