Depression and Hope

I’ve been in a deep depression, mourning my marriage. It was especially bad a couple of days ago. My therapist called and said my husband had called him. He wanted to know if I would give permission to speak to him. Well, this was news to me, so when he got home I of course asked him why he wanted to speak to my therapist.
We then actually talked more than we have in a very long time, which is sad. I don’t feel like I can cry in front of him, and I’m not good at keeping that shit under control, so if it starts spilling over too much I’ve been shutting myself away somewhere out of sight. (bathroom, porch, etc) Well I’m not as quiet as I try to be so he was hearing me cry. Honestly I thought he had his headphones on anyway. Between that and my attempt to talk to him through sobs a few weeks ago I had him thinking I might try something foolish. I do have a history of it, so it was not an unreasonable worry. I told him my heart is broken. He reiterated that I could stay here. I brought up that I asked him to help me improve the relationship and he said no. I brought up feeling like he was not interested in me and did not respect me and if he believed the horrible things he had said it was a problem. So yeah I guess we just sort of rehashed things, but it was still the most actual back and forth conversation we’ve had in ages.
My cats are wonderful but I do need intellectual stimulation as well. I love to learn, read, and then discuss these things. I’m interested in literature, art, travel, philosophy, mythology, movies, botany, archaeology, space, etc. (I also have a very dark streak, which is the goth in me I suppose.) I like talking about these things. I like getting new perspectives. I like the speculation. I suppose I could go find some discussions online but it’s not really the same. I did go to lunch with my friend over the weekend and we talked about travel a little. I had never told her about any of the places I’ve been before. Right before we got together I was planning a trip to Oaxaca for The Day of the Dead. He came with me, which was awesome. I love travel so very much. The logistics of it has become difficult since I became disabled, the long trip there and back, how am I going to get my suitcase in the room, that sort of thing. In the past I have always traveled alone or met up with a tour group where I did not know anyone. I would have preferred to have someone with me, but I was ok with doing it by myself, as long as I got to go. I talked to my soon to be husband about how important travel was to me, and that I needed someone to go with me. He had said we could go anywhere I wanted. I doubt if he remembers that, but I do. The Oaxaca trip was wonderful, but it was three weeks, which was long for him. We had agreed to do a shorter trip the next time, but there was not a next time. He got a cruise to Alaska as a bonus one year and we went to that, but I get motion sick. Cruises never had appeal to me in the past but he had it and I was happy to be going somewhere with him. We spent a couple of days in Washington state (where we were boarding) and we spent a couple of days wandering around looking at the West coast beach, the rainforest, and a cheesy little town called Forks that was all about Twilight. (yes that Twilight) I overdid it and could barely move when we boarded the ship, but I had fun those days in spite of the pain.

Anyway… yeah I’m rambling but that’s ok. I’m writing. It took so very long for me to get to the point where I was going to go. Years. But I didn’t feel like I have much choice. Talking to him, even though it was relatively short, made me question myself all over again and it makes hope flare up again. That’s the thing I can’t seem to kill. Hope. I think because I wanted so very badly for this to work. I wanted so very badly to have what we had when we got married for the rest of our lives. It’s not something I want to give up, even when given every indication that there is no cause for it.

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Siblings

Excuse my mini rant yesterday. I was hurting quite a bit and it was the end of a long, terrible day. I’m still hurting but it’s the beginning of a new one and I’m going to try to keep it together a bit better.

My brother has been on my mind a lot lately. He’s been great, He tried to call me yesterday, the only person who did, but I missed his call. We texted and he’s going to call today. When we were kids I always knew it was my responsibility to take care of him. Mom left when I was eight and I had to start taking care of him. He was two. For a while we were supposed to switch off between mom and dad but that didn’t last.  Our father was an abusive asshole so it’s always been the two of us, and I was the older sister. There are probably more incidents than I’ll ever remember. We visited an aunt years ago and she reminded me of one I had forgotten. Our mother had gotten a trailer in the same park as our aunt, probably four or five streets away. I have no idea where our mother was but I was watching my brother. I was nine and baby brother was three. He was hungry and there was absolutely nothing to eat there. This may have been right after she got the place, I really don’t remember. I remember he kept telling me he was hungry. I was trying to distract him but he kept coming back to “hungry”. I don’t know how long this went on for but I remember the helplessness and anger I felt.
I was nine and not stupid, and I overheard my father’s family talking crap about my mother. And I did not like it. At all. Our aunt was my father’s sister. However, my baby brother was hungry and I had no food. Finally, I bundled him up in my pink sweater because it was cold outside. Again, I have no idea where his coat was. So, I bundled him up in my pink sweater, took his hand, and walked him over to our aunt’s house. I knocked on the door and she answered.  I asked her for a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for my brother but would not come in the house. When my aunt was recalling this she said she tried to get me to come in and get something to eat but I refused. I told her it was because I was embarrassed. Recalling this, I remember the shame and anger that filled me on having to ask her for a sandwich for my brother. I may have been nine but I knew they would see this as proof of our mom being a bad mother, which I did NOT want to hear. It pissed me off, to put it plainly. I remember the anger I had when our mother finally returned to the trailer and I told her what I had done.

