I've not been feeling well lately. I've been pretty depressed as of late, and haven't had the energy to do anything. One of the things I haven't had the energy to do lately is blog. For the last week, every day I've thought, "I should blog". Then I sigh, and say, "Tomorrow".
My husband and I are finally leaving his aunt's house in 6 days. I can't wait to leave. But I'm anxious about traveling to my parents house, mainly because we are flying with our dogs. I'm so anxious about how they are going to hold up. I won't feel better until I'm carrying them off the plane at our final destination. And I keep having this nagging thought that as soon as we get back from our trip, we are going to live with the hubby's mother. This thought is hanging over my head, and it sucks because I have a whole month with my parents. This isn't something I should be dwelling on yet. I hate that I will probably spend the majority of my time at home dreading coming back.
It also makes it almost impossible to be around the hubby's aunt. I'm seeing red. I hate her. I curse her in my head. She says the most reprehensible things. She was on a rampage yesterday. Thinking about it today, I wonder if she was trying to provoke me. She started off saying that I had a lot of work to do once our home is built, and she doesn't envy all the work I have to do. Umm, first of all, I'm looking forward to cleaning everything and making everything sparkle. Second, I can't wait to decorate. I told her I was looking forward to it, and she said, "Of course you are. You haven't done anything in 4 months. It's like you've been on vacation." Really? Really? Vacuuming your furniture and house everyday, dusting, cleaning the bathroom, and cooking meals for you most of the week constitutes doing nothing? Thanks so much.
The conversation moved somehow, someway to how much she hates her husband's daughter, whom he had with his first wife. She said she hated that kid from the start (the child was 4 when she met her husband), and she wouldn't have anything to do with it. She said if her husband had wanted to maintain a relationship with his daughter, she would never have stayed with him. I couldn't believe the words that were coming out of her mouth. What a disgusting excuse for a human being she is. Now, this gets complicated. The hubby's aunt and uncle are both his biological aunt and uncle, because his mother and his aunt married a set of brothers. My husband's father abandoned my husband much the way his uncle abandoned his daughter. And Aunt has the audacity to say that it bothers her my husband doesn't view his biological father as his father. My husband's stepfather raised him, and he is who my husband views as "Dad". I couldn't believe she said that. I said, "Do you think Uncle's (her husband) daughter views him as her father? I guarantee she doesn't, much the way that my husband doesn't view the person that abandoned him as his father." She actually said I had a point there. Unbelievable. She then said that Uncle's mother never liked her, and if he had wanted to maintain a relationship with her, she also never would have married him. Well, isn't this the pot calling the kettle black! Aunt hates her daughter-in-law (and daughter-in-law knows this) but she still expects her daughter-in-law to be around her all the time. Such hypocrisy!
I think at this point I told her I had a headache, and retired to my room. When her husband got home, I hear her telling Uncle how much she hates having us there. She said she is so sick of people slowing down to look at our newly constructed house. She goes on to say she must have been crazy to agree to let us stay here. She is so hurtful.
She is the most bitter, unhappy woman I've ever met. She doesn't have my sympathy anymore though. Everything bad that happens to her, she has brought on herself with her mouth and her meanness. Ugh, 6 days is feeling way too long at this point. I think (in my non-professional opinion) that she is the reason I've been so depressed the last month or so. I can't wait to be away from her negative attitude and energy.
One last story before I shut up for the evening and stop my bitching. Two weeks ago, Aunt and Uncle went out of town to stay with their son. On the day they were supposed to come back, I guess Aunt downed a large amount of margaritas. She ended up getting so drunk she told her husband she hated him and she wanted to leave them in front of their son and his wife. On their way home, Uncle had to pull over 5-6 times to let her puke. When they got to the house, they sat in the car for 30 minutes and I guess she puked 2 more times in the driveway. We (husband and I) were standing in the kitchen when she came in, hair matted to her head and wearing sunglasses. She stumbled past us and didn't say a word, just went to her room. It was a Sunday, so she called in sick to work the next day with a "stomach virus". So irresponsible. Once again, she proclaims she will never drink again.
When pigs fly. Snort.
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationships. Show all posts
Friday, September 21, 2012
Thursday, September 6, 2012
About That...
I just realized today that since I wrote about my friend D's abandonment of me, that I haven't been thinking about her as much. I haven't been searching for her on Facebook as much, and not scouring the Internet for her, looking for any tidbits of information. Yes, I have a problem with cyber-stalking. So sue me. I have a hard time getting over past hurt's, and D was one of many. I thought maybe if I wrote about another past hurt, the same thing would happen? It's worth a shot.
