3 years of the unimaginable. 3 years of heartache so intense there are no words in any language to paint a picture close to the truth. 3 years of tears, pain, grief and blackness. But you know what? I'm still here, 3 years later. I'm still breathing, my little people are surviving, and some days thriving. We lived. I honestly didn't think it was possible, was sure that the bleakest oblivion would win and swallow me whole.
In one week, Hope Noelle with be 3 years old in Heaven. Normally that thought sends shock waves through my system and tears flooding my face. Now it brings a strange sense of comfort and peace to my soul. It doesn't make my love for her any less, nor the ache in my empty arms more filled. It simply means, that in spite of all that I've endured, my spirit still understands truth that my head and heart sometimes ignores. Families are forever. Simple words, yet so profound that finally a balm has been laid across the raw edges of my soul. Families are forever.
I know few things with absolute certainty. Things that while I can't physically show you, my spirit shouts are true non the less. I guess it's that strange thing that Later Day Saints claim to have one Sunday a month when telling each other stories from the pulpit during Testimony meeting. That thing that other dear friends of mine of other faiths have that they share freely but that I've hoarded and even tried to snuff out at times. My Testimony is small, and sometimes very fragile, but as is always the case, hard to kill. I've thought it dead more than once, but it was simply waiting for me to remember the things I know. So while I may never stand in a meeting to share, because my anxiety tells me that no one needs to hear what I have to say, I'm going to leave it here, for whoever may stumble upon my weird little corner of this world. So buckle up, as always, I never know what will flow outta my own head, but my soul needs to have the words out of me, one way or another.
I know that there lives a beautifully perfect soul, who loved his family so much, he was willing to walk his own unimaginable path to lead us all home. I know that Heavenly Father sent him to this bleak, hard world, not because he didn't love Him, but that He loves us all. I know that Christ came, willingly, to suffer for me. He has walked this hellish path, He knows the deepest pits that I have fallen into. He knows me, and that I need his help to get out of the pain, and he loves me enough to promise me that it will all be made right one day. I know that while some may see my church as an enemy to those who don't fit a certain mold, that's not the case. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is simple. I know it is. It's sometimes very, very hard to live, but it is very simple. Love the Lord God with all your heart, and love each other. It doesn't say we have to qualify a person to love them, nor do they have to do anything to earn that love. We just have to love each other. God so loved the world that He sent His Son to lead us all home. All of us.
I know that there are injuries that we all suffer at someone else's hand. Insults and lies and pain and disappointments and letdowns. In that same breath though, others have suffered those same things from us. He is ever mindful of me, even when I try to ignore Him. I have often thought that my life would be so much easier if I didn't know these truths. Not just a little, but rooted in my soul is the knowledge that I am His daughter, and he loves me. I can rant and rail, and scream and shout, but it changes nothing. I am a daughter of the Most High God, and He loves me. That is my testimony, that He is there. It's not a pretty lie I delude myself with. It is not a crutch when life is hard, for if it were, my crutch would have snapped long ago. Christ walks with me, and supports me when my own strength fails, which is a lot. And I know this, beyond a shadow of doubt, the meaning of life is simply one word, FAMILY.
We are all family, and so, as written by Rick Riordan in one of his books, "Families are messy, immortal families are eternally messy. Sometime the best we can do is remind each other we are related, for better or for worse-and try to keep the maiming and killing to a minimum".
In the end, when we shed this imperfect for perfect, and cross that path to the home we all feel pulling us back, we will still be family, forever. I know this is true, just as I know that our Father will be waiting for us, to embrace us like we embrace those we love and miss. So yes, 3 years is my milestone for now, 3 years of so many things that have tried to squash me, and sub out my testimony. 3 years of enduring things I once was certain would kill me only to still sit here, with a light in my soul that nothing can snuff out. This is my truth.
Thursday, October 19, 2017
Monday, June 26, 2017
the poo pool
I randomly sit down to write out my crazy, and sometimes I forget that I started. This was written on Easter Morning, 2017. I know that so much more was running in my head, this is all that spilled out.
"It's Easter time again. Unlike last year, I'm sitting at my own table, in my own place. My children have their own beds again, and all of the things that have been waiting a year to be unpacked. One year. One solid year of hell and heartache and tears. One full trip around an uncaring sun of deepest despair and pain, I want to sit here and write about how much better I am today. I want to, and I can about a few things, but mostly, I've learned to survive with part of my soul dead.
Eric still isn't allowed to come home, but he is at least out of the jail. Because he is now a convicted sex offender, he isn't allowed to be around the girls. Any kids in fact, as he is now considered the most vile of predators in existence. I want to make bells for us to wear around our necks as we yell " UNCLEAN" to the world, Yes I mean us, as we are one. That was in the vows we made. To cleave unto each other and be as ONE flesh. So his unclean status is also mine. As it should be. If he is guilty of anything, so am I. We are now lepers, outcasts and unwelcome everywhere we go. Him because of the courts, me because I stand with him.
