Great Expectations

I've been hiding. I'm still hiding but I want to get these thoughts down before I lose them.

I have been under a tremendous amount of pressure to step up and handle two people's worth of parenting and household duties. I feel like I am going to crack all the time, like I am drowning.

In addition to the stress currently underway because of Hubby's absence, I find myself often confused by things around me, especially the things other people say and do. Their opinions and expectations and suggestions swirl around my head, coloring my thoughts and tainting my own views. I second-guess myself and then second-guess my second-guesses. I still don't feel I have an accurate barometer to judge for myself what is "right" and what is "wrong" in regards to appropriate expectations and boundaries.

It would appear that a great many people in my life don't like the other people in my life. The Shrink doesn't like Hubby and isn't thrilled with Baby-Mommy. Baby-Mommy doesn't like Hubby and that is completely mutual. My writing-buddy doesn't like Hubby or Baby-Mommy. The list goes on.

While I sometimes don't like these people's behaviors, I don't think it warrants rendering a judgement of disapproval. I don't like it that I have to tell Baby-Mommy that I need to leave a half hour before I actually do because she never gets home when she should. It hurts my heart when Hubby screams at the kids or bites my head off. The mother can rip my heart out in a single conversation. My writing buddy doesn't hold a conversation all at once. But they are what they are and I know that and I know it. I have the choice of learning to adapt or moving on and I choose to adapt.

As near as I can tell these people don't like each other because they are holding unrealistic expectations of them. People expect Hubby to keep his temper, Baby-Mommy to extend her view of the world beyond herself, me to take care of everything that needs to be taken care of. They hold people to standards that don't fit who the people are and where they are in their lives.

Why don't people expect others to act the way they know them to be? Continually change that image as the person grows and changes but don't expect them to meet standards that you have imposed rather than those that they meet on their own. If you know someone is always late, plan for it - don't get pissed about it. If they are on time, great! Bonus buy! If they start to be on time more and more often, you can adjust your expectations. But why set yourself - and them - up for failure and frustration?

My theory has always been to hope for the best and plan for the worst. See the best in other people. Believe that they mean well. Believe that they are doing their own personal best. Believe that they can be better than they ever have been.

But protect yourself. Don't trust someone with more than you can afford to lose. And if you have to put that kind of trust in someone, make it someone with a track record of earning that trust. You don't pick up a poisonous snake with no protection except faith that it won't bite you. Pick up the snake if you are called to do so, but wear gloves so it can't pierce the tender flesh.

Maybe there is something inherently wrong with this philosophy. Maybe holding people to low standards will discourage them from growing. Maybe it is not holding them accountable for their actions. Maybe it even goes so far as to encourage the very behaviors that cause me problems.

I guess it a defense mechanism on my part. If I don't expect more of them than I know is likely, than I won't be disappointed and let down by them. It also keeps me from "having" to feel angry at them for not meeting my expectations of them. If something they do upsets me, it comes back on me for not expecting as much and protecting myself. (And, as I have said repeatedly, I find it so much easier to be angry at myself than others, owing to control issues.) It also ensures that I make backup plans... just in case.

It doesn't keep me from encouraging them to improve. I had a talk with Hubby about his anger on Friday. It didn't do anything to help but I tried. (And that's a helluva lot more than I've been able to do in the past.) Mostly I just do it by praising the behaviors I do want to see and refusing to comment on the ones I don't. I only intervene in the other stuff when things begin to get out of hand. (Read: DON'T MESS WITH MY KIDS!)

I guess my whole point is that if we go into a situation, whether it be a place and occasion or a person we deal with, we need to have realistic expectations, ones grounded in predictable behavior, rather than holding them to a higher standard than they are capable or willing to fulfill. When we do that, it becomes so much harder to be annoyed and angry at the results and perhaps impressed by behavior above and beyond. Accept people as they are. Don't impose your own Great Expectations onto them.

I Will Never Be Good Enough

I will never be good enough. Not a good enough mother, wife or daughter. Not a good enough friend or neighbor or mentor. Not a good enough housekeeper or cook. Not a good enough writer or student. Just plain not good enough. It doesn't matter how hard I try or for how long or how old or young I am. I will never make it.