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
My high school/college boyfriend, B. Sigh. What a mess. The whole 3 year on-and-off- again affair was always a struggle. If that relationship was a highway, there were many exits I passed up, and many detour signs ignored. Like that person that ignores the signs on the interstate warning "Accident Ahead" and doesn't get off the freeway, I sped along to see the carnage for my own eyes. The first red flag was the first time I ever went to his house. His mother answered the door, shortly told me he wasn't home, and slammed the door in my face. Wow, nice to meet you too, bitch. She never liked me, by the way. The very first day after we had the "DTRT" (designate the relationship talk), I felt something was wrong, and wanted to break up with him. My best friend convinced me to give him a chance. I should have went with my first instincts. And when he assumed that I was a virgin, I lied and told him I was. You can't build a relationship on a foundation of lies.
I met B. at the tender age of 17. I extremely vulnerable at the time. My parents were separated because my dad had had an affair. My mom had breast cancer, and was going through chemo and radiation with no one else to talk to, save for her 17-year old daughter. I had an eating disorder, and carried 100 lbs on my 5'5 frame. I was weak. He was hot. And he liked me. No one like him had ever even paid attention to me. I fell hard into lust. We had a typical high school relationship, and fought about everything.
We kept going for a year and a half this way. We went to separate college's, about 100 miles apart, but stayed together. I put on the freshman 15, and that's basically when things went south. I became insecure, and so jealous. I called him a dozen times a day, and obsessively checked his email and social media accounts. Eventually we came to that day that many young loves come to, the day that we broke up.
It was 4th of July. 2001. We were at a beach party on the Oregon Coast. We got into a screaming match on the beach because I had to work the next day and wanted to leave. He did not. The fight was definitely fueled by the amount of alcohol we drank. I told him I was leaving. He said if I left, it was over. I defiantly walked away. He lunged to grab me, but only grabbed my hand. I had a deep, fresh cut on that hand from the meat slicer at work. I shook him off, and stalked to my car. When I got to the my car, in the light, I looked down. My pristine white sweatshirt was covered in blood. He had re-opened the cut on my hand. I remember staring at it, getting in the car, locking the doors, and starting it up. The drive home? I don't remember. It's a miracle that I didn't kill myself, or someone else on that drive home.
After a couple of days, I had sobered up and was sorry. But I couldn't find him to save my life. He didn't contact me for 2 weeks. My heart was broken, and I, again, was an emotionally distraught mess. When he finally did come back, he told me he'd been staying with another girl. I fell into a ball on the floor, sobbing. Somehow, after talking all night, we got back together. This time around, he transfered to my school so we could be closer.
We were back together, but nothing had changed. We still fought. I was still jealous. I had begun following him around campus, checking on his stories. Finally one day, I caught him at a girl's dorm. With a girl. I forgave him. I saw him at bar, making out with another girl. I forgave him. I found pictures of him at a sorority dance with yes, another girl. I forgave him.
Looking back, I am completely disgusted with my lack of self-respect. How could I let him walk all over me like that? I look back at that girl that I was, and she doesn't even feel like me. We ended up breaking up for about 2 months, later on that year. I'd starting dating someone else when he came back, and told me he wanted me back. I'd just started to move on, and he pulled me back in. For 1 week. 1 week later, on a very cold February night, with driving down rain, he blindsided me. We had just finished studying and were standing outside the library when he told me it was over. For good. He left me standing, sobbing in the pouring rain, outside the library.
This was one of the hardest time period's that I've had to overcome. I don't think my heart as ever been broken more. It had been shattered with a sledgehammer into a million pieces. For a long time after that, I felt like I didn't even have a heart anymore. My self-esteem had also been shattered. I didn't feel like I would ever be whole again. I would never be able to trust anyone again. I hated him with every fiber in my being. I hated that I laid in bed at night, unable to sleep, images of him with someone else in his arm's flashing through my over-active imagination. To this day, I have no idea why I allowed him to degrade me so entirely. I didn't date anyone seriously for 3 years. The first serious boyfriend I had after him, is now my husband.
We had one last conversation, after that incident in front of the library. It came via phone call late one night, about 3 months after the end. He was drunk, and said some of the most horrible, vicious things anyone has ever said to me. At the end of the phone call, he said, "We'll be friends again. You'll forget what I said. I don't care if it's 1 year, 5 years, or 10 years from now. You'll forget everything, and you'll come back". I said, "I will never forget". I hung up the phone, and that was the last time we ever spoke.
So, it's 9 years later. Time heals almost all wounds. I'm married, and I'm happy. But I'll never forget. I still find him on Facebook from time to time. He's fat and balding now.
Is it bad that that makes me happy?
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Time For A Break
I need to get out of here.
My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.
Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.
Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.
I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.
Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.