A new Easter season has only brought more questions, more wondering why all our prayers go unheard and unanswered. Truth would set my family free, but those that have that power refuse to use it.
My family has gotten so much smaller. K and E are no longer included in my thoughts of the future. But as the future is a blank black hole, maybe it's better for them."
Easter is long gone, we made it through.
Maybe it IS better for the big girls to be gone, maybe in that same wave length it would be better for the little ones too. I worry about them, about the scars that this life has already inflicted on their tender souls. M has so much fear and anxiety, she is so afraid of displeasing anyone for fear that they will leave her too. L asks me randomly "what happens to us if you die momma?" At first I thought that it was simply the thought process of a 5 year old learning about death. Until I asked her. She is truly worried about who will take care of them if I'm gone, because daddy is already gone. She knows that family is not solid. She is always aware that something can happen, and that there is no safety, only the illusion of it. People you love and count on can be ripped away, others throw the finger at you as they run head first into the Poo Pool.
Let me explain the Poo Pool. M is having a hard time with her torn heart. On the one side, she loves her daddy and misses him so much. She is angry, but that's not a good enough word to use, angry at her older sisters for the lies they used, the damage they left behind in their attempt to break away from the rules that governed our family. Yet she loves them, and gets upset with me for not letting her see K. How do you explain to an eight year old something you yourself don't understand? The facts are, her oldest sister shredded our world because she wanted to be able to drink, drug, smoke and have sex without being told no. How dare we, as her parents, try and instill a sense of right and wrong? So, I thought long and hard and came up with this example to help M understand. In her selfish, narcissistic ways, K looked at a pool filled with refuse, decided that's where she wanted to live and cannon balled in. Our world never stood a chance against the wave of feces that swallowed us. Eric was drowned in the resulting tsunami, he will never be rid of the stains she threw on him as he tried with all his might to save her from herself. I did what any mother would do, I shielded the little girls, and wadded in after her to help bring her back to the safety of solid land. In the process, she almost killed me too, because while I wanted to save her, she is happily splashing in the shit, engulfing all who get near her in her stench. She doesn't see the problem, doesn't notice that while she's doing everything I've ever told her not to do, thinking that she has freedom, the waste that she is marinating in is slowly dissolving her, in essence, it's killing her future, her worth, and her. Her family is dead because of it, E might well die as she can't handle the weight of the lies that K heaped upon her. And M and L can't be allowed near her, because, while I am still waiting on solid ground, waiting to help her when she is through in the poo, they are too small to withstand being splashed by her. It does't change the facts that K is loved by us all, always, it doesn't change the fact that her little sisters want nothing more that to be with all of their family. Until she is ready to start the process of fixing what all she did, wash off the poo you could say, I don't dare let her influence contaminate the little ones, I am guilty of not stopping the poison she inflected on E, the price I pay for that will be eternal. I can't allow it again.
There are days that death seems like the best option, it would free Eric from the children I inflicted him with, cut the ties that still bind me to them. In my mind that works, he won't be free of the stain, the unclean label, but he wouldn't have to be exposed to them because of me. I am only seeing things from the inside of my scrambled brain, because I know that while they have hurt him in ways I can't even understand, they are still his, and he worries abut them every day. Death would also free the little ones from the crazy person their mom has become. Fear and pain are so often masked with anger. I ooze anger, out of the very air around me. I can hide it for a while, while I'm in public mostly, but at home, when I don't have to wear my "normal" mask, it spills out everywhere. I'm ashamed with the weakness that has taken hold of my mind, yet unable to dislodge it. L is worried about what will happen to them, but she doesn't need to be, I've made arrangements for their safety. However, death won't solve anything will it? There are moments that it no longer frightens me, the thought of sweet oblivion is enticing, until a small body climbs on my lap and needs a cuddle.
This life I live is unimaginable. If I ever wrote a book, no one would buy it. Yet I live it, daily, as do my sweet children. I don't know what tomorrow brings, hell I don't even know that the next ten minuets bring. I know that we have a trip planned to spend the 4th of July in Richfield, and while it sounds fun, it also scares me witless. K is there, I need to see her, hug her and kiss her forehead. But... Always there is that word, but. But I don't want to see her, don't want to be reminded of the pain she causes daily. I don't want to be reminded that she has the power to end our suffering, but won't. How do you bring two warring half's of the same heart together? How do I keep this up?
"It's Easter time again. Unlike last year, I'm sitting at my own table, in my own place. My children have their own beds again, and all of the things that have been waiting a year to be unpacked. One year. One solid year of hell and heartache and tears. One full trip around an uncaring sun of deepest despair and pain, I want to sit here and write about how much better I am today. I want to, and I can about a few things, but mostly, I've learned to survive with part of my soul dead.