The in-laws came over to help clean Saturday. This started off in a bad position as they came at 9:30 on a Saturday morning. NO ONE in this house likes to get up on a Saturday morning. And NO ONE in this house likes to clean. Not off to a very good start. But that is when they were available and that is the time they said they would be here and I was not about to turn down the offer for help, not that they would have let me if I'd tried. So fine, load up on the Xanax, take a deep breath, prep the kids and get ready for a long day.

It was indeed a long day. Long, hard, tiring and emotionally and physically draining. The first thing that happened was The Lecture from the MIL to the kids. She directed it at the kids but it was very much addressed to me as well. And the basic point was that we weren't doing enough. The house is a mess barely three weeks after a serious cleaning. Hubby will be upset if he comes home to this mess. It's bad for all of us and bad OF all of us. Work harder, do better, clean more, period. And it turns out the reason the in-laws came over is because Hubby's aunt (who also came to help) had seen the playroom at its worst and called the MIL to say that she felt sad that our house was so messy. The MIL was understandably embarrassed and upset. ouch.

So all day long, the MIL directed traffic, the FIL cleaned while muttering comments under (and over) his breath, the kids did their best, though they aren't used to spending 6 hours straight cleaning, and I grew more and more depressed. I am infinitely grateful for their help. But I feel just awful about needing it. It didn't feel good to have so many of my shortcomings laid bare like that. It brought home the message that I will never be good enough.

It's obvious that I'm not a good enough housekeeper. Even when I do the best I can, I simply can't keep up on my own. And it turns out that I'm a pretty crappy mother too. I haven't taught my children the cleanliness habits they ought to have or instilled in them a sense of pride over a cleaning job well done. I can't trust them to do their jobs without being told (and told and told and told and told) and I haven't been checking up on them enough. They don't pick up after themselves because I haven't enforced them doing so as they've grown. And it may be too late for them to internalize the clean work ethic as an ingrained trait. Too little, too late.

Well, as I stewed on these topics, all the other areas in which I am seriously lacking swam into focus and I realized that I am simply not good enough. Doing one's best does NOT mean that it's good enough. People say that no one can expect better than the best one can do - but then they turn around and pass judgement on the ways that we fall short. I feel like I am drowning in "too little, too late"'s, all the ways that I come up short.

As a mother - though this is by far my best area, there are still so many things that the kids are not getting and learning. I don't take them to church or teach them religion nearly enough. I'm horrible on follow-through. I forget things constantly. I haven't taught them cleanliness in home or self. And, despite my best efforts, I still lose my temper and snap at them.

As a wife - not only do I not keep the house good enough, I don't keep up my end in other arenas either. To be blunt, in the sexual relations area, I don't excel. I'm just not interested, at all. And I dodge him by going to bed much later than he does so that he's asleep. When he asks, I do go up with him and then I'm afraid that I'm rather phoning it in, so to speak. I am falling back on the things I know work from memory, not from current feelings. He deserves better than that. It's not good enough, despite being the best I can do.

As a daughter - I love my mother with all my heart but I don't show it very well. I don't spend much time with her, even though I know that she is alone all the time and hates it. I feel like it takes so much energy to get myself to go over. I have to really psych myself up for it. She is having a hard time right now, having been off her medications for a year now, and I find myself frustrated easily. And some of her views and behaviors just really get to me. I know it's all part of the borderline personality disorder, but there are times when it is simply exhausting to deal with. And right now I am so tired already that I haven't been able to get myself to go hang out. I feel horrible: ungrateful, selfish, lazy, pernicious, just generally a bad daughter.

As a friend - I haven't been giving Baby Mommy the kind of friend attention she deserves. I am all about staying afloat right now and to that end, I often go back to bed during the day, leaving her and Baby alone. Come after school time, obviously, I am busy with the kids and dinner and everything. By the time they are in bed and things quiet down for the evening, she is involved in other things and my brain is fried. So I try to help her with editing as much as she needs me to but we don't get a chance to go out for lunch or movies or whatever. Then there is the particularly sticky situation with my other friends and family. I'm afraid they don't have a very good opinion of her and though I don't share their sentiments, I don't stand up for her as much as I should either. Some friend I am.