My time here with my husband's aunt has quickly morphed into a miserable time. Respect and mutual liking I used to have for her? Gone. Replaced with red-hot rage and hatred. I hate her. I've never met such a miserable person. She's got a mean-streak a mile wide, and I just can't understand it. I've never had a mean-streak. I don't like to hurt people, therefore I avoid doing it. Doesn't she know whats it's like to be hurt? She says she does. Knowing how bad it hurts, how could she inflect that pain on another person? I can't wrap my head around it. I handle myself with class, and a lot of times bite my tongue instead of saying the evil things that are going on in my head.
Aunt told us today that we are to be gone for Labor Day Weekend. Go stay with Husband's mom. My heart dropped to my stomach, and I think I actually tasted bile in my mouth, I was so angry. So angry. Be gone for Labor Day Weekend, so she and her husband can leave the house all day long, flitting from mall to movie to restaurant, while I suffer insomnia, allergies, and panic attacks by staying in the dark, smoke-filled pit that is my mother-in-law's house? I hate her. I would never be able to tell someone to go live in somewhere as awful as that, when I could help them myself. I could never live with myself knowing I caused that person so much pain and distress.
Learning about Labor Day Weekend ruined my day. My week. I've been down the whole day since I found out, at about 11 am this morning. There is one good thing I've got to look forward to. My husband found out he gets about a month off from work, so we are packing up the dogs and going to my parent's for a month. I can't wait. I can't wait to be somewhere where I feel welcome, loved, and wanted. Somewhere with absolutely no drama. With people who are warm, and deep in their hearts are good people. I am so happy I will be getting away from here, and away from Aunt. Of course, when we return from my parent's, we have to move in with my husband's mom until the house is done. We won't be back from our trip until the end of October, so I am hoping against all hope that the house is done by then. When the house is done, I'm going to be hard pressed to associate myself with Aunt. Being nice to her is going to be hard work.
I've noticed lately that I'm not making any progress on my issues. I haven't recovered any new flashbacks, and it's almost like I've completely stopped thinking about it. My obsession with getting better and figuring out what happened to me has been replaced by my all-consuming hatred for Aunt. This is not good for a couple of reasons. One, I really thought I was moving forward. All I wanted to was figure out what happened, piece everything back together, find a way to accept it, and move on. All progress has halted. I hate that, because I feel like my mind is simply putting off the inevitable. Once I no longer have Aunt to fixate on, then what? It starts all over again? Two, this hatred I feel is not normal or healthy. It makes me stressed. I constantly feel in a state of duress. I'm not the type of person who judges everyone, is jealous of them, and therefore talks crap and looks down on them. That is not me. But I don't deal with people like Aunt. Ever. My life is normally pretty laid-back and easy-going. Like I normally am. I wish I could just go to sleep, and wake up on the day when it's time to leave for my parent's. Fast-forward through this awful period of time right now.
Of course, that's not going to happen. I've got about a month that I've got to keep it together. We are leaving on September 27. I have to just try as hard as I can not to have a meltdown during this time period. Easier said than done.
Monday, August 20, 2012
Weekend In Hell
*********There is some pretty frank language in this entry. Do not read if you are so dainty as to not want to read some cursing. I warned you.******************
It was a really shitty weekend.
I mean, really shitty. The husband's aunt asked us to go and stay with my husband's mother from Friday-Sunday. I say ask, but I really mean told. Here's what she said, "Uncle and I talked. You guys are to be out of the house this weekend. Go stay with Husband's Mom". Well, thanks, you crazy bitch. Supposedly, so her and the Uncle can have some alone time. Like that's going to happen, I thought in my head, wishing I could kill her with my thoughts alone.
I loathe staying at my husband's mother's home. Really, really loathe staying there. She lives in a single wide trailer that she never cleans. The house is filthy. An inch of dirt on everything. Cobwebs are in every corner. Bits of food and nicotine gum tossed on the floor, in corners. Not good when you have 2 little dogs that like play Hoover vacuums all around the house. Trash lid soiled with old food. A fridge also soiled with old food, inside and out. Dead flies and heavy dust on the windowsills. The bathroom, oh, the bathroom. I shutter to think about it. She doesn't keep any food in the house, so we ate fast food all weekend. McDonald's, Little Caesar's, Subway, Arby's. My stomach hurt so bad by the time it was time to leave. Her house is in an apparent dead zone. She doesn't have Internet, and I couldn't get service on my phone, let alone 4G Internet service. She watches TV 24 hours a day, so we just sat there for 4 damn days, watching TV. The worst part of everything about staying with her? She smokes in the house. This is not light smoking either. We are talking a pack a day.
I get extremely agitated and anxious when I stay for too long at my mother-in-law's house. I also get a severely stuffed up, snotty nose. I always thought it was the filth that bothered me about her house, but after being forced to spend 4 days there this weekend, I realized why. My grandma used to smoke in her house. My mother-in-law's house smells exactly like my grandma's house from when I was a child.