Eric still isn't allowed to come home, but he is at least out of the jail. Because he is now a convicted sex offender, he isn't allowed to be around the girls. Any kids in fact, as he is now considered the most vile of predators in existence. I want to make bells for us to wear around our necks as we yell " UNCLEAN" to the world, Yes I mean us, as we are one. That was in the vows we made. To cleave unto each other and be as ONE flesh. So his unclean status is also mine. As it should be. If he is guilty of anything, so am I. We are now lepers, outcasts and unwelcome everywhere we go. Him because of the courts, me because I stand with him.
A new Easter season has only brought more questions, more wondering why all our prayers go unheard and unanswered. Truth would set my family free, but those that have that power refuse to use it.
My family has gotten so much smaller. K and E are no longer included in my thoughts of the future. But as the future is a blank black hole, maybe it's better for them."
Easter is long gone, we made it through.
Maybe it IS better for the big girls to be gone, maybe in that same wave length it would be better for the little ones too. I worry about them, about the scars that this life has already inflicted on their tender souls. M has so much fear and anxiety, she is so afraid of displeasing anyone for fear that they will leave her too. L asks me randomly "what happens to us if you die momma?" At first I thought that it was simply the thought process of a 5 year old learning about death. Until I asked her. She is truly worried about who will take care of them if I'm gone, because daddy is already gone. She knows that family is not solid. She is always aware that something can happen, and that there is no safety, only the illusion of it. People you love and count on can be ripped away, others throw the finger at you as they run head first into the Poo Pool.
Let me explain the Poo Pool. M is having a hard time with her torn heart. On the one side, she loves her daddy and misses him so much. She is angry, but that's not a good enough word to use, angry at her older sisters for the lies they used, the damage they left behind in their attempt to break away from the rules that governed our family. Yet she loves them, and gets upset with me for not letting her see K. How do you explain to an eight year old something you yourself don't understand? The facts are, her oldest sister shredded our world because she wanted to be able to drink, drug, smoke and have sex without being told no. How dare we, as her parents, try and instill a sense of right and wrong? So, I thought long and hard and came up with this example to help M understand. In her selfish, narcissistic ways, K looked at a pool filled with refuse, decided that's where she wanted to live and cannon balled in. Our world never stood a chance against the wave of feces that swallowed us. Eric was drowned in the resulting tsunami, he will never be rid of the stains she threw on him as he tried with all his might to save her from herself. I did what any mother would do, I shielded the little girls, and wadded in after her to help bring her back to the safety of solid land. In the process, she almost killed me too, because while I wanted to save her, she is happily splashing in the shit, engulfing all who get near her in her stench. She doesn't see the problem, doesn't notice that while she's doing everything I've ever told her not to do, thinking that she has freedom, the waste that she is marinating in is slowly dissolving her, in essence, it's killing her future, her worth, and her. Her family is dead because of it, E might well die as she can't handle the weight of the lies that K heaped upon her. And M and L can't be allowed near her, because, while I am still waiting on solid ground, waiting to help her when she is through in the poo, they are too small to withstand being splashed by her. It does't change the facts that K is loved by us all, always, it doesn't change the fact that her little sisters want nothing more that to be with all of their family. Until she is ready to start the process of fixing what all she did, wash off the poo you could say, I don't dare let her influence contaminate the little ones, I am guilty of not stopping the poison she inflected on E, the price I pay for that will be eternal. I can't allow it again.
There are days that death seems like the best option, it would free Eric from the children I inflicted him with, cut the ties that still bind me to them. In my mind that works, he won't be free of the stain, the unclean label, but he wouldn't have to be exposed to them because of me. I am only seeing things from the inside of my scrambled brain, because I know that while they have hurt him in ways I can't even understand, they are still his, and he worries abut them every day. Death would also free the little ones from the crazy person their mom has become. Fear and pain are so often masked with anger. I ooze anger, out of the very air around me. I can hide it for a while, while I'm in public mostly, but at home, when I don't have to wear my "normal" mask, it spills out everywhere. I'm ashamed with the weakness that has taken hold of my mind, yet unable to dislodge it. L is worried about what will happen to them, but she doesn't need to be, I've made arrangements for their safety. However, death won't solve anything will it? There are moments that it no longer frightens me, the thought of sweet oblivion is enticing, until a small body climbs on my lap and needs a cuddle.
This life I live is unimaginable. If I ever wrote a book, no one would buy it. Yet I live it, daily, as do my sweet children. I don't know what tomorrow brings, hell I don't even know that the next ten minuets bring. I know that we have a trip planned to spend the 4th of July in Richfield, and while it sounds fun, it also scares me witless. K is there, I need to see her, hug her and kiss her forehead. But... Always there is that word, but. But I don't want to see her, don't want to be reminded of the pain she causes daily. I don't want to be reminded that she has the power to end our suffering, but won't. How do you bring two warring half's of the same heart together? How do I keep this up?
