It’s you from before trying to warn you all about the dangers

I’ve found I need to adjust my thinking.
For the last almost three years, I have been living as if this new way my life looks is a transition. I keep assuming. Assuming I will get remarried. Have more kids. Buy a house with ‘him’.
It’s held me back. I haven’t put effort into decorating my apartment how I’d like. I haven’t saved money to give myself a great cushion to fall back on. I was sure I’d be married by now, discussing having a baby, and decorating together.
I have completely failed to view my situation accurately.
Right now is not just a transition. It is my life. For an undetermined amount of time I am living in this apartment, and it’s only in the last few months I’ve begun to show any pride in my furniture or state of cleanliness or anything.
I purchased a car that is perfectly practical for me and my children for the foreseeable future and what I need, now, and not on the optimistic hope I might get remarried possibly to a man with children. I saved, and skipped the third row because it isn’t my necessity now.
I picked out a couch I actually like. Framed pictures. Hung those pictures. Redecorated my bedroom entirely.
This weekend I’m on vacation. A mere three hours from my home, but still, not dealing with chores and enjoying time in the pool with my children is not my normal. Something always comes up.
Every day, I need to wake up and decide that I’m going to accept this is my life and ‘make the best of it’. This isn’t just the time in between marriages- in fact I don’t know that anyone would want to marry me. All my baggage is on the internet. I don’t hide my crazy. This time right now, is what it is at face value. It’s me and my kids. Me working a job I enjoy. Me maintaining my car and my home. Me making my apartment a home my children can feel loved and safe in.
This seems to help my state of mind when I can maintain this train of thought. When I see my life and try to embrace it for the ugly and nasty too- I don’t feel so overwhelmed at the thought of ‘finding a husband’.
This isn’t ‘Kelly between marriages’. This isn’t ‘Kelly scrambling to find a man to take care of her’. This is ‘Kelly learning to stand on her own with the hope she will survive this.”

Sometimes you can’t do it on your own

I used to know a pastor who often used the expression ‘I would like to submit to you’. One of the greatest speakers I’ve listened to. Preaches Gospel. I doubt he remembers me. This post isn’t about him anyway.

I’ve wanted to submit an idea with authority and yet I haven’t felt the confidence.

But today, I would like to submit to you that loneliness is the strongest emotion one can feel.

Loneliness is more powerful even than love because if you are lonely- lonely has taken the power from love. Lonely has removed love.

Loneliness is an inability to feel love, whether momentary or not.

Loneliness is a lack of connection.

A lack of love, a lack of hope, a lack of joy, a lack of peace, a lack of all that is beautiful and right and wonderful.

My best friend tells me one can feel lonely while surrounded by people when I confess how lonely I feel all alone and isolated. My best friend is right.

Loneliness is more than a state of simply not being surrounded by people.

Lonely is a lack of FEELING ANYTHING with any people. At least a lack of feeling anything positive.

How weak must I be to give power to such a horrible offender as loneliness? For it certainly is not only circumstance. 14 hours ago, I looked at my situation with pride of how far I’ve come. Pride at how well I am doing learning a new job. Pride at my ability to provide for my children. Pride to no longer rely on food stamps and food banks and charities and the generosity of strangers.

What a step even that I can contemplate the emotion and attempt to analyze it in this moment rather than succumbing completely to it and allowing it to surround me tonight!

Just don’t underestimate it. Lonely is huge. Lonely has potential for great power. Beware that power.

For thinking that this could be something for real

My trust issues are getting worse. Like I don’t even want to give someone my iTunes password or hand over the key to my apartment even to someone who has a genuine need for it.
And I sure don’t want to tell anyone anything about anything.
I want someone to care enough to ask.
But I doubt I will answer honestly.
I feel broken in places I forgot I had. And I’ve been pretty much broken for years. So if new things are hurting, it’s bad.
I just got this stupid hope in my head that things could be okay. Like that they may not just positively suck completely forever.
I pictured my face with real smiles and could almost hear real laughs coming out of my mouth.
That’s gone now.
That’s just the thing in my life. Things don’t get better. Just the things that are awful and suck trade places here and there and play a cruel game of tag around me.
I need to squash any stupid, childish optimism out of my system before I start to feel hopeful again.
Different things are going to suck- but they are always going to suck.