My husband was working night's this weekend, so I slept alone at my MIL's house. I slept every night for exactly 4 hours, and woke up to the smell of smoke. My MIL is bipolar, and her behavior is extremely erratic. She is just starting on her manic phase right now, so she is not sleeping at night. She sits in her living room, and chain smokes. There is a hefty crack between the floor and the door of the room that I was sleeping in, so I woke up every night, smelling cigarette smoke. And every night, I had a trembling panic attack. I had them during the day too, don't get me wrong, but the night ones were the worst. I cried every night. Cried until I was exhausted and somehow, managed to fall back asleep for an hour.
My husband has asked his mother not to smoke inside when we are there, but she doesn't listen and/or care during her manic phases. She'll not smoke when he's there, or when I'm awake, but as soon as she thinks I'm asleep, BAM! She pulls out that pack so fast, and lights them up for a couple of hours. Maybe she thinks I don't know, but for god's sake woman, you live in a single wide trailer. You ain't hiding shit from anyone.
The husband's stupid fucking aunt called my MIL constantly all weekend. On Friday, her and Uncle left the house. All day. All damn day. So we had to go stay in a dark, dirty, moldy hole so you could go shopping, out for drinks, to a movie, more shopping, and out to dinner? Thanks, you fucking cunt. On Saturday, Uncle left to play cornhole. On Sunday, Uncle left to play cornhole. Are you fucking serious? Are you fucking serious? I saw red most of the weekend, so consumed in my hatred of Aunt was I. I'm still pretty pissed. If I could find a way to do it, I would take my damn dogs and go stay with my parents until the fucking house was done. But they live 2700 miles away, and one person cannot fly with 2 dogs, damnit.
The husband and I just got back today. I'm pasting a big, fat, fake smile on my fucking face and acting like everything is just peachy-fucking king. Aunt had the nerve to say to me when I got home, "Thanks so much for leaving for the weekend! We just had the best time!".
Fucking whore.
It was a really shitty weekend.
I mean, really shitty. The husband's aunt asked us to go and stay with my husband's mother from Friday-Sunday. I say ask, but I really mean told. Here's what she said, "Uncle and I talked. You guys are to be out of the house this weekend. Go stay with Husband's Mom". Well, thanks, you crazy bitch. Supposedly, so her and the Uncle can have some alone time. Like that's going to happen, I thought in my head, wishing I could kill her with my thoughts alone.
I loathe staying at my husband's mother's home. Really, really loathe staying there. She lives in a single wide trailer that she never cleans. The house is filthy. An inch of dirt on everything. Cobwebs are in every corner. Bits of food and nicotine gum tossed on the floor, in corners. Not good when you have 2 little dogs that like play Hoover vacuums all around the house. Trash lid soiled with old food. A fridge also soiled with old food, inside and out. Dead flies and heavy dust on the windowsills. The bathroom, oh, the bathroom. I shutter to think about it. She doesn't keep any food in the house, so we ate fast food all weekend. McDonald's, Little Caesar's, Subway, Arby's. My stomach hurt so bad by the time it was time to leave. Her house is in an apparent dead zone. She doesn't have Internet, and I couldn't get service on my phone, let alone 4G Internet service. She watches TV 24 hours a day, so we just sat there for 4 damn days, watching TV. The worst part of everything about staying with her? She smokes in the house. This is not light smoking either. We are talking a pack a day.
I get extremely agitated and anxious when I stay for too long at my mother-in-law's house. I also get a severely stuffed up, snotty nose. I always thought it was the filth that bothered me about her house, but after being forced to spend 4 days there this weekend, I realized why. My grandma used to smoke in her house. My mother-in-law's house smells exactly like my grandma's house from when I was a child.
My husband was working night's this weekend, so I slept alone at my MIL's house. I slept every night for exactly 4 hours, and woke up to the smell of smoke. My MIL is bipolar, and her behavior is extremely erratic. She is just starting on her manic phase right now, so she is not sleeping at night. She sits in her living room, and chain smokes. There is a hefty crack between the floor and the door of the room that I was sleeping in, so I woke up every night, smelling cigarette smoke. And every night, I had a trembling panic attack. I had them during the day too, don't get me wrong, but the night ones were the worst. I cried every night. Cried until I was exhausted and somehow, managed to fall back asleep for an hour.
My husband has asked his mother not to smoke inside when we are there, but she doesn't listen and/or care during her manic phases. She'll not smoke when he's there, or when I'm awake, but as soon as she thinks I'm asleep, BAM! She pulls out that pack so fast, and lights them up for a couple of hours. Maybe she thinks I don't know, but for god's sake woman, you live in a single wide trailer. You ain't hiding shit from anyone.