Wednesday, March 8, 2017
chapters
There is to be a wedding Saturday. I should be happy that my lovely daughter has found someone to spend her life with. Should be. Am not. I have seen where she lives, and listened to how they manage their lives and relationship and inside all I can do is cry out "This isn't how you were raised! This in NOT the life I wanted for you". But it's the life she set in motion with a few well placed lies. I will never move from where I stand. I love you K, more than you will ever know, but oh how I'm scared for you and the mess your making of things.
This last year has taken me into paths and places that I never knew existed outside my nightmares. I have been homeless, hopeless, faithless, husband-less, worthless, soulless and so many other less's that I sit here tonight amazed that I can laugh and smile again. But I can, and I do, and I do both almost daily. Yet, there is a cloud hanging ever over my head, always reminding me of my lack of worth. My lack as a mother, as a woman, as me.
I try so hard, to put into words the thought spinning in my mind, and I use this as a way to keep them for consuming me, yet I'm at a loss tonight, to adequately find the words.
8 days, 8 little 24 hours periods is all that separates me from being with my husband again. I should be over the moon with anticipation, but i'm only filled with sorrow and dread. He isn't allowed to come home. As with all the unimaginable things that make up the chapters of my life, this is proving the hardest pill to swallow. He can't come home as the court says he is a threat and a predator. A threat to whom? I'm so sick in my soul that he's lost a year because of the lies of those that I mothered, and now, he will loose more time. The truth won't give him or I back our year stolen, it won't erase the fear and pain inflicted on M and L. I'm not even sure the truth would be heard if it was ever uttered. I find it telling that the only people who believed the lies were strangers. Our family and friends who truly know us know the truth. Yet the strangers have all the power. So my sweet husband will be kept from us longer.
Why was my mothering not enough? Why were the empty promises of the man who's only good thing he ever did was help create you of more value than the love and safety of my heart? Was it worth it? these are the questions that plaque me when it's quiet in my home and i'm left with my own thoughts for company. Where did I mess up? How do I fix it?
My wandering thoughts are out now, to the world to be judged. If it calms my mind a bit, maybe it was worth it. I don't know anymore. I only know that I am promised my eternal family, and that It will all be made right one day, I just need to keep my tiny slip of hope.
Saturday, June 4, 2016
Pain
Its hard to fathom the fallout of a justice system that is blind to the truth. I've been more and more finding out how far reaching the shrapnel is spread. I wonder some days, were the girls even aware of what damage they were unleashing? Are they aware now? The answer to both those questions is probably not. At first it was a sheltering of sorts, to not cause anymore damage to already damaged minds. E was still to fragile to burden her with the truth of what she was doing. Then the courts stepped in and we weren't allowed to even talk about anything with her or K for fear they would twist it more and more charges of tampering with a witness would be added.
The truth of the matter is, I don't know what payout they are getting from this. K wanted her freedom, wanted to answer to none and make her own rules. But E? I still don't know.
I do know that until she was 13 years old, E and her dad were best friends. They just were. Her memories of that have been warped, but those of us who lived those times with her know the truth. She loved her dad. Loved spending time with him, going to work with him at the Park, watching stupid movies mom couldn't stand. The list goes on, but to hear her now, she never liked him. I don't know who's story she adapted to be her own, but I know some people that have helped keep it going. I ran into one of the professionals that worked so hard to help me find her the help she needed to be safe in her own skin, before DCFS told her she wasn't mentally ill, she was just a poor victim of abuse. He was dumbfounded. The caseworkers that took her from me for all this had never even bothered to contact the therapist we had been working with for over 2 years. DCFS is all knowing and the professionals were just duped by me making things up. I live in fear that while she is in the care of those idiots, they are going to kill her by ignoring the care she really needs. It's hard to have to watch things happen while you have no control only the knowledge that something is truly terribly wrong and no one will listen.
K is living feral now, wild and free and doing what she wants. She graduated high school last week, and I am so very proud of her. It couldn't have been easy, and yet she did it. I was blessed to watch her walk that walk and receive her diploma. It broke my heart into more jagged pieces that she listed a woman I have never heard of as her mother, but hey. she was willing to lie and send Eric to jail so I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised.
The true broken parts really belong to the little sisters in this nightmare. M and L are really the ones hurt most by their big sisters. They are the ones that sob themselves to sleep nightly because daddy isn't here to tuck them in. They are the ones who have lost their home, their support and their sense of safety and stability. I can only do the best I can in a mind so bruised and broken that it's a daily fight to find any sense of normal for them. They don't understand why lies and hate have torn the very fabric of their world apart.
They love K and E so very much, but they don't want to talk to them. M was so mad at me for even talking to K on the phone. It hurts my soul to see the pain in her eyes when she talks about them. "Daddy would never hurt them, or me momma" and while she's right, until E or K have the strength of character to finally be honest, the pain will continue to build for her.