Everybody knows it; it’s a fact. Kiss Kiss.

The word fine may be the worst word ever.

It in no way means fine.

“I’m fine.”

News flash: you’re not.

“We’re fine.”

Nope- not at all fine.

In fact ‘fine’ as a response over text means the exact opposite. It actually more closely means another word also starting with the letter ‘f’.

It’s just not fine. Nothing is fine at all. You can say it’s fine. And it isn’t fine in the slightest.

Things aren’t fine.

Don’t say fine. Don’t tell me you’re fine. It’s just a lie.

‘Cuz I’m pretty when I cry

There are certainly many inconsiderate things people can say. Two of my biggest pet peeves are ‘If someone tries to commit suicide and fails, they didn’t really mean it they just want attention,” or similarly, “Cutters are just looking for attention.”
Nope and nope.
I can tell you right now I should be dead. I didn’t take ten Tylenol and tell a friend to call 911. In fact, with just the vicodin alone I took more than ten doses of extra strength Tylenol. That doesn’t factor in the entire bottle of muscle relaxers, the bottle of Phenergan, or the month’s worth of oxycodone.
I knew full well what I was doing. I ensured I wouldn’t vomit up what I took. And if I did, the muscle relaxer would immobilize me to the point I could just aspirate my own vomit. I don’t think I need to continue. I wasn’t crying for help. I was saving everyone else from my awful presence.
Nope, not crying for help. I was saying goodbye.
When I’ve struggled with cutting, I would have admitted to everyone or at least the right people I was doing it. I would have cut places on my body I couldn’t easily hide.
No, no, still not seeking attention.
My pissy facebook posts? Not a desperate plea for someone to pay attention to me or give me money. I’m venting.
And frankly, people with mental illnesses need help, not just attention.
It doesn’t matter that now my medicine is working well and I’m functioning well and all that.
Compassion and love and kindness are the things that people need when they are struggling. Not judgment or gossip or trite “It’ll get betters” and “Keep your chins up” and well-meaning bible verses.
The bible verses are great. But text me one and tell me how the hell it applies to my life! Tell me what it really means. Don’t just tell me Jesus loves me- talk me through the emotions that are keeping me from feeling that love.
If you’re dealing with someone who seems to be just ‘crying for help’, take a second and try and figure what they actually need. Do you have any idea how much it would help just to not have to cook one night? Or not have to put your clothes away when you’ve been on your feet ten hours?
I’m not asking for anything. Not begging for help. Just- be kind to others. Be loving to others. Don’t just judge if you don’t get it at all. Try and understand.

I don’t care now what you say, I’ll do alright by myself

I opened the dishwasher this morning, certain I had clean cereal bowls and plates to place unhealthy toaster waffles on. To my chagrin, it was instantly obvious the dishes in the dishwasher were dirty.

Two days in a row I’ve procrastinated doing anything with the dishes in the sink because I was too lazy to unload the dishwasher. So to discover I could have emptied the sink into the dishwasher and washed them all and not smelled day old coffee was more than just disappointing.

When I was married, or dating, or lived with my family, I could pass the blame. Taking responsibility for mistakes just sucks. Nobody ever wants to admit when they’re wrong, not even the few people who actually do. And I have nobody to pass the buck to.

“Gee, my four year old really should have touched that relatively poisonous dish soap and lifted my heavy dishes into the appliance and arranged them perfectly even though she can’t tie her shoe or reach the sink without a stool.”

“Darn cat, it was his turn to clean the plates and load them.”

Nope. The only correct statement would be, “Sheesh Kel, smooth move.” Okay, maybe I dropped an f bomb in there at myself and stomped my feet like a toddler.