The husband's stupid fucking aunt called my MIL constantly all weekend. On Friday, her and Uncle left the house. All day. All damn day. So we had to go stay in a dark, dirty, moldy hole so you could go shopping, out for drinks, to a movie, more shopping, and out to dinner? Thanks, you fucking cunt. On Saturday, Uncle left to play cornhole. On Sunday, Uncle left to play cornhole. Are you fucking serious? Are you fucking serious? I saw red most of the weekend, so consumed in my hatred of Aunt was I. I'm still pretty pissed. If I could find a way to do it, I would take my damn dogs and go stay with my parents until the fucking house was done. But they live 2700 miles away, and one person cannot fly with 2 dogs, damnit.
The husband and I just got back today. I'm pasting a big, fat, fake smile on my fucking face and acting like everything is just peachy-fucking king. Aunt had the nerve to say to me when I got home, "Thanks so much for leaving for the weekend! We just had the best time!".
Fucking whore.
Wednesday, August 1, 2012
Lack of Privacy = Stressed Out
It's been almost 2 months since we moved in with my husband's aunt and uncle. Thankfully, construction on the home is in full swing, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dim.
The lack of privacy here is really getting to me. The husband's aunt only works part time, so she is around a lot. She talks a mile a minute, barely lets me get a word in edgewise, and if I leave the room, she follows me. Yet, she complains about us being here 24/7. The husband and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea we would be made to feel so unwanted, that we are a huge burden. Before we moved in, it was discussed that I would continue to cook. Once we moved in however, I was told I'm only allowed to cook Monday-Thursday. See, she doesn't trust me to clean her kitchen. She cleans it after every meal I make, and she doesn't want to clean Friday-Sunday. This means the husband and I have to eat out Friday- Sunday, which we hate. Not only is eating out a ton of calories, but it's also expensive! We are building a house here, we are supposed to be saving money.
I'm a very sensitive person, and being made to feel unwanted is taking a toll on me. I've been put under a tremendous amount of stress, and my body is showing it. I'm gaining weight steadily, even though I've been limiting drinking, eating healthy, and working out 4-5 times a week. The only thing I can figure is that I'm putting on weight due to stress. My skin is very blotchy and red right now, and I've got a couple of rashes over my body. Again, stress. Insomnia is in full swing. I've been depressed more days than not. This whole situation makes me so homesick. I keep thinking about my parents and how if we were in this situation with my parents, it would be so different. My parents would never make us feel unwanted, and they wouldn't care how long we stayed. We could stay a year, and they wouldn't care. They wouldn't complain about every single construction delay. They would love having us, I would be able to cook as much as I want, I could make healthy meals there with no complaints from anyone, and I wouldn't have to vacuum every.single.day. My parents love our dogs, and treat them like kids, just like us. They don't care about a stray dog hair, like us. They would not make us feel like our dogs are a burden. I would be able to leave for the weekend, leave the pups with my parents, and not worry.
I'm so frustrated at this point. I want out, but there really isn't anywhere for us to go. The husband's mother lives in a single wide trailer, plus her brother is living with her right now. The husband's sister has a 3-bedroom house, and 3 kids. The husband's cousin lives 2.5 hours away. We are stuck. We are being made to leave this weekend, to go and see the husband's cousin at his lake house. I was kind of looking forward to it, until I learned yesterday that his cousin has invited a lot of people this weekend, and the house will be full. The husband and I will be sleeping on a couch in the basement. Of course, we basically have to go because the husband's aunt has to be by herself.
Whatever. This whole experience doesn't make me likely to help her out in the future. Yes, she is doing us a favor by letting us stay here, but it's not such a gift when you bitch and moan every day, and make us feel like shit. My private thoughts may sound high-strung, but I appear very laid-back in person. Aunt said she couldn't imagine me being the type of person to hold a grudge. I actually laughed at her. Little does she know. I will never forget how she has treated us during this time period. I may forgive, but I will never forget.
The lack of privacy here is really getting to me. The husband's aunt only works part time, so she is around a lot. She talks a mile a minute, barely lets me get a word in edgewise, and if I leave the room, she follows me. Yet, she complains about us being here 24/7. The husband and I had no idea what we were getting ourselves into. We had no idea we would be made to feel so unwanted, that we are a huge burden. Before we moved in, it was discussed that I would continue to cook. Once we moved in however, I was told I'm only allowed to cook Monday-Thursday. See, she doesn't trust me to clean her kitchen. She cleans it after every meal I make, and she doesn't want to clean Friday-Sunday. This means the husband and I have to eat out Friday- Sunday, which we hate. Not only is eating out a ton of calories, but it's also expensive! We are building a house here, we are supposed to be saving money.