I find myself having to tell her that no, daddy won't be able to go on your field trip next year, he won't even be able to ever go to even one of your school plays, in fact, he won't be able to go to her high school graduation. K and E stole all those memories from her before they were ever there. Stole them from L too. Lies and hate have ripped away all the good memories they would have ever had with their daddy, memories that both of the big girls already have.
My fragile faith is on such rocky ground. I can't find the solace for my own heart to share with my hurting babies. They need their father. The need his priesthood and spirit and love in our home. And yes, even though he has been sentenced for the lies the big girls told, even the Lord knows he did nothing and he still has his priesthood. One day the girls will have to make right all they have sought to destroy. They will have to make amends for the broken hearts and all the tears shed. I pray that it's not to late when they decide. I hope that the lessons I try to teach M and L about hate making people go away and never come back make it easier for the little ones to hold on to love in spite of pain. I pray for my family to be make whole again. I pray mostly for the courage to forgive them, even if they wait until they stand before the Lord to be ready to admit they were lying all along.
The truth of the matter is, I don't know what payout they are getting from this. K wanted her freedom, wanted to answer to none and make her own rules. But E? I still don't know.
I do know that until she was 13 years old, E and her dad were best friends. They just were. Her memories of that have been warped, but those of us who lived those times with her know the truth. She loved her dad. Loved spending time with him, going to work with him at the Park, watching stupid movies mom couldn't stand. The list goes on, but to hear her now, she never liked him. I don't know who's story she adapted to be her own, but I know some people that have helped keep it going. I ran into one of the professionals that worked so hard to help me find her the help she needed to be safe in her own skin, before DCFS told her she wasn't mentally ill, she was just a poor victim of abuse. He was dumbfounded. The caseworkers that took her from me for all this had never even bothered to contact the therapist we had been working with for over 2 years. DCFS is all knowing and the professionals were just duped by me making things up. I live in fear that while she is in the care of those idiots, they are going to kill her by ignoring the care she really needs. It's hard to have to watch things happen while you have no control only the knowledge that something is truly terribly wrong and no one will listen.
K is living feral now, wild and free and doing what she wants. She graduated high school last week, and I am so very proud of her. It couldn't have been easy, and yet she did it. I was blessed to watch her walk that walk and receive her diploma. It broke my heart into more jagged pieces that she listed a woman I have never heard of as her mother, but hey. she was willing to lie and send Eric to jail so I guess I shouldn't have been so surprised.
The true broken parts really belong to the little sisters in this nightmare. M and L are really the ones hurt most by their big sisters. They are the ones that sob themselves to sleep nightly because daddy isn't here to tuck them in. They are the ones who have lost their home, their support and their sense of safety and stability. I can only do the best I can in a mind so bruised and broken that it's a daily fight to find any sense of normal for them. They don't understand why lies and hate have torn the very fabric of their world apart.
They love K and E so very much, but they don't want to talk to them. M was so mad at me for even talking to K on the phone. It hurts my soul to see the pain in her eyes when she talks about them. "Daddy would never hurt them, or me momma" and while she's right, until E or K have the strength of character to finally be honest, the pain will continue to build for her.
I find myself having to tell her that no, daddy won't be able to go on your field trip next year, he won't even be able to ever go to even one of your school plays, in fact, he won't be able to go to her high school graduation. K and E stole all those memories from her before they were ever there. Stole them from L too. Lies and hate have ripped away all the good memories they would have ever had with their daddy, memories that both of the big girls already have.
My fragile faith is on such rocky ground. I can't find the solace for my own heart to share with my hurting babies. They need their father. The need his priesthood and spirit and love in our home. And yes, even though he has been sentenced for the lies the big girls told, even the Lord knows he did nothing and he still has his priesthood. One day the girls will have to make right all they have sought to destroy. They will have to make amends for the broken hearts and all the tears shed. I pray that it's not to late when they decide. I hope that the lessons I try to teach M and L about hate making people go away and never come back make it easier for the little ones to hold on to love in spite of pain. I pray for my family to be make whole again. I pray mostly for the courage to forgive them, even if they wait until they stand before the Lord to be ready to admit they were lying all along.
Tuesday, April 12, 2016
Silver Linings
Some days are sunnier than others. I remember how to breathe and dress myself and even smile. Some days. Some days are darker, and I can't find the silver lining even if it's trying to strangle me for my stubbornness. I am all alone. I am not alone. I am angry, and hurt and healing. I am single, but taken. I am me.
I've been bawling about being homeless for the last few weeks, and while it's true that I don't have my own home, I'm not homeless. M says we are "Ownless". We have a home, we just don't have one of our own. Big difference, and IF I can start seeing the differences, I can start the long uphill climb.
Eric is surviving in that place that he shouldn't be in. I still shy away in saner moments of saying where he is. Jail. Jail, Jail. nope, repeating it doesn't help. But there he sits. He has been able to get out and do community service, which means that instead of working his butt off for any living, he's doing it simply to be doing it. He worries about supporting us, but for now, that's my responsibility. That thought scares the crap outta me.