As a neighbor - Our yard is a mess. My kids are loud and tend to leave stuff lying around. I'm not overly sociable with them. I don't do "good neighbor" type deeds. Heck I didn't even pay the association dues this year.

As a mentor - I am supposed to be the co-moderator of my writing group. But I have disappeared. I don't have the energy to critique crap writing. I don't have the energy to write anything of my own. I wouldn't even put out the daily prompts if I didn't feel obligated.

I'm not writing, not learning, not teaching, not cleaning, not cooking tasty food, not taking care of all my parental and spousal obligations, just not doing enough. And yet I am still exhausted and feel like I'm running in circles and getting nowhere fast. All I want to do is crawl into bed and hide and stay there forever and ever.

Guilt and Anger: Why Me?

I struggle with guilt and self-loathing unrelentingly. I feel like every little thing that goes wrong can be directly attributed to something I did or did not do. And that sparks a fierce anger in me that wants to get violent. I have improved somewhat - not long ago (and still when I am in my blackest, most illogical moods) I could provide a reason why I had a detrimental effect on anything in the world that was wrong. For example: the war in Iraq was my fault because I voted for Bush. I'm not at that point anymore (most of the time).

The Shrink and I go round and round about this. I am tempted to say I frustrate him wholeheartedly in my inability to accept what he tells me, let alone internalize it. But if I seriously think about it, I don't think he is actually feeling that way. I think I have projected that onto him unfairly because that is the response I expect and because that is how I feel about it.

The point is that this is not a new topic or a new issue or new challenge to work on. I cannot remember a time when I did not feel that I was responsible for the problems around me. I take the blame for everything because, the way that I perceive it, I created or antagonized the issue, at least partly. Even when told that whatever it is that I am blaming myself for isn't my fault and reassured that no one is angry with me, I still feel guilty and angry with myself.

One of the things I find the most frustrating from my point of view stems from the fact that I know why I do this. I know where the behavior originated. As a child (doesn't everything start there?) if I tried to blame someone else for a problem, the best I could hope for was being branded a liar. (To their credit, I did lie a lot.) But the other, and more common, response was to turn it around on me and tell (or show) me, in no uncertain terms, how I had actually caused the problem and it was my fault and I had no one to blame but myself. At this point consequences of varying severity followed.

As a result I learned that seeing others as being at fault for something was not only incorrect, it tended to be positively dangerous. I internalized that completely and now I sincerely believe that whatever it is, it is indeed my fault.

The same applies to anger. Reacting with anger did not go over well at my house. I also did not have access to a model for expressing healthy anger. I had both extremes. The Mother cannot control her anger and I raised it in her constantly. Daddy didn't get angry. I have seen Daddy angry twice in my life - both times at me and both times I walked away with a fat lip (well-deserved). He even took her anger in stride and let it roll right off his back. So I saw "fly-off-the-handle-and-spaz-unpredictably" anger or "i-don't-get-angry-or-sad-or-express-negative-emotions-at-all" reactions.

Once again I learned that anger at others is wrong and had the potential for being dangerous. So now all the anger that I might feel towards someone else - justified or not - is directed towards myself instead. It's safer that way and true besides. I get that flash of anger when something happens, but I immediately suppress the expression of it and then go about restructuring the thought processes surrounding it until I am no longer angry with the original target.

Bottom line, even though I know where the process originated from, that it may be maladaptive in some situations, and is not necessarily a vital function any more, these processes are ingrained in my thoughts and emotions. I get mad just like everyone else. But I get mad at myself. I lay blame just like everyone. I just place it on myself.

Why me? Because that's how it always was and that is how I still believe it to be.