Living alone, every mistake is yours. Clothes aren’t clean? Should have washed them. Out of milk? Would have been nice if you remembered you needed that when you were at the store.

It’s pretty hard to not behave in a way that is self shaming or self deprecating when the weight of a two bedroom apartment and two small human lives (and two feline lives) weigh on my shoulders at all time. And that’s just at home- that’s leaving out my car, my job, my relationships or rather lack thereof.

Somewhere out there, someone is doing it right. Someone has their act together and their house is perfect and they can be alone without the TV on. Someone else is keeping their living space neat and tidy and being social. At least one person exists who isn’t slowly imploding from the stress of just normal stuff. I’m just not that person.

No longer young and beautiful

I feel like one big gigantic train wreck.

Not a train wreck waiting to happen, but an actual train wreck that has already happened.

And nobody is rushing to clean it up. Stuff keeps flying into me and more train cars are running into me here and there and the few people that even notice stop and take sad, sadistic pictures instead of stopping and helping.

I don’t know what I want out of life, but this isn’t it.

No little girl grows up and dreams of being as messed up as me.

Through the storm, He is Lord, Lord of all

I’ve always believed that to hate someone, truly hate them, love has to be factored into the equation as well.

And this bothers me, today in this moment, because the only think I can think is ‘I hate him’.  And by my logic that means, somehow, I still love him.

I want nothing more than to not love him and to never ever have to see another picture of him in my newsfeed, run into him in the grocery store, or communicate with him about anything.

He hurt me.  Bad.  Abandoned me at a low point when, frankly, it was his responsibility to be there for me.  He can justify it all he wants and go on and on about ‘God’s will’ and whatever.  But I’m still picking up the pieces of my heart and more and more I’m finding they are so scattered and strewn about that I may never feel whole again.  I want the right kind of broken heart- the kind that is selfless rather than selfish.

I don’t want to hate and I don’t want to love.

How does one go about feeling nothing; especially when feelings are a prison sentence for me emotionally?

I like most things about my life right now.   I like my car.  I like my apartment.  I love my kids.  I love his kids.  I love my bosses and my new friends.  I love my job most days.  

I just don’t like ‘me’.  I don’t like my hatred, and all the deeper meanings that go with it.  I don’t like a person who genuinely wishes another would just go away (ya know, in a completely non-harmful way).  I don’t like that if I stay continuous with everything I’ve always believed, to hate him I must still love him.

I want to just be over it.  I want to just feel nothing when he walks by.  I want to move on and feel like I could possibly date someone and trust someone new because right now I just can’t and don’t.  

But I am as lonely as Hell.  True Hell.  True distance from God.  True isolation from all that is good and right.

Do you know this house is falling apart?

An unhappy accident forced us into the same room for more than two minutes.

Second time this week I had to put my feelings aside and act like things were better with my heart than I am.

I’m not in love with him.

I don’t want him back.

I’ve moved on. By force or by choice doesn’t matter.

But I regret what could have been sometimes. Instead of walking in and lying and pretending I’m immediate family- a weird small part of me still thinks I should be immediate family.

I’m not.

I’m not anything official.

Sometimes I’m introduced as the sister, or the babysitter, or the aunt, or the dad’s ex-girlfriend, or just by name. Today I lied. Said I was sister. But I’m really not anything. I’m just there.

Every time I feel more healed, I get knocked upside my head and a stitch comes out or a bandaid falls off. It’s pretty rare to bleed anymore.

It’s not about me. Just, if it was, I would be feeling sad and confused.  Angry about what could have been yet simultaneously satisfied with where I’m at.

If you fall and nobody is around does it still make a sound?

The absolute last thing you should do when the room is spinning, is stand up.

Laying on the floor, my ear to the carpet, I can hear some appliance of my neighbor’s.  As I wake up, I struggle to discern what it is.  In the blackness I assume it’s the dishwasher, but as I regain consciousness, I realize it’s the ceiling fan.

When you’re alone and you pass out, there’s nobody to find you.