I'm a very sensitive person, and being made to feel unwanted is taking a toll on me. I've been put under a tremendous amount of stress, and my body is showing it. I'm gaining weight steadily, even though I've been limiting drinking, eating healthy, and working out 4-5 times a week. The only thing I can figure is that I'm putting on weight due to stress. My skin is very blotchy and red right now, and I've got a couple of rashes over my body. Again, stress. Insomnia is in full swing. I've been depressed more days than not. This whole situation makes me so homesick. I keep thinking about my parents and how if we were in this situation with my parents, it would be so different. My parents would never make us feel unwanted, and they wouldn't care how long we stayed. We could stay a year, and they wouldn't care. They wouldn't complain about every single construction delay. They would love having us, I would be able to cook as much as I want, I could make healthy meals there with no complaints from anyone, and I wouldn't have to vacuum every.single.day. My parents love our dogs, and treat them like kids, just like us. They don't care about a stray dog hair, like us. They would not make us feel like our dogs are a burden. I would be able to leave for the weekend, leave the pups with my parents, and not worry.
I'm so frustrated at this point. I want out, but there really isn't anywhere for us to go. The husband's mother lives in a single wide trailer, plus her brother is living with her right now. The husband's sister has a 3-bedroom house, and 3 kids. The husband's cousin lives 2.5 hours away. We are stuck. We are being made to leave this weekend, to go and see the husband's cousin at his lake house. I was kind of looking forward to it, until I learned yesterday that his cousin has invited a lot of people this weekend, and the house will be full. The husband and I will be sleeping on a couch in the basement. Of course, we basically have to go because the husband's aunt has to be by herself.
Whatever. This whole experience doesn't make me likely to help her out in the future. Yes, she is doing us a favor by letting us stay here, but it's not such a gift when you bitch and moan every day, and make us feel like shit. My private thoughts may sound high-strung, but I appear very laid-back in person. Aunt said she couldn't imagine me being the type of person to hold a grudge. I actually laughed at her. Little does she know. I will never forget how she has treated us during this time period. I may forgive, but I will never forget.
Monday, July 9, 2012
Looking For Answers, Found More Questions
So, my conversation with my dad last week...
It was a really, really hard conversation for me to have, but I'm glad I did it. I'm proud I finally got the courage to ask my dad the things I needed to ask. I almost backed out the morning I was supposed to have the conversation, I was one button push away from sending a text to my dad saying I couldn't talk that day. My husband talked me down however, pointing out that my dad probably had a sleepless night anticipating out conversation. He made a good point, and I went through with the phone call.
It was actually my dad that called me, and about an hour earlier than we'd discussed. We made our usual small talk, what's going on out West, and I updated him on what's going on here out East. Eventually though, I bit the bullet and asked him what I needed to know. Was he aware of any incidents that could have occurred when I was a child, with Uncle S., that I might need to know about?
I got that long pause again. It was with some hesitation that my father told me that my uncle was my primary babysitter from when I was age 1 to about 3. I was with him exclusively from 7:30 am to 5:30 pm, Monday through Friday. My dad told me that they took me out of that "situation" when they realized there may have been an "issue".
My heart sank and I felt sick. An issue? I asked. My dad said he wasn't aware of any specific events, but that him and my mom were "suspicious" something had happened. I asked him to be honest, point-blank, did he think something happened? He said yes. We continued to talk about my uncle for awhile. His drug use, his mental illness, the fact that he identified as a homosexual, and his relationship with my brother and I.
We talked for more than an hour. I felt good when we ended the conversation, mostly I think from the fact that I've been needing to have this conversation with my dad. I didn't really get any direct answers, and now I have even more questions, but for some reason, I feel better.
What's next on my bucket list? Sigh. Making an appointment with another psychiatrist. You could say I've been nursing my bruised ego from perceived "rejection", but it's time to move on in my journey.
It was a really, really hard conversation for me to have, but I'm glad I did it. I'm proud I finally got the courage to ask my dad the things I needed to ask. I almost backed out the morning I was supposed to have the conversation, I was one button push away from sending a text to my dad saying I couldn't talk that day. My husband talked me down however, pointing out that my dad probably had a sleepless night anticipating out conversation. He made a good point, and I went through with the phone call.
It was actually my dad that called me, and about an hour earlier than we'd discussed. We made our usual small talk, what's going on out West, and I updated him on what's going on here out East. Eventually though, I bit the bullet and asked him what I needed to know. Was he aware of any incidents that could have occurred when I was a child, with Uncle S., that I might need to know about?
I got that long pause again. It was with some hesitation that my father told me that my uncle was my primary babysitter from when I was age 1 to about 3. I was with him exclusively from 7:30 am to 5:30 pm, Monday through Friday. My dad told me that they took me out of that "situation" when they realized there may have been an "issue".