I Don't "Do" Religion

***NOTE: THIS POST DISCUSSES MY PERSONAL VIEWS ON RELIGION. I DO NOT NOW, I NEVER HAVE, AND I NEVER WILL EXPECT ANYONE TO AGREE WITH ME. IN THE SAME TOKEN, I AM NOT GOING TO CHANGE MY BELIEFS BECAUSE OF SOMEONE ELSE'S OPINION. I AM PERFECTLY OPEN TO HEARING OTHERS' OPINIONS BUT I DO NOT TAKE KINDLY TO FLAMING***

I grew up in a Christian church. I loved my church - no horror stories about being traumatized by the church I grew up in. I've had shaky experiences with devout believers of other religions throughout my years but my home church feels right to me. I love learning about other religions and points of view but I don't do so well when people are trying to tell me their way is the only way.

Over the years I have gained enough knowledge about the various religions and denominations within them that I can hold my own in a conversation without invoking the other person's wrath. I have always considered it a blessing and a gift that I can discuss volatile topics with a person and have them come away thinking I agree with them without ever compromising my beliefs verbally or spiritually. (Although I do confess to having intentionally tormented a few people by stating radical beliefs just to push their buttons, but that was a LONG time ago.)

Every so often, I am confronted by someone who wishes to force their beliefs upon me, sometimes because they truly want to help, sometimes because of some sense of superiority, sometimes just because that's what they were taught to do. Normally when this happens, I smile and nod and try to keep the tone polite and inquisitive - I do enjoy learning about other religions, as I said. Then we go our separate ways and la dee da. Oftentimes, though, following such an encounter, I find myself reflecting on what it is, exactly, that I do believe.

This is the part where I state my opinions. Please do not read further if you are likely to be offended by alternate views or would think less of me if I do not share yours.

In my last post, I shared that I had come very close to the edge but walked away, barely avoiding falling over it. I received a few very supportive comments, for which I am grateful. Elsewhere I received a different approach. I was told that I should not commit suicide because God wouldn't like it and I would burn in Hell for all eternity.

Wow. Talk about kicking a soul when he's down...... A person is so depressed and miserable and desperate and hurting that they end their life, only to be told by a supreme being that we are even worse than we thought and are now going suffer forever because of it. Dude! That is cold...

I thanked the individual for his views and commented that that is certainly not the ideal outcome and I would take in under advisement. He truly meant well. But it got me thinking about Heaven and Hell and God and all the things that go with them. And I realized again how different from mainstream Christianity I am. I have assimilated most of what I learned in Sunday School with what I have seen and most importantly with what my instincts tell me are true. I answer to no religion but am actually rather spiritual. Here are some of my core beliefs...

There is but One Power and One Presence in the universe and in my life, God the Good, Omnipotent. This was the statement of belief that I learned as a child. Translated it means there is only God. That everything, regardless of good or bad or any other judgement label it is given, is still God. And that God is Good. I have often questioned this one. It seems that nearly everything in our world is polarized. There are two extremes of the spectrum by which to compare each other. So if there is Ultimate Good, wouldn't that mean there must be an Ultimate Evil? The conclusion that I came to is no. Because God is what is there after all the labels and judgements and assessments and measures and rules have been stripped away. God Is.

Heaven and Hell are not afterlife destinations. I was taught that Heaven and Hell are simply states of mind. If you are miserable, you have created your own Hell. If you are blissful, you live in Heaven..... yeah - I don't buy that. But I don't buy fluffy clouds and fiery pits either and certainly not as eternal judgements.

I think there is a transition period after one life and before the next. And those can be perceived as "Good" (Heaven) or "Bad" (Hell) depending on the label one chooses to apply to it. I think the transition period is about reviewing your life, how you lived it, what kind of person you were, what kinds of choices you made. And if you didn't live a very "good" life (by means of choices not circumstances) then I imagine that review process would be uncomfortable - it would be Hell. But if you did well over all and could look back mostly with pride, I'd bet that would be a pleasant experience - Heaven.

We are here to learn a lesson. It seems to me that certain people face the same situations over and over until they "get it" and that sometimes they never do end up there. I think we are here for a reason; we are here to learn something about existence: about Life, The Universe, and Everything. And if, at the end of our lives, we haven't learned that lesson, we can try again next time. Likewise, I believe that every situation is a learning situation. The worst imaginable evils teach some very important lessons - for all involved parties. And the most charmed of lives also provides invaluable insights. Life is the ultimate "Teachable Moment".