Our dad was the abusive asshole that I feared all my life. Our mother was never anything but loving and understanding with us. She certainly did not get upset with me for taking him to our aunt’s house, although looking back I’m sure she knew that would give the family more ammunition to use against her. It never occurred to nine year old me that it might get her in trouble. I was just trying to get my brother fed. He was always my responsibility.
Our mother died two weeks before I turned eleven, and my brother was four.  He doesn’t remember her or much of what we went through, but I think he has to still have it in his subconscious. Sometimes I think he remembers more than he lets on. He hears snippets of what it was like for us but I don’t think he remembers screaming while I was being beaten. I don’t think he remembers our father’s systematic destruction of our sense of self worth and confidence.
Our father remarried when I was 13-14 and my brother was seven. I have photos of his seventh birthday. I was thirteen and had recruited a friend to help me throw a birthday party for him, if you can imagine two thirteen year old girls trying to handle a house full of seven year olds. Our stepmother is in the photo, and if I remember correctly, she brought me the decorations. After they married our father chilled out some and the abuse lessened. It didn’t stop, but I was grateful for the better atmosphere and also because she started taking care of my brother.  For the first time, I didn’t have to be solely responsible for him. I moved out when I was seventeen, but felt badly about leaving my brother. I told him to call me if he needed me, and that when he got old enough he could come stay with me.

There is so much more, but this is it for now. The sandwich incident was on my mind for some reason. They tell you to write what you know. I think about writing a book about our experiences, but to what point? It doesn’t really have a happy ending. It’s not inspirational. Who wants to read that sort of thing? So I don’t. I could work my experiences into a fictional character, but then I have a hard time thinking of what sort of story to tell. I think if I were to just write maybe something will come, so that’s what I’m trying to do. So, if I have the occasional post ranting about some painful incident, like yesterday, maybe it’s worth it to push through. I kept trying to write over the past year but would cry every time. So I would put it away so I could get myself under control again. But I was doing it for him, so he wouldn’t hear me crying. I think it’s time I started doing things for myself again.

Missing t

T has been on my mind a lot. I miss her badly and wish I could talk to her. I’m also seriously pissed off at her. She was the closest person in the world to me, including family. She was my family as far as that goes, and I would have done absolutely anything to help her. From the time we met I was looking out for her, whether she knew it or not. I have no idea how many times I had to stand up for her when we were teens-20s. When I was still scrappy, I suppose. Any time she needed anything I did it for her. I’m the one she called in the middle of the night when something was bothering her. I’m the one who would drop everything and come over if she needed me to. She always had two best friends, me and the other J, but I’m the one she talked to more, saw more, and who was always there. I was the only one at her first wedding, and I did everything I could to make her second special. That’s not putting down J in any way… she lived further away and had kids to deal with. But it remains that it was me that was always there. So when she said I had never done anything for her, I was stunned. I know she’s parroting some bullshit someone must be feeding her, but she should have given it some fucking thought before she repeated that shit. Besides being a damn good friend, I got her a job when she needed it, a place to stay when she needed it, lent her money when she needed it, brought her things she needed, and on and on…. And for her to forget or to dismiss all that I’ve done for her is just appalling.
I hate what alcohol turned her into. It broke my heart. When she started putting the kids in danger, enough was enough. Driving drunk with the kids in the car, leaving them to fend for themselves, leaving them at sleazy motels while she went chasing after her ex… Just not acceptable. When she decided she was going to try to get Jason back after what he did to R, I could not be a party to that in any way.
Still, I thought eventually we would work it out. I thought she’d sober up and realize how she had been behaving. That’s what other people thought too. I was the fourth person to call about the kids. I hated to do it. I cried for two weeks before I gave in and did it. That was after talking repeatedly about it to various people who encouraged me to do so. I know it was the right thing to do but I still felt bad about it. Still, we had been friends a lifetime. I didn’t think anything could break that.
Then damn if she didn’t move in with my ex, of all people. I know she has a problem being alone and God forbid she actually has to work or something, but that was really fucking low. He let her drink so she stayed, and in doing so, made it clear that she did not think we would reconcile. I was already pissed at her, but she still threw away our friendship for a place to drink.

Then to find out that she somehow thinks her fucked up life is somehow my fault, is just too much. She’s the one that ruined her relationship with her kids when she chose her child’s molester over her child. She’s the one that ruined her relationships with her friends over drink. Then her drunken ranting on facebook about how “I’m evil” and to “give her back her daughter” like Raven was a thing I had stolen. She did apologize for that and her excuse was that she was drunk. But I am sick of being blamed.