My heart sank and I felt sick. An issue? I asked. My dad said he wasn't aware of any specific events, but that him and my mom were "suspicious" something had happened. I asked him to be honest, point-blank, did he think something happened? He said yes. We continued to talk about my uncle for awhile. His drug use, his mental illness, the fact that he identified as a homosexual, and his relationship with my brother and I.
We talked for more than an hour. I felt good when we ended the conversation, mostly I think from the fact that I've been needing to have this conversation with my dad. I didn't really get any direct answers, and now I have even more questions, but for some reason, I feel better.
What's next on my bucket list? Sigh. Making an appointment with another psychiatrist. You could say I've been nursing my bruised ego from perceived "rejection", but it's time to move on in my journey.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Where Did It All Begin?
I'm 4 days away from my first appointment with a psychiatrist, and I've pondered this thought for a long time now. Ever since I kinda, sorta put the puzzle pieces together, I've been reaching and straining to really, really put the pieces together.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
It's just not that easy. What I have recovered are more like flashes of images, not actual memories that play like a movie in your mind. I want to remember, because I want to heal, but obviously my mind is not ready to concede. I know this. Sometimes at night, when I am laying in bed, waiting for the Ambien, Noritriptyline, and Hydroxyzine to kick in, I try to remember.
I have lots of memories from this time period (3-5 years of age), but none fit together in a succinct timeline. I felt a lot of fear as a kid. I remember my mom leaving me at daycare, and crying inconsolably for hours because she had left me. I remember being horribly afraid of the dark, to the point of panic if I was completely in the dark without my nightlight. I suffered from terrible nightmares as a child, dreaming about everything from ghosts, to serial killers, to killer clowns. I was convinced there was something under my bed that would grab my legs and pull me under if I got out of bed at night. My window shades in the room had to be tightly shut with no way to look in. Because, you know, if you could see in my window, the aliens would see me and take me away. I honestly believed that if I looked in the mirror at night, there would be a ghostly image of a girl who would pull me in. I still avoid mirrors at night to this day.
I remember my grandmother's (my mother's mother) house that she lived in at this time. It was right next door to my parent's house and 2 houses down, my aunt, uncle (one of my mom's brother's, the sane one), and cousins lived there. I remember my grandmother's front door, her living room, her kitchen. I also remember the room that my uncle (my mother's other brother, the not-so-sane one) lived in, the way the window was positioned, his wood bed, the furniture, his ash tray on the bedside table. I cannot, for the life of me, remember her bathroom or her living room couch. I have an image in my mind of my uncle rubbing me on her couch, but I can only feel the couch against my skin and see the couch as separate from the room. I cannot picture the room with the couch in it.
My uncle was bipolar and schizophrenic. He had a pattern of going off his meds, and disappearing for months at a time, not contacting anyone in the family to let them know where he was. He would always return, docile and completely medicated. When I was 5, my parents decided to leave the town I was born in and move 60 miles south. I remember during this time that my uncle was not allowed to contact my family. Not by phone, not by letter, and definitely not to see me or my brother. My parents told us that he was addicted to valium and until he went to rehab, he wasn't allowed to have any contact with us. I was 7 when some sort of deal was reached between my parents and my uncle. My uncle apparently went to rehab, and later moved to the town where we had moved to. I'll save this story for another time, but my uncle disappeared permanently when I was 16. Off his meds, and into a life of homelessness.
For as long as I can remember, something was amiss between my mother and her mother. They never got along, and my mom could barely stand speaking to my grandmother. My dad was the go-between, and he was actually the one who took care of my grandmother as she was dying. My mother rarely visited her mother as she was dying, and could barely bring herself to see her before she passed.
Now that I'm where I'm at, pondering what has made me the way I am, I'm wondering how there could be so much I didn't see as a child. Could my uncle have been harming me, and my parents found out? Is that why we moved? Is that why I wasn't allowed to see my uncle? If so, why would they let him back in our lives? Did my grandmother know about this? Did she know about this and not do anything, and that's what happened between my grandmother and mom? If this did happen, why didn't my parents tell me? How could they not see a link in how troubled I was, the constant headaches, the stomach problems, the drugs, the promiscuity? How could they know, and yet, let me suffer?
I'm struggling with where I am today. My grandmother is dead, I cannot ask her what happened. My mother is such an emotionally shut down person, I couldn't imagine ever asking her these questions. My dad is an intelligent and very caring person, so I imagine there will be a time in the future when we will be sitting down and discussing this. In the meantime, I will continue to wonder where it all started. I will continue to reach for memories, despite the fact my mind tells me I don't want to remember. I just have to know. I just have to.