God's love is unconditional. This doesn't require much explanation. I FIRMLY believe that God loves every one of his creations, regardless of their experiences and choices, equally and unconditionally. There is nothing we can do to "make" God love us more or love us less because He loves as much as Love is possible. If He casts judgement on our choices (which I have come to doubt), it is the actions He approves or disapproves of, not the person.

God's plan is manifest always and will adapt to our choices. Like I said, I think we are here for a purpose, to learn something on a soul level. And to that end, God has laid a path before us to enable us to learn those lessons. But God gave us free will - the ability to think for ourselves and make our own decisions, even contrary to His plan, is a powerful gift indeed. But even if we turn away from His path, no matter how many times we do it, it is never too late. His plan for us adjusts and adapts to give us more opportunities to do our soul's work. No matter how often or how badly we've screwed up before, there is always another chance to follow His path.

God is with us always, available to us always. I think God and I have a pretty good relationship. He is my instinct and my compass. He is my Jimminy Cricket and my Guiding Star. God and I have whatever style of relationship I choose because God is in me always. When I laugh and joke around with Him, He replies in kind. (Dude has a helluva sense of humor at times, and can get a bit literal if I'm not careful.) Likewise, when I need a solemn and calming Grace, He is my rock and my shelter.* God even lets me throw temper tantrums at Him, which I do more often than I ought. I'll rant and rave at Him and say all kinds of bitter things. And when I've worn my raw emotions back down to a manageable level, that still small voice inside me (that *isn't* one of mine) usually replies with, "Are you done now?" or "Feel better?"

God is the whisper that calms my anxiety, the strength that lets me fight for my children, the itch that gets me moving and the blanket that keeps me safe. IF I LET HIM. And there is the "catch" - when I separate myself from God (and it is ME moving away, not Him) then things don't go so well. A God-Guided life is so much easier, richer, and more satisfying.

If only it were as easy to live this as to say it...



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*Note from above: the actual Bible quote is "Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me." from Psalms 23:4. That is feeling I was going for but my words are more relevant for me so I left them.

A Perfect Life

Imagine this:

In a suburban, wooded neighborhood with low crime and good schools, a beautiful, 2-story home houses a family of eight. The house is adorable with siding and brick and a front porch, and a climbing tree in the decent sized front yard. The back yard boasts a gas grill, a picnic table, a swingset, and a storage shed, not to mention its perfect size surrounded by a chain-link fence. The fence is important to keep the family dog, a sweet cock-a-poo (half cocker spaniel, half poodle) that thinks everyone has come specifically to play with her. It also provides a barrier for the good sized, above ground, 4 foot deep pool appropriately locked and secured for safety. The back fence has a gate going directly to the neighbor's yard. This is because the family is such close friends with the neighbors. Two of the family's children are best friends with two of the neighbor's kids and the father is best friends with the family neighbor family.

In the garage, the motorcycle waits for spring as do six bicycles. The full-sized freezer blocks access to the back yard, which is fine by the family who lives here. Toys are gathered here and there throughout the garage, except for the workbench area which the father has placed off-limits. (It does have toys strewn about it but they are "big boy toys" like drills and saws and things.)

Inside the house, the playroom at the front of the house creates envy in the kids' guests. It has not one, not two, but three televisions, and an unbelievable two of them are big screens. There are bins full of toys, a computer specifically for the kids' use, a handmade, hand-painted play table, a Playstation 2 with plenty of games.

The dining room seems small because the table seats ten when fully extended and currently seats eight. The kitchen seems messy mostly because there isn't enough space to put all the gadgets and food that is bought in bulk. But the stove and dishwasher are less than ten years old, the microwave is mostly functional and of a size appropriate for feeding eight people, the cookware is good quality and there are enough dishes for everyone and then some.

The living room practically screams sit down and relax with the large couch and love seat, the big screen television, the fireplace and the family pictures covering the walls. Kids books overflow one large bookshelf. A matching bookshelf holds precious mementos and a complete Stephen King library. Movies fill six shelves of a third tall bookcase with audio visual components on one shelf and the bottom shelf having more kids books. Beside the couch, the end table has another bookshelf full of writing and psychology reference books. Typically there are 3 laptops somewhere in use around the room though one is distinctly absent along with its owner.

