Nowhere Feels Like Home

 What do I do if there is this lingering sense of misplacement no matter where I go or who I'm with? I irritate myself. I am misunderstood... I don't even know if I understand myself. It's incredibly frustrating. I think I blow things up too much in my mind. I miss the people not here. It's not fair. There is no perfect place, no perfect people. I'm just a misery no matter where I go. It's ME. I can't get away from my own thoughts. This feeling that I'm not important enough or special enough... that no one is granting me this special elite status... even when they DO and I doubt it. I make myself feel bad for who I am and how I behave. In my own head and body, I can't rest. I'm constantly overanalyzing everyone and everything... searching for the clues, the evidence that I am secretly hated. Where is the evidence so I can have the cop out I need. Cop out and what? Feel even sorrier for myself? It's so stupid and pathetic and I HATE it. I want to be better. I want to trust people. I want to trust my relationships and have PEACE. I want to like MYSELF. I don't think it's healthy to constantly be seeking affirmations from my husband. From my friends, my family, my peers. I need to know it in myself. I need to trust MYSELF. I AM WORTHY of love. Of friendships. Of commitment and family. This family I have built. I love my kids so much. I am disappointed that I'm not better at it. Or that I don't take the time to appreciate all my blessings. I need to work on that. I need to recognize my flaws and my laziness, yes, but I also need to recognize my strengths and my hard work. I just struggle so much. When nowhere feels perfect because something is always missing, I can't help but miss what's not here. But then... Why can't I just have my family HERE? Why do I have to give it up? I think I want this. I want to live here. I need my husband to recognize how good for me this is and let us move back here. 

So my goals are to cheer up. To appreciate all my time. To break back cycles, to lose weight and try hard to make this PERFECT. 

So he has to see it. And let this be home.

BPD

 I think I’ve been running away from this label for a long time, trying to gather evidence that it did not apply to me. Sure, I have high highs and low lows and am terrified of abandonment and struggle with low-self esteem and self-harm and an overwhelming lack of goals/dreams/or motivation…

But in a normal… ADHD enhanced way. Right?? Like, the rage monster is just depression? And the chronic loneliness is being married to a man? Because men are lazy selfish dogs, and this is all normal typical, manageable feminine shit. 

And not the overwhelming, terrifying, identity defining diagnosis that I am fundamentally flawed in my actual personality. I was reading articles, trying to find a light at the end of the BPD tunnel and just found whiney, self-indulgent, woe-is-me pity party that is women diagnosed with this disorder. And I hated the articles, almost as much as I hated the women writing them. Because they all could have easily been written… by and about me. 

I know I should be excited that there is a reason for my behavior, my mood swings, my insanity. But instead I’m annoyed that I am one of those women. The Crazy Ex-Girlfriends of the world. I’m frustrated and annoyed with myself. Like I could have tried harder to not be crazy. 

What are people going to think? Will I lose people? Will I be judged? Just telling people I needed mental health support got judgement. Implying that I was interested in trying medication garnered even more. I felt incorrect. I must be WRONG about my own mood swings. Someone not dealing with the same stuff or witnessing my day-to-day must know more than I do. 

It’s scary. It makes me so worried. I want to run more, flee the very idea that it could be that. Which is not going to solve anything. I know that. On some level, I know that getting diagnosed and medicated for the label I have been trying to outrun is a good thing. 

But I wish I could go back to before I knew.  

I need a break

 Sobbing in the kitchen because it’s been literally months since I could leave the house without anyone coming with me. I need a break. I hate my routine or should I say, lack of routine. I’m so burnt out, I’m nowhere near the person I want to be. 

I call my husband to ask when he’ll be home, because I’m a wreck and he’s at the store, perusing supplements. I lose my mind. I can’t even listen to my own music in the car because the kids want to watch DVDs. I’m never alone. Never. And he takes it for granted that at 6 at night he can just stop off at the store and look at pre-works outs and compare protein shake prices. 

Once he’s home, I’m sobbing as I say I need a break. I need to get out of the house. He’s angry at my outburst, angry that I’m overreacting about his little stop. He’s mad that I make him out to be my enemy. 

But I know he’s not my enemy. I’m my enemy. I say yes and its fine and genuinely think eventually it will be MY TURN to waste time out of the house and away from the kids. But then when my turn comes up, I let myself be talked out of it every time. 

I hate my life. I hate how little I take care of myself. I refuse to do what I need to regain my sanity. I said I was gonna be gone all day today. I swore on it. 

But when he said, “I was thinking I’d fill your new car with trash that’s been sitting in the garage for three years…” I let him do that instead. And I lay in my house angrier than I have words for. 

What’s wrong with me. What the fuck is WRONG WITH ME. WHY. I need to leave this house. 

     I'm about 70% of the way through The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah... and so much of it resonates. Yes, my father never hit my mom. And gloriously, we had each other, we had grandparents, we had a phone and eventually internet connection with the world. But this fear of the world... the fear instilled in us at a young age. Dad's flight of fancy where we trusted no one except him. The constant pins and needles where we ALL are required to put his feelings, his energy, his dreams and goals above ours... he was the center of our lives. We were supposed to shrink and define ourselves by his idea of what the world is and how we should feel about it. And mom backing him up, worshipping him as the smartest most spiritual person in the world, raised in a religion that backed up the idea that dad could even be a prophet... I sometimes think of the way I idolized his version of life... I feel like the scene from The Water Boy, where the professor is teaching about where the anger center of the brain is in an alligator and how it's enlarged, and me as the Water Boy, confidently raising my hand to quote "mama". Angry when I'm corrected. Because this was my reality.

