One quick post and I’m back to my mountain of work. I’m so behind now it’s crazy. I’m down to one day turnaround on assignments. I have to prep two full budgets for each department and then do the monthly finance audit for each as well. I have to have this all done in one day because I just couldn’t get to it yesterday with all the…crap.
The pain today. Well, I’m having trouble sitting upright. Every time I try to smile or laugh it comes out snide and snotty sounding, which I don’t intend, but it’s there. Dayne called this morning to poke me a little. He wondered what he’s done to induce my anger and silence. …. ?! Well, for starters you’re spending your time looking for someone to replace me with…naked someone’s, at that, and you don’t even bother to hide it. You left me upstairs bawling like a child for the entire evening and night without even checking to see if I was okay….
“Okay look, I’m sorry. I know you’re sick (mentally ill – he won’t use those words for anything) and I should have more patience. You’re just being really mean to me and I don’t take that sort of thing well.”
I am? Really? I guess it must be in my posture and facial expression, considering the fact that we didn’t speak last night at all. Ooooh wait. Guilt. That’s Dayne showing guilt. I let it go….we talked for a few moments on the helplessness of it all. Dayne is convinced that Colt doesn’t understand what he is doing or saying. He forgives him for all of it…I am trying to do the same. It’s hellish, feeling things for your children that are not love. I also happen to believe that Colt didn’t actually mean he didn’t want me to be his mom. Those words though, meant or otherwise, will stay with me forever. Rejection is the one thing I cannot do very gracefully, no matter the source.
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want you to be my mom anymore. I’ll still love you, but you aren’t good enough to be my mother.” Were the ones that stuck in my soul.
So what now? Dayne knows his anger has been inherited. He sees himself in his son’s angry eyes. Neither of them react at all now if I cry, and Colt doesn’t see my tears very often (in fact, stopped crying pretty much the same time that M left my life so it’s been a dry spell for a while now, give or take a few incidents.) No one cares though. My father didn’t care, mother didn’t care, ex husband didn’t care, boyfriends didn’t care, girlfriend didn’t care, M didn’t care, Dayne doesn’t care, Colt doesn’t care. No one has ever just given me a hug when I fell to pieces. No one. Well, a stranger once did, but that turned to rape so didn’t work out to be terribly comforting.
I can’t swallow this for some reason. I swallow anything they throw at me….I don’t even fucking bother to chew. I stuff it in, take the horribleness of it all and let it flow through my veins and carry a tiny piece of that brokenness with me, always. When I was little, I could throw it into a dark closet and slam the door, be done with it without feeling a thing. Now, thanks to therapy, I know how to feel these emotions and the only thing I’ve felt since I learned how is pain, rejection, disappointment and worthlessness. Exactly the crap I was avoiding as a child. The worst part is, not only am I now having to walk through life carrying all of these horrible feelings, there are STILL things going on that cause them every single day. It’s not just a childhood trauma when it never seems to stop.
Like I keep saying, I can live in constant physical pain, plan for the next 8 years which may be the last I have to do (some of) the things I want to do in life before the pain gets so great I can no longer function. I realize I won’t even by 50 when I likely need to stop working….the ten year mark puts me at 48. I figure I can squeeze a little extra resolve out of myself and push it to 50, when I can retire on a tiny pension that needs another ten years to mature. I’ll live with that burden though and I won’t let it stop me.
I can live in constant emotional upheaval, floating in and out of depression, anxiety and a mixed bag of PTSD symptoms. I can deal with vicious nightmares every time I close my eyes. Flashbacks. Suicidal thoughts that are so out of my control they don’t even seem to be coming from my head, but from somewhere floating above it. The awkward attachments I will form will have to sustain me through life…I know that too.
I can deal with the meds that make me so tired I need to sleep 16 hours a night and don’t really ever pause my pain. Even the ones that make me twice the size I once was. I’ll be unhappy with my body, and live that way.
I will live each day with blinding headaches until they get so bad I cannot do anything but treat them.
I will raise my disabled son, advocate for him, fight for his rights even when it makes my job at work nearly impossible to maintain.
I will, somehow, work this out with Dayne, work this out with Colt, work this out with teachers and CAS social workers and doctors. I’ll figure out a way to tolerate their behaviour and not let it hurt me when they seem to turn on me. My family is gone. The ones who ‘wanted me’ so they could give me a second chance at life abused me….I still wanted to be a part of them until they left me again, alone with a screaming, miserable baby who had something so wrong with him, alone with an angry partner who gets angrier the sadder I get. My real family is dead. My new family, Dayne and Colt, barely want to be in this with me. I’m feeling burdened, now, overwhelmed and too tired to keep doing this. I mean, if I have to carry all these things with me I would at least like the luxury of thinking that the effort and struggle is worth it. All I’m getting out of life now is pain. Nothing but…there are moments of hope and happiness but those are obliterated as soon as they form. Soap bubbles. I keep trying to catch one and can’t figure out why every one I touch vanishes into thin air.
This is taking me down.