Over by the half-bathroom, which is incredibly small but fully functional, the brand new, very large washer and dryer sit on wood pedestals to make them easier to use.

The upstairs is rather unremarkable. All four bedrooms are of a decent size though not huge by any measure. One of the children has her own room. The parents room has a television and a king sized bed. Typically, a cat lounges on the bed and looks at intruders as if they had disrupted his royal empress from the very important business of sleeping. Three of the kids share a room with a playful, three-tiered bunkbed setup. The other cat finds this arrangement quite to her liking and may be found on any of the beds or just sleeping in the window. The aunt and her baby daughter sleep in the fourth bedroom. The bathroom doesn't really have a story to tell - it's a full bathroom with everything a simple bathroom needs.

This is a house out of a magazine. (Or would be if it were clean and decorated.) It has a Stepford quality when describing it. But this perfect life doesn't stop there.

Eight people live in this house. The traditional mother and father are still deeply in love - high school sweethearts married fresh out of school. The mother stays home with the kids and cooks and takes people to and from their activities. She keeps track of everyone's schedules and mostly makes sure people have what they need when they need it.

The father recently changed jobs, not because he was fired or bored or laid off but because the family needed better benefits and a job more stable in the shaky economy. In addition to giving his all for his job, he is quite the handyman. Anything that goes wrong in the house, he can fix, from fuses to replacing plumbing to installing security to drywall repair. At one point he replaced the roof, tearing it down to the sheeting and replacing even that. He can do the same for cars though not quite as much because he doesn't have the tools for a lot of it.

Their four children are attractive and intelligent. They all bring home A's and B's with a spattering of C's. In public they are generally polite and well-behaved and the parents often receive compliments about them. Their teachers are happy to have them in class. They help out in the neighborhood when it is needed. They are active and playful and love to have fun. They are involved in things like Cub Scouts and Spell Bowl and gymnastics and music. The oldest child does formal volunteer work because he wants to, not because he felt pressured into it in any way.

The other two members of the household are the mother's best friend who is so close as to be a sister in all but DNA and her very young daughter. Having fallen on hard times and suffering under the strain of the economy, she lost her apartment and came to this house to live, along with her adorable daughter. The baby is now a toddler and showing much of the toddler behaviors but overall is a good baby, well-behaved and happy and tolerant of most things. The mother watches and loves the baby as if she were one of her own. The four children also adore the baby and treat her as a sibling though perhaps with a little more grace and patience than if she shared the same blood.

Oh yes, one more thing...... there is a white picket fence out front. It is small, about 12 inches square and 6 inches high. It encircles the front light post and marks off a small area where bright red flowers grow and bloom during the summer.

Sound fictional? Sound like the kind of ideal that a kid would hold for what they want when they grow up? Sound like the end result of the classic "American Dream"? Sound perfect?

This is me. This is my house, my neighborhood, my family, my sister, my pets, my life. There are people who would literally kill to have what I have, to live like I live. I have it all. I am living the fairy-tale.

SO WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH ME???

I know how lucky I am. I am so profoundly grateful for it. I don't take it for granted and I thank God every day for this multitude of blessings. I know I've got it good. For all the shit we have in our lives with money and health insurance and mental illness and normal growing pains, I still know that I am living a charmed life. And I AM grateful.

This was not intended to be boastful or prideful or to show off. I need to explain the backstory in order to make the contrast between my life and myself even a fraction of the strength it actually is.

Because the truth of the matter is, I want out. I hate my life. I hate myself. I hate hurting. I especially hate hurting when I have no reason to hurt. My children keep me going. I don't want to destroy them and I am fully aware that the suicide of a parent causes irreparable damage to a kid. But believe me, that is the only reason I am still here.

All I want is to go to sleep and never wake up. And I have the means. And I have the motive. And I have the opportunity. But I have my beautiful 4.5 children. And of all the screw ups I do every day, I couldn't fix that one.

But oh how I want to.