My sister reminded me that while I've lived alone before, and supported my kids, I haven't had to after being beaten down so badly. I know that I can find the strength, and as soon as I allow my self to heal from the torture my soul has endured, I'll be okay. I needed to hear that. I feel so weak, I feel like I should be standing on my own two feet taking care of business. But right now, I can't. She helped me realize something, that just like a physical beating that has to heal before you function normally again, I've taking an emotional and spiritual beating the likes of which all most killed me. I need to heal.
The Lord knew this and sent the angels into my life I needed the most. I will never be able to thank Jon and Tina enough. They have given me the care and love and safety that I need while I learn to heal. And I have to learn to heal. I don't know how to not be in charge of every aspect of life. It's always been my job, what I do. I've been so broken that I'm not strong enough to do it right now. That's okay right? To admit that? To acknowledge that I'm broken, and not ready to be the adult in charge right now? I think so, I think that's some of me learning how to heal. It would be easier on me if I had only been physically beaten within an inch of my life. It hurts when you use bones that haven't healed or stretch skin still mending. The pain tells you, "hey stupid, you can't do that yet" and you stop. Emotional and spiritual wounds are harder to accept, and let heal before you try flexing. It's harder to accept that your mind needs time to heal and recover, to be able to adult again.
I'll have my good days, and they will be more than the bad. I will make the strides to heal and be the strong person people keep accusing me of being. But it will take time, and today, I can see that. Tomorrow who knows. I have angels hiding as friends that keep reminding me that it's okay to take time to heal. That I don't have to know where I'm going yet, because right now, I'm home. And for now, I know that that is the Lord's hand in this. His angels on earth helping my family until I can take over. So for today, I will start to heal, and quit doing things that make that process harder.
I've been bawling about being homeless for the last few weeks, and while it's true that I don't have my own home, I'm not homeless. M says we are "Ownless". We have a home, we just don't have one of our own. Big difference, and IF I can start seeing the differences, I can start the long uphill climb.
Eric is surviving in that place that he shouldn't be in. I still shy away in saner moments of saying where he is. Jail. Jail, Jail. nope, repeating it doesn't help. But there he sits. He has been able to get out and do community service, which means that instead of working his butt off for any living, he's doing it simply to be doing it. He worries about supporting us, but for now, that's my responsibility. That thought scares the crap outta me.
My sister reminded me that while I've lived alone before, and supported my kids, I haven't had to after being beaten down so badly. I know that I can find the strength, and as soon as I allow my self to heal from the torture my soul has endured, I'll be okay. I needed to hear that. I feel so weak, I feel like I should be standing on my own two feet taking care of business. But right now, I can't. She helped me realize something, that just like a physical beating that has to heal before you function normally again, I've taking an emotional and spiritual beating the likes of which all most killed me. I need to heal.
The Lord knew this and sent the angels into my life I needed the most. I will never be able to thank Jon and Tina enough. They have given me the care and love and safety that I need while I learn to heal. And I have to learn to heal. I don't know how to not be in charge of every aspect of life. It's always been my job, what I do. I've been so broken that I'm not strong enough to do it right now. That's okay right? To admit that? To acknowledge that I'm broken, and not ready to be the adult in charge right now? I think so, I think that's some of me learning how to heal. It would be easier on me if I had only been physically beaten within an inch of my life. It hurts when you use bones that haven't healed or stretch skin still mending. The pain tells you, "hey stupid, you can't do that yet" and you stop. Emotional and spiritual wounds are harder to accept, and let heal before you try flexing. It's harder to accept that your mind needs time to heal and recover, to be able to adult again. I'll have my good days, and they will be more than the bad. I will make the strides to heal and be the strong person people keep accusing me of being. But it will take time, and today, I can see that. Tomorrow who knows. I have angels hiding as friends that keep reminding me that it's okay to take time to heal. That I don't have to know where I'm going yet, because right now, I'm home. And for now, I know that that is the Lord's hand in this. His angels on earth helping my family until I can take over. So for today, I will start to heal, and quit doing things that make that process harder.
Wednesday, April 6, 2016
if
I see the pictures and quotes all over Facebook asking "if I die tomorrow what would you remember about me?" and as self serving and attention seeking as they are, it makes you wonder. If I simply ceased to exist, or if I had never existed, would it really be so bad? Now stay with me here, I'm fighting some major depression and anxiety, but I have enough sense to know the damage me ending my life would would instill in my babies, so simmer down. But really, would the world be better off without my presence in it?
I inflicted my older daughters into this world. I raised them and tried to teach them right from wrong and look where that got me, I'm ashamed of them, so much that I cringe when people ask how the are. I'm ashamed to be their mother, and call them mine. I'm ashamed. And for that, I'm a terrible person, I get that. I really do. I tell my self that a thousand times an hour.