    And having to redefine it because he was crazy and power-hungry and defended by ONE woman, gave him all the power I had to give. And every time she doubles down, or feels bad, or tries to forgive him and make us forgive him because she's forgotten and hopes we've all forgotten that the sad, vulnerable, sad little man he was controlled and belittled and shut down anything he didn't agree with and we were all supposed to blindly follow, love, and forgive him forever and ever for him to be able to function.

    He never functioned. He couldn't function and blamed the world about it. It must be the world's lies, Satan at work, only he had a hold on the God's honest truth of what really mattered. Because he couldn't do it. He was a failure from day one of adulthood. He failed to follow through on the potential everyone said he had, he failed his first marriage, he failed until he tricked mom into following him and he put his whole value into who he could convince her he was and we were born into this toxic dynamic.

    And now we're adults, getting to decide we don't want it anymore. Does he know us? No. Does he want to? NO. Does he support us and want the best for us? FUCK NO. Every accomplishment is a bitter reminder of all his failures. I will never let him back in. I don't want him in my life. I will never let him back into my kids' lives. He curated a life that protected him and his ideals and his creepy worldview and whatever he got away with, he did. I have no doubt that he has done every drug made available to him. I have no doubt that he had engaged in exchanges with other like-minded individuals. I have no doubt that he thinks as long as no one knows... as long as he can pretend and force other people to pretend... he will continue being as creepy and manipulative and self-serving as possible. I wish he would just become a product of his choices.

    Growing up isolated, far from the small community he claimed he believed in, constantly at odds with one part of the family or another because they wouldn't conform to his standards. His resentment of my mom's parents, the constant competitive edge whenever he interacted with her father... He was "protecting" us from love. From support. From people who knew better and could recognize the dangerous and predatory nature of my father's version of "love".

    Not just narcissism. But an inflated self-importance that only lacked organizational and charisma skills that came just short of full cult-leader ideals. "Aspie Supremacy". That his version of autism is the evolution of humanity, and we're all just inferior compared to him. That version of him, when he gives into that vanity and dominance, I have no doubt he would let nothing stop him from taking what he wanted, convinced he was doing no harm because they were too little to remember anyway. And we'll never really know for sure. And because of that? I cannot allow anyone to try to convince me it's worth it to let him back into my life.

If it looks like a duck, and gets accused of being a duck from people around you, and insists on befriending other ducks, knowing that they are ducks... and he occasionally SOUNDS like a duck... fucking chances are... HE'S a MOTHERFUCKING DUCK.

I Feel Like He Hates Me

 I went out of town for a concert with my friend. I came back on his birthday. 

Two and a half days, and the house is destroyed. There is literally no room on the counters, they are that filled with dishes. There is cat food water-falling down the stairs. Someone decided to play with my makeup and it’s ruined and on everything. There are no groceries left in the house. The furniture is turned over and dragged around. An 80’s movie style house party has nothing on the state of my home.

But it’s his birthday. I’m not allowed to be mad. I’m not allowed to lose my mind. I just got two and a half kid-free days. I’m not allowed to be disappointed. I’m on the clock now, time to clean it up, cook the meals, bring the enthusiasm, manage everyone’s feelings. No one is NICE to each other. They all fight and bicker and ignore each other’s feelings and make each other as miserable as possible. Even my husband… my fourth child. 

I have been trapped at home for the last month or so without a car, AGAIN. I have not been apart from the kids in at least… three months? Maybe more? And not for any length of time. The last time I spent the night away from them, I had gone home to say goodbye to my friend on hospice. 

He left me for Mother’s Day. Didn’t even send a text. 

Was the house trashed? Were the kids neglected? 

No. 

Life without him continues as normal. I am the only one required to care. 

Miracle Child

 I dream of a miracle baby

That despite the Nexplonon rod in my arm

Despite the many sheets of blister packs of Birth Control pills

To control the months of heavy, sporadic bleeding

That there is this strong, miracle child

Growing in my womb

That somehow, I am not so broken.

That even despite the science at work

God's hand is forming one more little one 

To grow our family.

What a hearty child that would be.

A warrior

A survivor

A thing which small words cannot begin to explain.

Even as I lie wrapped around my heating pad for the 4th day in a row

Changing pad after pad, 

Each drenched in the disappointment of a room filled with undone plans.

I dream of a child I cannot control, 

That comes bursting out of me, unbidden, unplanned

And totally wanted.

Wild with Life. 

Filled with Love

Completing my sad story with a joyful ending

Making all the sorrow a footnote in the incredible story of their LIFE.

But all I produce

Is a stupid poem

About a baby

That will never be born.

How greedy am I?

The mother of three incredible, amazing, unfathomable children

Children I fear I disappoint daily.

Children that grow with laughter and spontaneous songs 

Leaving thousands of sticky fingerprints 

Dancing across my windows, my furniture, my life

Sending my head reeling with the MUCHNESS 

Enough to overwhelm me constantly

And yet I mourn for the things that I cannot have back

The things I have to leave behind and stop dreaming for. 

There is time for a miracle

And I hope I can experience it

And I hope that I can see it for the miracle it is

And I know that I have a miracle in each of the magical little people

That are alive and well and strong and GROWING

But every so often...

Even in the pain of womanhood, with too much going on around me,

I yearn for a miracle child.

God the Mother

 I have often wondered what a bible would look like written outside of patriarchy, what God the creator would look like as a feminine energy, instead of a Vengeful Warrior. There are so many war metaphors in the Bible. Would God be depicted as a Victor in a text outside of a patriarchal society? And until we can separate modern ideology from religious doctrine, I fear we will never know the true heart of God. If calling God "they" or "she" is blasphemous or heresy... what are we really being told to worship?