I came so close last night after I went to bed that I got up and stood in the bathroom with my pill bottle in one hand and a glass of water in the other, staring at the horrible bitch looking back at me. She told me to do it, take the whole damned bottle and go chase it with something else to seal the deal. She told me that nothing really matters anyway. She told me the kids are already permanently fucked up and getting worse every minute that I am around them.

I came close to calling someone, anyone, to see if they could help me make this shame and despair and hatred go away. I know that I could have called. There are several people that have told me to call if I need them. But I couldn't make myself do it. I couldn't explain how someone with such a wonderful life as I have could want so desperately to throw it away.

I didn't want to wake someone at one in the morning. I didn't want to worry anyone. I didn't want them to panic and call the cops on me. I didn't want them to think it necessary for me to have a babysitter. And, to be flat-out honest, I didn't want to be talked down. I wanted to be left alone to die.

So I stared at the person in the mirror and listened to the taunting and prompting and goading. I dumped out a handful of pills into my hand, probably 40 or 50 of them. I weighed them in my hand. I felt the texture of them - powdery and rough like overused sandpaper. I pictured dumping them into my mouth, shoving them down with a swig of water and then repeating it with another handful and another and another and another until they were all gone.

I remembered the sensation of laying on the bed and forgetting to breathe, inhaling slowly and deeply because my head wanted air not because my chest told me to. I remembered how clear and soft and comfortable everything felt right as I slipped into sleep, how peaceful and unhurried everything became. I remembered the overwhelming relief I felt.

Then I remembered the strangest thing. I remembered the taste. The pills have this hideous aftertaste. It's worse than chewing aspirin. And it can't be washed away with water. It takes something with a much stronger flavor to get rid of that bitter grit that clings to the back of the throat and becomes like a smell when I breathe. It's nasty.

And all I had was water. Then it occurred to me that I hate water. Tap water grosses me out. Even filtered water makes me cringe. So I'd have to drink nasty water to swallow nasty pills that I then wouldn't be able to get the nasty taste to go away. And that would royally suck. It would be, well, nasty.

The thing in the mirror called me a coward. She called me stupid and a loser and wimp and all sorts of other things. She repeated all the reasons that I wanted to swallow them in the first place and all the things that are wrong with me. And I still wanted to die. But not then, not like that.

I put the pills back in the bottle. I put the bottle back in my pocket. And I went back to bed, putting the pills in their "safe spot" before turning on some music to distract me, slipping under the covers and trying to go to sleep.

So here I am, living my perfect life in my perfect home with my perfect everything all around me, hating every breath I take but unable to do what I so desperately crave.

Please God, make a bird so I can fly far, far away. -Forrest Gump
Preferably a duck or goose or something so someone will shoot me. - Me

Random Thoughts

I am still alive. I've gone kinda MIA online here recently. I guess I am not coping as well as I would like. But I am still kicking. To use the metaphor The Shrink used this morning, I may not be running this marathon, but I am still in the race. I am going to try to be more realistic about my expectations for myself and hopefully that will allow me more time and energy to resume my online activities.

A big thank you to the well-wishers and support I've received and the concern you have expressed. Your comments made me feel really good. It's so easy to feel all alone in this great big world and sometimes, even when surrounded by people who love me, I still feel like I am alone. Your comments helped.

Well, as I said before, he is gone. He has been gone for 2 weeks and my heart dies a little more every day. I am putting on as strong a face as I possibly can but I think it's killing me. I mark the days on my arm, a visible, tangible representation of the pain I cannot express. I told one person who said the most sensitive and non-judgemental thing I could ever have imagined. He said I must be in a lot of pain inside. (not a direct quote) I also got caught by Baby-Mommy - I can't really hide anything from her. She always seems to know. She was kind and supportive but worried and practically threatened to babysit me. I guess, since she was laid off on Thursday, she will be able to do exactly that.

So here we go. I have been writing this post for 5 days and just now giving up on calling it "done". Just wanting everyone to know that all is as well as they can be. I will try too write more later as I have actually had a lot of things on my mind just not the energy to do anything about it.

Good night and God bless us all, every one....