I've become a burden, a waste of space, a parasite living off a host, though that host is a pretty amazing person and family. I don't interact with the world correctly, and even talking to my husband is challenging because if I say how messed up it is he's in there, then it reflects on him, that he isn't compliment with sex offender classes by not being properly sorry about what he did. How messed up is that? He shouldn't be there. The end. He did nothing, but I better not say that or the judge may take my little ones away because their daddy is a threat. It simply pisses me off. If I had money, I could find justice for my sweet spouse. I don't, so he sits in jail, worried sick about how he is going to provide for his family in a future that is to scary to look into.
And the best part is??? I'm not supposed to feel this way. I need to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. Life's hard, quit bitching and do what needs to be done. You know what? Today, I CAN'T. Judge away, I do it to myself in my head all the time. I am the cause of all the pain in my family. If I had been a better mother, if I had gotten K help as hard as I was trying to get E help, if Eric had never met me, and on and on. It's never ending, and for a while, my mask can hold it in so that socially, I'm doing the acceptable, strong thing and getting on with it. Inside is such another matter.
I am not this strong, amazing person people keep telling me that I am. I am broken, and lost and hurt and shouting and mad and crazy and so very messed up. I have no idea what I'm doing. Most of the time, I can't remember to breath. I write it out because if I keep letting it run wild, it truly will kill me. I can't even find the words for a small fraction of what I need to put down to paper and get out of my head. What I can find words for seems so shallow and weak. I want to shout to the world, yet I don't want to go outside. Outside has become a terrifying place, a place bent on destroying my family and stealing my children and husband. But none of that came from outside now did it? It came from me. So we are back to my original mind wander, if I were to die tomorrow, would the world be a better place? Would I then cease to unleash my brand of horror on the rest of an unsuspecting planet?
Just for today, and let us be honest, most likely a while longer, I simply give up. My strength is gone, I've worn my mask until it no longer hides what I need it to. My pain and anger are leaking through to often now. My rock is missing, the glue holding the messy bits is gone. So I'll lay my anger and pain and sorrow and fear and whatever else ugly I have at the Master's feet, and hope for just a moment, He will lift my burdens and ease my soul. I know he hasn't left me, but someday the pain is so strong, it's hard to remember.
I inflicted my older daughters into this world. I raised them and tried to teach them right from wrong and look where that got me, I'm ashamed of them, so much that I cringe when people ask how the are. I'm ashamed to be their mother, and call them mine. I'm ashamed. And for that, I'm a terrible person, I get that. I really do. I tell my self that a thousand times an hour.
I've become a burden, a waste of space, a parasite living off a host, though that host is a pretty amazing person and family. I don't interact with the world correctly, and even talking to my husband is challenging because if I say how messed up it is he's in there, then it reflects on him, that he isn't compliment with sex offender classes by not being properly sorry about what he did. How messed up is that? He shouldn't be there. The end. He did nothing, but I better not say that or the judge may take my little ones away because their daddy is a threat. It simply pisses me off. If I had money, I could find justice for my sweet spouse. I don't, so he sits in jail, worried sick about how he is going to provide for his family in a future that is to scary to look into.
And the best part is??? I'm not supposed to feel this way. I need to put on my big girl panties and deal with it. Life's hard, quit bitching and do what needs to be done. You know what? Today, I CAN'T. Judge away, I do it to myself in my head all the time. I am the cause of all the pain in my family. If I had been a better mother, if I had gotten K help as hard as I was trying to get E help, if Eric had never met me, and on and on. It's never ending, and for a while, my mask can hold it in so that socially, I'm doing the acceptable, strong thing and getting on with it. Inside is such another matter.
I am not this strong, amazing person people keep telling me that I am. I am broken, and lost and hurt and shouting and mad and crazy and so very messed up. I have no idea what I'm doing. Most of the time, I can't remember to breath. I write it out because if I keep letting it run wild, it truly will kill me. I can't even find the words for a small fraction of what I need to put down to paper and get out of my head. What I can find words for seems so shallow and weak. I want to shout to the world, yet I don't want to go outside. Outside has become a terrifying place, a place bent on destroying my family and stealing my children and husband. But none of that came from outside now did it? It came from me. So we are back to my original mind wander, if I were to die tomorrow, would the world be a better place? Would I then cease to unleash my brand of horror on the rest of an unsuspecting planet?
Just for today, and let us be honest, most likely a while longer, I simply give up. My strength is gone, I've worn my mask until it no longer hides what I need it to. My pain and anger are leaking through to often now. My rock is missing, the glue holding the messy bits is gone. So I'll lay my anger and pain and sorrow and fear and whatever else ugly I have at the Master's feet, and hope for just a moment, He will lift my burdens and ease my soul. I know he hasn't left me, but someday the pain is so strong, it's hard to remember.