Thursday, June 14, 2012
Difficulty Getting Over Loss
I've had a hard time getting over losses my whole life. Every time I lost a pet when I was a child, I was inconsolable for weeks. When I became a teenager and started dating, each breakup was harder than the last. I've lost several "best friends", and I experience a never-ending cascade of hurt and guilt.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
I think I must be a hard person to be friends with. I've lost every single best friend I've ever had, save for my high school best friend, who never really knew me anyway. The only one that still hurts to think about, "broke up" with me two and a half years ago. We were so much alike in so many ways. She is an abuse survivor like me, so she has plenty of her own issues. I'll call her D. She left when I had been married for 3 months.
What hurts the most is that I came to depend on her. She has experienced so much of what I've experienced. When my husband and I were first married, he was unemployed. Laid off. We started our marriage with him out of a job, and having a hard time finding a job as well. D. and her husband started their marriage with him unemployed. I struggled with my husband's unemployment and how to help him, and there were times I ached to call D. and ask her how she got through it all. I'm struggling now with my abuse issues, and I'm sad that she could give me advice, but I can't reach out to her.
What happened? Everything exploded in October of 2010. She had been staying at my house when her husband and her got into a huge fight over the phone. She went home later that day. She called me the next day, hysterical. Apparently, she'd been sleeping with her husband's best friend and her husband found out. He was leaving her. She was on the verge of a breakdown, and her father was on his way to take her to the hospital. I was blown away that she had cheated on her husband, she had never confided that in me. She ended the conversation abruptly.
I didn't hear from her for 3 weeks. I called, and called, and called. I left many messages. Coincidently, I got a new cell phone in this time period, and a new phone number. I called her on my new phone and she answered the phone. I was floored. As soon as she heard that it was me on the phone, she became cold. I asked her how she was, and she paused. She proceeded to tell me that she couldn't be my friend anymore. That I was a bad influence. That if she wanted to make things work with her husband, she had to get rid of every thing from her past.
My heart broke. It hurt me to hear these words. In a small voice, I told her "Ok". I said goodbye and I hung up the phone. I stared at the phone in my hand for a minute, and then I deleted her phone number out of my phone. I never called her again. I never spoke to her again.
I still hurt over this today. I'm so hurt that she said I was a bad influence. I hurt that I can't get her advice anymore. How was it so easy for her to walk away and act like I never existed? Did I mean so little to her that I was that easy for her to cut out of her life? I feel I never even knew her, there were secrets she kept from me. Like her affair. I told her everything, I never kept a secret from her. I told her things I've never told anyone else. It's been almost 3 years since she's been gone, and I still think about it. I Google her sometimes on the Internet, and I am enraged and full of hate if I run across anything about her. Anything that shows how easy it was for her to move on with her life.
Often, I was wish I could go all "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind" and forget about her. All the hurt, the rage, the loneliness. Unfortunately, my mind thinks the lesson I've learned is not to let anyone else in. They are going to leave anyway, they always do. So don't let them in. I haven't let another woman into my life since she left. I don't think I ever will either.
I will add that there is more to this story than what I've said, but that's a tale for another day.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Why The Name?
I feel I should explain why I chose the name for the blog that I did. I heard Gary Allan's song, "Get Off On The Pain" in 2010. It immediately resonated with me. You can find the lyrics to the song here. I think I work out a lot of what's going on with me through music, I always have.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
My whole life has been about pain. I'm used to being there, I'm not comfortable anywhere else. And we're talking about emotional pain here. Don't get me wrong, I like physical pain but for now, we are talking about emotions. One of the first times I realized that I like to be miserable was in one of my first relationships. It was a fairly happy relationship, but I was not satisfied. I pushed, and pushed, and pushed some more. I started fights. Then I broke up with him. Immediately after the breakup, I went into a tailspin. I regretted my decision so much it hurt. I drove myself crazy trying to get him back.
I never did get that guy back. I did realize that I wasn't happy in a happy relationship, so I turned it upside down. The guy I dated after him was more... my style. We fought constantly, and we fought dirty. He cheated on me throughout the entire relationship. I took him back every time, I was obsessed with him. He was emotionally abusive, he would tell me I was fat and ugly, and no one was ever going to want me. I let him do this to me for 4 years. It wasn't until he grew tired of the relationship and moved on, that I was freed from this. And freedom didn't feel free at the time. I realize now I narrowly escaped from him, but it's taken 10 years after the fact to see this.
I ask myself constantly why I stayed. Why did I let him do this me? By the time he left, I had no self-esteem. Yet, I still let him do this to me until he left. I was hung-up on this relationship for years afterwards. It took me 3 years and many self-destructive habits later to finally feel as if I had moved on.
Why did it take me so long? I think it's because I liked it. I was used to pain, and unwilling to change. I was miserable and that's all I'd ever been. I couldn't make myself leave that spot. I'm in a very happy relationship now, and I will never let it go because I actively fear going back to where I was. Abandoned and alone. I almost didn't make it through the last breakup, I'm not sure I could retain my sanity through another one.
At least I've learned my lesson with relationships.
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