I was so angry over this the other day I started to log on just to say “fuck you, Tara, you broke my heart”. I managed to control myself, but I tell you, it took both hands to grab hold of myself. I’m so lonely I could die sometimes, and I miss talking to my friend. So many things remind me of her. The memories of 25+ years are wrapped up with her. When she messaged me recently I laid into her. I was still furious. I am still furious. But underneath that I’m just really hurt and I miss my sister. I keep telling myself that she has shown that her friendship is no longer worth having. She has shown how easily she will turn on someone if it is to her advantage. It makes me wonder if she was always such a shitty person or if it’s just the booze. I want to believe it’s the booze, but I honestly don’t know if there is any of her left in there.
I just wish I could go back in time and stop all of this.

family

The last few weeks I’ve been recovering from surgery. It was my knee, or right below it, I suppose, so the problem has been with getting around. I’m healing well and am ahead of schedule with that. However, I get to feeling better and tell myself I’m still healing, but then I go and do something excessive anyway and re-injure myself. I’ve always struggled with this. I feel guilty if I’m not up doing things and I get irritated at my body’s limitations. Even while I sit here, I’m having sharp pains run up into my hip that I’ve been studiously trying to ignore, but they seem to be getting worse.

I have too much time to think. I think I’m the most isolated person I know. No family and no friends.. I thought my husband would be both to me.  My mother died when I was young and my father was abusive. I took care of my brother, and apparently no one noticed the horror we were living. To be fair, I never told. I had no reason to trust anyone. All that’s in the past, but I see now that I’ve been trying to make a family all my life. There have only been a handful of people I’ve become close to, so when I let someone know me like that, they become my family. That would be ok with me except that people who are not blood related can leave any time. Meanwhile, the few blood relations I do have don’t know me. Tara knew me best, and she is my family, but we haven’t spoken in years, so that’s not much good. I can’t talk to her, or anyone, about the things I’m interested in or what’s on my mind. I see things all the time, even now, and think “Oh, Tara would like that…” but I can’t get it for her or tell her about it. I’ve always been a giving person.. too much so at times.

Enough.. I’m hurting and tired. I’m going to go watch a horror flick and cuddle my cats.

Sister

I had a friend, a friend like most people never get. We met when we were fourteen, and grew up together. She had children and I got to watch them grow as their Aunt. T. knows me better than anyone ever has. She understood me completely and I understood her. We trusted each other implicitly. We were supposed to grow old together, and we did for 26 years or so.

We don’t talk now. She is full of anger and blames me for things I’m not responsible for. I blame her for the things she did. What happened is alcohol. She became an alcoholic and I watched it destroy the person I loved. T was a wonderful mother when the kids were little, but they don’t remember it. I tell them about it and they say that she’s been like she is now as long as they can remember. That breaks my heart a little.

First went her personality. She’s a mean drunk, and she lost the things that made her such a wonderful person. She lost her intelligence and her sense of humor and her compassion. She became bitter and self centered. There were several incidents I won’t go into. I lived near her and had to go over there in the middle of the night multiple times. Then she started putting the kids in danger. She didn’t do it maliciously or anything, it’s just that her drinking took priority over everything else. There was an incident I won’t go into on here, but she had to make a choice. She chose badly. She chose someone else over her child and then decided she was going to stay with him. By this time she had become a terrible friend. She would call me up, cry about the situation, then hang up without ever, not once, asking about my life. This went on for over a year, until I finally asked her why. She came back with sarcasm, so I surely wasn’t going to talk to her then. She accused me of calling social services and called me all sorts of names, but I hadn’t. I knew of several people who had though, and I was thinking of it.

When she made that decision, I had to separate myself from her. I told the kids I’d be there for them, and found out they were putting themselves in danger every day, climbing a tree to get to the roof to climb in through a window to get in the house. Finally I talked to the kid’s father. I hated to do it, because I felt like a traitor, but I knew it was the right thing too. He asked me again to call social service, and told me three others had already called but the more people that called the better. I talked to T’s other friend, who said she had already called social services. She also encouraged me to do so, and finally I did.

Meanwhile, I had broken up with my bf and was dating my soon to be husband. There were other things going on, but to try to keep this somewhat short, she moved in with my ex. Now, you just don’t do that and she knew it. She had places to stay but no one was letting her drink. He let her drink so she chose the booze over her friendship with me.

It’s been about 6 years now. Her daughter moved in with me when she graduated and lived here a year. T would go on fb drunk and ranting that I was stealing her children, etc etc. It was awful. She did apologize, and we spoke over email a bit. Her daughter ultimately decided to go home and live with her grandmother. Her kids don’t want anything to do with her because  of everything they went through, but she acts like she’s clueless and that she didn’t do anything wrong

I miss her. I feel like piece of me is missing. She was my family as well as my best and pretty much only friend. I don’t have parents so for me, introducing a new guy to her was the equivalent of meeting the parents, as strange as that may sound. I want to forgive her, but I don’t know if she will even admit to all she’s done. I think she feels like she is the wronged one in this relationship. What I did I did for the kids, but I still understand her being upset with me about it. But the things she did had no reason other than her own desires.  I’m thinking of contacting her to see if we can salvage it, and I don’t know if I should. I don’t know if she’s changed. I hope so but I do have my doubts.

Mad Girl’s Love Song

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”

~Sylvia Plath

Love Sonnet

Sonnet XVII

I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way

than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.

– Pablo Neruda

This is one of my favorites by him.