Sunday, March 27, 2016
Easter
It's early on Easter morning, almost 2 am. This is a time of year that I love dearly. I love to reflect on the Savior's life, his lessons, and his love. This season brings to mind the greatest sacrifice ever made for mankind. By willingly submitting to everything that was asked, Christ paid the price I will never be able to even remotely come close to. He paid for every mistake I will ever make, every pain I will ever complain about and every situation that causes me to mummer against the Father. He paid what can never be repaid. Only received and used and shared.
I have been reflecting on receiving help today. A lot. I am not very good at asking for, let alone accepting help. I am strong enough, smart enough, dense enough, or stupid enough to make it on my own. At least that's what I tell myself. The place I sit now has shown me how very dense and stupid I can be. Eric is in jail, for crimes no one but the judge thinks he is capable of committing. Crimes that my children dreamed up to get to their own ends. I could go on about that, and I probably will in the future, but for today, he is simply gone. I need him. I have needed him for every thing I am for the last 10 years. He has shielded me from my own frailties and weakness and made sure that my children and I were taken care of. It wasn't always a walk in the park, but he was by my side every step. Without him, I need help. HELP.
How do you go about asking for help when all your life you have avoided it? I am sitting here writing this at a kitchen table not my own, in a home not my own, where my children and I will sleep until we can find a place of our own. I don't know how long we will be without our own home, and I've called us homeless, but, we are not destitute. I have so many people that have said "we love you, let us help". Let us help. I have had to swallow what shreds of pride I've been holding onto. It's not easy, and it hurts, a lot. But as with the Savior, who offered us the help we need to get home, what good is that offer if we foolishly believe we can do it alone? I need my friends right now, more than even I know. I need to let them help me because I simply can't do this on my own. I can't.
This Easter, the gift the Savior offers each of us is so HUGE to me. He is offering us the help we need, if we know it or not, to get home. Just as I am homeless without my friends who love me right now, in this very moment, so too will I be homeless forever if I don't willingly take the Savior's help. It's a concept I thought I knew and understood. I was so very wrong.
In the midst of my unimaginable life, with all scary nightmarish things that I seem destine to wade in the midst of, I know this: I am not alone, I just need to let go of pride, and accept the offer of help and love. He will walk with me, Eric will come out the other end of this horror, and we will go on, hand in hand, with the Savior guiding us, to our forever. This is what Easter means to me this year. I am so humbled to know that Christ loves me enough to hold out his hand to me, even when in my arrogance I don't reach back. He never has left me alone. The only way I will ever be able to thank him, is to take his outstretched hand, and follow him home. Because in the end, being thankful for something is to use it for what it was meant for, not just view it as a pretty picture.
Happy Easter,
I have been reflecting on receiving help today. A lot. I am not very good at asking for, let alone accepting help. I am strong enough, smart enough, dense enough, or stupid enough to make it on my own. At least that's what I tell myself. The place I sit now has shown me how very dense and stupid I can be. Eric is in jail, for crimes no one but the judge thinks he is capable of committing. Crimes that my children dreamed up to get to their own ends. I could go on about that, and I probably will in the future, but for today, he is simply gone. I need him. I have needed him for every thing I am for the last 10 years. He has shielded me from my own frailties and weakness and made sure that my children and I were taken care of. It wasn't always a walk in the park, but he was by my side every step. Without him, I need help. HELP.
How do you go about asking for help when all your life you have avoided it? I am sitting here writing this at a kitchen table not my own, in a home not my own, where my children and I will sleep until we can find a place of our own. I don't know how long we will be without our own home, and I've called us homeless, but, we are not destitute. I have so many people that have said "we love you, let us help". Let us help. I have had to swallow what shreds of pride I've been holding onto. It's not easy, and it hurts, a lot. But as with the Savior, who offered us the help we need to get home, what good is that offer if we foolishly believe we can do it alone? I need my friends right now, more than even I know. I need to let them help me because I simply can't do this on my own. I can't.
This Easter, the gift the Savior offers each of us is so HUGE to me. He is offering us the help we need, if we know it or not, to get home. Just as I am homeless without my friends who love me right now, in this very moment, so too will I be homeless forever if I don't willingly take the Savior's help. It's a concept I thought I knew and understood. I was so very wrong.
In the midst of my unimaginable life, with all scary nightmarish things that I seem destine to wade in the midst of, I know this: I am not alone, I just need to let go of pride, and accept the offer of help and love. He will walk with me, Eric will come out the other end of this horror, and we will go on, hand in hand, with the Savior guiding us, to our forever. This is what Easter means to me this year. I am so humbled to know that Christ loves me enough to hold out his hand to me, even when in my arrogance I don't reach back. He never has left me alone. The only way I will ever be able to thank him, is to take his outstretched hand, and follow him home. Because in the end, being thankful for something is to use it for what it was meant for, not just view it as a pretty picture.
Happy Easter,
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